The covers of this book are too far apart.
Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I was young.
You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause
earnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-one
saw: tell no-one. Books you were going to write with letters for
titles. Have you read his F? O yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but W is
wonderful. O yes, W. Remember your epiphanies on green oval leaves,
deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries
of the world, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there
after a few thousand years, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola
like. Ay, very like a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one
long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once...
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
The Waste Land
T. S. Eliot
But words are things, and a small drop of ink,Falling like dew, upon a
thought, producesThat which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
To "Capture a Quote" group