the fish will be the last to discover water.
it sounded old—
—now: it seemed to him that he-was-always-saying-or-thinking that he-didn’t-deserve-some-bad-luck-or-some-bad-treatment from others.
(he’d told Guitar that he didn’t-deserve-his-family’s
between any two beings there is a unique, uncrossable distance, an impenetrable sanctuary. sometimes it takes the shape of aloneness. sometimes it takes the shape of love.
:: jonathan safran foer
here i am
people travel to wonder
at the height of mountains,
at the huge waves of the sea,
at the long courses of rivers,
at the vast compass of the ocean,
at the circular motion of the stars;
and they pass by themselves without wondering.
:: st. augustine of hippo
everyone now and again wonders about
those questions that have no ready
answers: first cause, god’s existence,
what happens when the curtain goes
down and nothing stops it, not kissing,
not going to the mall, not the super
“wild roses,” i said to them one morning.
“do you have the answers? and if you do,
would you tell me?”
the roses laughed softly. “forgive us,”
they said. “but as you can see, we are
just now entirely busy being roses.”
the hardest thing in the world to do is to write straight honest prose on human beings.
first you have to know the subject;
then you have to know how to write.
both take a lifetime to learn.
× ernest hemingway ×
by-line ernest hemingway: selected articles and dispatches of four decades