Happy Birthday, kid. You usually make me laugh.
Monthly Archives: November 2012
“Starting from her musing, she gave meaning to words which she had held meaningless in her mind for a long stretch of time.”
“If Shakespeare had never existed, he asked, would the world have differed much from what it is today? Does the progress of civilisation depend upon great men? Is the lot of the average human being better now than in the time of the Pharaohs? Is the lot of the average human being, he asked himself, the criterion by which we judge the measure of civilisation? Possibly not….The liftman in the Tube is an eternal necessity.”
“It was his fate, his peculiarity, whether he wished it or not, to come out thus on a spit of land which the sea was slowly eating away, and there to stand, like a desolate sea-bird, alone. It was his power, his gift, suddenly to shed all superfluities, to shrink and diminish so that he looked barer and felt sparer, even physically, yet lost none of his intensity of mind, and so to stand on his little ledge facing the dark of human ignorance, how we know nothing and the sea eats away the ground we stand on–that was his fate, his gift.”
“She could have wept. It was bad, it was bad, it was definitely bad! She could have done it differently of course; the colour could have been thinned and faded; the shapes etherealized; that was how Paunceforte would have seen it. But then she did not see it like that. She saw the color burning on a framework of steel; the light of a butterfyl’s wing lying upon the arches of the cathedral.”
Text from To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
“Yes, of course, if it’s fine tomorrow,” said Mrs Ramsey. “But you’ll have to be up with the lark.”
“But,” said his father, “it won’t be fine.”
That is to say, the wind blew from the worst possible direction for a landing at the lighthouse.
“Let’s go,” he said, repeating her words, clicking them out, however, with a self-consciousness that made her wince. “Let us goto the circus.” No. He could not say it right. He could not feel it right.
She disliked anything that reminded her that she had been sitting and thinking. So she looked over her shoulder, at the town. The lights were rippling and running as if they were drops of silver water held firm in a wind.
Text from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
All is well in my little corner of Philadelphia after the hurricane. I look around at other places in the region, city, even neighborhood, and I feel so fortunate that the worst that it got Monday night for us was the house shaking so much in the wind that the water in the toilet was swishing around a bit. We didn’t even lose power.
I’ll post more in the next few days…my project for the storm was to shoot out my office window once every [roughly] hour. The image above was taken about 10:45 p.m. on Monday, and that was right about the worst of the storm here.
Thoughts, prayers and well-wishes to all who had it rougher than we had it.