If it had a name — but, thank goodness, it’s beyond all that. Epigraph, Chapter 14, Middlemarch: Follows here the strict receiptFor that sauce to dainty meat,Named Idleness, which many eatBy preference, and call it sweet:First watch for morsels, like a hound,Mix well with buffets, stir them roundWith good thick oil of flatteries,And fresh with mean self-lauding lies.Serve warm: the vessels you must chooseTo keep it in are dead men’s […]
not ready / not unready / there has never been a future / yet . [ 1850 ]
Watching dead people on TV — it seems so strange to me that everyone we meet is image-stuffed — in love with Marilyn Monroe, or some such — cat in your lap, soft furr, purring during drug commercials — and didn’t she/he/they die of an overdose? didn’t we all, our fingers bent and dumb from texting? . [ 1820 ]
Stop selling. Give yourself a break. Skip the cake. Try life instead. . [ 1819 ]
You’re not only an expression of the whole, you are the whole dragonfly on a warm, dry leaf . [ 1796 ]
Of course you’re the center of the universe. You’re also a flower. A river. A plum. Bright in her hair. Adrift on the water. Secure in her fingers. Warm in her palm. What else to declare? It’s the same the other way around. . [ 1789 ]
the last thing you are is what you think you are; the first thing is . [ 1787 ]
William Michaelian 