Aug 2, 2013
0 notes
Sir, I am a true labourer. I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no mans happiness; glad of other man’s good, content with my harm.
Corin
Jul 26, 2013
2 notes
The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it.

—V. S. Naipaul, A Bend in the River  via The Atlantic

I don’t even like Naipaul very much, but this is good, and quite good for a summer.

Jun 23, 2013
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Creativity always comes as a surprise to us; therefore we can never count on it and we dare not believe in it until it has happened.
Gladwell
Jun 12, 2013
8 notes

As Sasha-Frere Jones points out in The New Yorker:

The song creates the feeling of being on a tugboat made of bubbles while Nile Rodgers serves you liquid Valium in flute glasses and Pharrell Williams gives vague but really helpful advice.

 Too good an approximation to leave unconsidered.

(Source: Spotify)

Jun 11, 2013
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Experience?

Experience?

Jun 5, 2013
2 notes

Why?
Why not? His giving you any clear reason would mean he’d already found her. Why does one decide to pick up one girl in a bar over another. If one knew why, she would never be a problem. Why do wars start: if one knew there would be eternal peace.
So in this search the motive is part of the quarry.

Thomas Pynchon, “V.”

May 5, 2013
3 notes
Such is the dark backward and abysm of time. Everything lies all jumbled up in it, and when you look down you feel dizzy and afraid.
W.G. Sebald, “Air War and Literature”
Apr 5, 2013
2 notes

Given these quantities, the natural historians sought consolation in the idea that humanity was responsible for only a fraction of the endless destruction wrought in the cycle of life, and moreover in the assumption that the peculiar physiology of the fish left them free of the fear and pains that rack the bodies and souls of higher animals in their death throes.

But the truth is that we do not know what the herring feels.

W.G. Sebald, The Rings of Saturn
Mar 30, 2013
2 notes
We live with death, and die not in a moment. How many pulses made up the life of Methuselah, were work for Archimedes: Common Counters summe up the life of Moses his man. Our days become considerable like petty sums by minute accumulations; where numerous fractions make up but small round numbers; and our dayes of a span long make not one little finger.
Thomas Browne, Urne Buriall
Mar 24, 2013
0 notes

Vampire Weekend

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