"All children are morbid: it's their one saving grace..."
"He couldn't believe in the way things were turning out: the difference
between this happening, and what he'd expected was too great.
It was like paying your fare to see a wild-west show, and walking in on
a silly romance picture instead. If that happened,
he would feel cheated. And he felt cheated now."
"Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement,
to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness,
and tenderness is not, as a fair proportion suspect, pity; and still fewer know
that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another:
one has to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize;
the true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilac opening,
ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends,
a child's Sunday, lost voices..."
"I wants to go where they got snow, and not all this sunshine.
I wants to walk around in snow up to my hips:
watch it come outa the sky in gret big globs."
"They can romanticize us so, mirrors, and that is their secret:
what subtle torture it would be to destroy all the mirrors in the world:
where then could we look for reassurance of our identities?
I tell you, my dear Narcissus was no egotist...he was merely another of us who,
in our unshatterable isolation, recognized, on seeing his reflection,
the one beautiful comrade, the only inseperable love...poor Narcissus,
possibly the only human who was ever honest on this point."
"She looked like a kind of wax machine, a life-sized doll,
and the concentration of her work was unnatural:
She was like a person pretending to read, though the book is upside down."
"All of autumn was the sycamore leaf and its red the red of her hair
and its stem the rusty color of her rough voice
and its jagged shape the pattern, the souvenir of her face."
"His head was light as a balloon, and as hollow-feeling; ice as eyes,
thorns as teeth, flannel as tongue; he'd seen sunrise that morning,
but, each step directing him nearer a precipice permanent in shadowed intent,
it was not likely he would see another..."
"There was lack of focus in her face, as though, beneath the
uningratiating veneer of fatuous refinement, another personality,
quite different, was demanding attention;
the lack of focus gave her, at unguarded moments, a panicky,
dismayed expression, and when she spoke it was as if she
were never precisely certain what every word signified."
all quotes from Truman Capote's "Other Voices, Other Rooms"
all photos from Ffffound.
It's been an iiiiiiiincredibly busy week, darlings.
Fashion week, Valentine's Day, Odd run-ins with odd famous people,
work, school, work, school....
But I love you all for being so patient.