“I am overwhelmed with things I ought to have written about and never found the proper words.”
– Virginia Woolf, Diaries Volume One 1915-1919
We visit the new Long Island Iced Tea (LIT) series this weekend for a potpourri of words; a little bit of this, a little bit of that, but when mixed together, go down pretty smoothly. We hope you enjoy the selections. Have a great week! Love, Christy and Jennie
“I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and I’m not sad anymore. You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.”
“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, I told him, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”
– Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran
“There is an incredible loss. There is profound grief. And there is, in the end, after a long time and more work that you ever thought possible; a time when it gets easier. There is, in the end, the letting go.”
– Marya Hornbacher, Wasted
“Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore.”
– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
“Sin and love and fear are just sounds that people who never sinned nor loved nor feared have for what they never had and cannot have until they forget the words.”
– William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
“Time works like a damp brush on water color. The sharp edges blur, the ache goes out of it, the colors melt together, and from the many separated lines a solid gray emerges.”
– John Steinbeck, East of Eden
“Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.”
– David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary
“I go through phases. Somedays I feel like the person I’m supposed to be, and then somedays, I turn into no one at all. There is both me and my silhouette. I hope that on the days you find me and all I am are darkened lines, you still are willing to be near me.”
The little sparrows
about the pavement
with sharp voices
over those things
that interest them.
But we who are wiser
shut ourselves in
on either hand
and no one knows
whether we think good
the old man who goes about
walks in the gutter
without looking up
and his tread
is more majestic than
that of the Episcopal minister
approaching the pulpit
of a Sunday.
astonish me beyond words.
– Williams Carlos Williams, “Pastoral”
“I step outside for a smoke & it’s obvious the world is ending. Someone let the poets out & they’re eating all of the birds.”
– Gregory Sherl, “Science Fiction,” published in Split Lip Magazine
“But sadness is also beautiful, maybe because it rings so true and goes so deep, because it is about the distances in our lives, the things we lose, the abyss between what the lover and the beloved want and imagine and understand that may widen to become unbridgeable at any moment, the distance between the hope at the outset and the eventual outcome, the journeys we have to travel, including the last one out of being and on past becoming into the unimaginable: the moth flown into the pure dark. Or the flame.”
– Rebecca Solnit, from The Faraway Nearby (Viking, 2013)
Body is something you need in order to stay
on this planet and you only get one.
And no matter which one you get, it will not
be satisfactory. It will not be beautiful
enough, it will not be fast enough, it will
not keep on for days at a time, but will
pull you down into a sleepy swamp and
demand apples and coffee and chocolate cake.
Body is a thing you have to carry
from one day into the next. Always the
same eyebrows over the same eyes in the same
skin when you look in the mirror, and the
same creaky knee when you get up from the
floor and the same wrist under the watchband.
The changes you can make are small and
costly—better to leave it as it is.
Body is a thing that you have to leave
eventually. You know that because you have
seen others do it, others who were once like you,
living inside their pile of bones and
flesh, smiling at you, loving you,
leaning in the doorway, talking to you
for hours and then one day they
are gone. No forwarding address.
Joyce Sutphen, “Living in the Body”
“She was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hands dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they’d bore you or something. Jane was different. We’d get into a goddam movie or something, and right away we’d start holding hands, and we wouldn’t quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a deal out of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.”
– J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye
“Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Loving you is every bit as fine
as coming over a hill into the sun
at ninety miles an hour darling when
it’s dawn and you can hear the stars unlocking
themselves from the designs of God beneath
the disintegrating orchestra of my black
Chevrolet. The radio clings to an un-
identified station—somewhere a tango suffers,
and the dance floor burns around two lovers
whom nothing can touch—no, not even death!
Oh! the acceleration with which my heart does proceed,
reaching like stars almost but never quite
of light the speed of light the speed of light.
– Denis Johnson, “Poem,” from The Veil (Alfred A. Knopf, 1985)
You still don’t understand? Throw the emptiness in
your arms out into that space we breathe; maybe birds
will feel the air thinning as they fly deeper into themselves.
“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”
– Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
“I like people who dream or talk to themselves interminably; I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere.”
– Albert Camus, The Fall
how seeing the shape of your mouth
that first time, I kept staring
until my blood turned to rain.
Some things take root
in the brain and just don’t
– Tim Seibles, from “Slow Dance”