Considering the facts that I majored in English and for as long as I can remember something involving the written word has constituted my career goal, it’s pretty safe to say I love books.
And really, can you blame me? When such gems are to be found?
“We can never know what we want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it to our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.”
– Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
“People are motivated to write for a variety of reasons, but it’s the child writer who has figured out, early on, that writing is about saving your soul.”
– Betsy Lerner, The Forest for the Trees
“You cannot step twice into the same river and yet you do. It has carried you away and yet you stand on the bank, looking at the point of your own departure.”
– Penelope Lively, City of the Mind
“She remembered reading an article which had explained that the central processing unit of the human brain had only seven memory registers, which meant that if you had seven things on your mind at the same time and then thought of something else, one of the other seven would instantly drop out.”
– Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul
“Because when I read, I don’t really read; I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or I sip it like a liqueur until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol, infusing the brain and heart and coursing on through the veins to the root of each blood vessel.”
– Bohumil Hrabal, Too Loud a Solitude
“Like the pulse of a perfect heart, life struck straight through the streets.”
– Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
It is as the siren’s call to my keen desire for answers to life’s metaphysical questions.
I don’t know if it is some predisposition wired into my DNA or something sublime inherent to humanity, but can you feel it? The refrain of truth or truthful observation in these passages that raises every molecule to avid attention?