I never felt myself to have, as you as you say, a full access to the classical whatever. I was always partially aware of this and that and very aware of being a bad student, a bad researcher, an incomplete scholar, and so a lot of what the thinking that I did about classics or in classics was provisional and patched together and sort of looking over it’s shoulder to be discovered as a fraud, which is the attitude most people have all the time in their lives, I know, about whatever they’re doing, but it’s OK to have that with regard to a body of knowledge, and then just start somewhere, decide that somewhere is the middle, and go ahead with whatever you can grasp of it from there. …
It’s a kind of helter-skelter way of taking in the world—that’s who we are, we’re not renaissance masters anymore, we never will be. We’re not Giordano Bruno. We’re just us in our kitchen with Wikipedia on the stupid web and a bunch of other more respectable sources and we patch it together."
From The 50 Greatest Love Letters of All Time, edited by David H, Lowenherz
literature meme ∙ [3/6] prose writers ∙ virginia woolf
“How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.” // “When, however, one reads of a witch being ducked, of a woman possessed by devils, of a wise woman selling herbs, or even of a very remarkable man who had a mother, then I think we are on the track of a lost novelist, a suppressed poet, of some mute and inglorious Jane Austen, some Emily Bronte who dashed her brains out on the moor or mopped and mowed about the highways crazed with the torture that her gift had put her to. Indeed, I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.”
So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation which, in the midst of civilization, artificially creates a hell on earth, and complicates with human fatality a destiny that is divine; so long as the three problems of the century - the degradation of man by the exploitation of his labor, the ruin of women by starvation, and the atrophy of childhood by physical and spiritual night - are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a still broader point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, there should be a need for books such as this.
Underlined passage The Waves by Virginia Woolf, p. 135
William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus
my favorite things: The Little Prince (Book, published 1943)
All the Pretty Horses - Cormac McCarthy
Poison on the Night Stand: Bodies of exiled Austrian author Stefan Zweig & his wife lying on bed, still holding hands, after they committed suicide together – Rio De Janeiro, Brazil – 1942
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath