If you are under the impression you have already perfected yourself, you will never rise to the heights you are no doubt capable of.
What is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint.
After all, what can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished?
The evening’s the best part of the day. You’ve done your day’s work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.
If I’m alone at home, I get increasingly restless, bothered by the idea that I’m missing some crucial encounter out there somewhere. But if I’m left by myself in someone else’s place, I often find myself a nice sense of peace engulfing me. I love sinking into an unfamiliar sofa with whatever book happens to be lying nearby.
If disappointments do come, you will carry on still. You will say, just as he does, I am so lucky.
But you play that passage like it’s the -memory- of love. You’re so young, yet you know desertion, abandonment. That’s why you play that third movement the way you do. Most cellists, they play it with joy. But for you, it’s not about joy, it’s about the memory of a joyful time that’s gone for ever.
There was a time you saw me once, one afternoon, in the dormitories. There was no one else around, and I was playing this tape, this music. I was sort of dancing with my eyes closed and you saw me.’ ‘…yes, I remember that occasion. I still think about it from time to time.’ ‘That’s funny, so do I.
There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one.
And what made these heart-to-hearts possible–you might even say what made the whole friendship possible during that time–was this understanding we had that anything we told each other during these moments would be treated with careful respect: that we’d honor confidences, and that no matter how much we rowed, we wouldn’t use against each other anything we’d talked about during those sessions.
She always wanted to believe in things.
I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart. That’s how it is with us. It’s a shame, Kath, because we’ve loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can’t stay together forever.
The giant, once well buried, now stirs. When soon he rises,
When it was too late for rescue, it was still early enough for revenge
But then again I wonder if what we feel in our hearts today isn’t like these raindrops still falling on us from the soaked leaves above, even though the sky itself long stopped raining. I’m wondering if without our memories, there’s nothing for it but for our love to fade and die.
This country awakens so many memories, though each seems like some restless sparrow I know will flee any moment into the breeze.
Perhaps God’s so deeply ashamed of us, of something we did, that he’s wishing himself to forget.
Be merciful and leave this place. Leave this country to rest in forgetfulness.
Where once we fought for land and God, we now fought to avenge fallen comrades, themselves slaughtered in vengeance. Where could it end? Babes growing to men knowing only days of war.
How can old wounds heal while maggots linger so richly?