Someone left this note lying near the stationery section of my bookstore. I discovered it when I was cleaning up the store toward the end of the evening, and it made my night.
John Irving: “If I were 27 and trying to publish my first novel today, I might be tempted to shoot myself.”
Um, no I didn’t “forget” BITCH! I just don’t have that kind of money to be donating. I rather spend it on booze!
ahahahaha. I got the same e-mail and reacted to it in more or less the same way.
Une Femme Est Une Femme (1961)
From "A Prayer for Owen Meany"
I was still thinking of Mrs. Meany’s attitude of supplication before my mother’s dummy when the trestlework of the bridge began to rattle. A fine grit sifted down between the railroad ties and the trestles and settled upon Owen and me; even the concrete abutments shook, and — shielding our eyes from the loosened sand — we looked up to see the giant, dark underbelly of the train, speeding above us. Through the gaps between the passing cars, flashes of the leaden, winter sky blinked down on us.
“IT’S THE FLYING YANKEE!” Owen managed to scream above the clamor. All trains were special to Owen Meany, who had never ridden on a train; but The Flying Yankee — its terrifying speed and its refusal to stop in Gravesend — represented to Owen the zenith of travel. Owen (who had never been anywhere) was a considerable romantic on the subject of travel.
“What a coincidence!” I said, when The Flying Yankee had gone; I meant that it was a far-fetched piece of luck that had landed us under the trestle bridge precisely at noon, but Owen smiled at me with his especially irritating combination of mild pity and mild contempt. Of course, I know now that Owen didn’t believe in coincidences. Owen Meany believed that “coincidence” was a stupid, shallow refuge sought by stupid, shallow people who were unable to accept the fact that their lives were shaped by a terrifying and awesome design — more powerful and unstoppable than The Flying Yankee.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I’m about a third of the way through this sprawling, uncompromising book, and so far, I love almost every word of it.
Third Eye Blind is awesome. In other news, my sister and I are trapped in 1998.
Lianne: yesss. and i want to hear semi charmed life!
me: haha me too, duh. thats like half the reason i want to go. the other half is to hear "deep inside of you," "never let you go," "jumper," and "graduate"
Lianne: IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN
I WOULD UNDERSTANNNNNNNND
me: lol
I WISH YOU WOULD STEP OFF FROM THAT LEDGE MY FRIEEEEEND
Lianne: WELL EVERYONE I KNOW HAS GOT A REASON
me: TO SAY
PUT THE PAST AWAY
(via paperweight)
I’m in love with this movie, though I’ve been told the Colin Firth adaptation tops it.
me: also, they have really nice offices, so ill feel profesh
Lianne: ew. youre turning into LC.
me: lauren conrad?
Lianne: is there any other?
me: i am not turning into LC, though i would be ok with that. i actually sort of like her. she and whitney are my favorites, though i hate "the city." anyway, theyre better than audrina and heidi
Lianne: ....just stop now.
And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.
— Roald Dahl (via jayalzacee) (via poignant)
9/18/09
Buying flowers at the grocery store. A pretty lavender bouquet is on sale for under $5. Outside, the sun starts to recede, and the Cranberries’ “Dreams” is spilling softly from a stereo.
When things are bad, look back on this.
