January 2012
December 2011
“I want my music to sound like throwing yourself out of a tree, or off a tall...”
– Florence Welch
“Do you have any idea how tired I am of being reduced to an appendage of my...”
– Love, Joy, Feminism: Gender Blind Spots
“I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything...”
– Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
“I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use,...”
– Vladimir Nabokov
The importance of stupidity in scientific research →
excerpt: “Productive stupidity means being ignorant by choice. Focusing on important questions puts us in the awkward position of being ignorant. One of the beautiful things about science is that it allows us to bumble along, getting it wrong time after time, and feel perfectly fine as long as we learn something each time. No doubt, this can be...
“The thing is, it’s patriarchy that says men are stupid and monolithic and...”
– On claiming to be a stupid man who doesn’t know anything « Zero at the Bone
“What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation.”
– Don Delillo, White Noise
“Brutal to give
the prisoner a window—
a blue sky glimpse— as if an afterlife...”
– Andrea Cohen, Brutal
“Prime numbers are what is left when you have taken all the patterns away. I...”
– The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, Mark Haddon
Andrea Steffans & Barbara Thomason, from...
I abdicate to you words and then rush to the dictionary to search for the meaning of what I have done. sometimes my love of words overrules my common sense
Your reasons are classical Greek sculptures I am awed with the vision and forget they are made of ice cold marble They fill our small house and I am left with the dilemma of what to do with them They cannot...
1 tag
“I made a list of things I have
to remember and a list
of things I want to...”
– Linda Pastan, Lists
Two Countries, Naomi Shihab Nye →
Skin remembers how long the years grow when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel of singleness, feather lost from the tail of a bird, swirling onto a step, swept away by someone who never saw it was a feather. Skin ate, walked, slept by itself, knew how to raise a see-you-later hand. But skin felt it was never seen, never known as a land on the map, nose like a city, hip like a city, gleaming dome...
“i am so glad and very
merely my fourth will cure
the laziest self of weary...”
– e.e cummings
