My memories are not books. They are only stories that I have been over so many times in my head that I don't know from one day to the next what's remembered and what's made up. Like when you memorize a poem, and for one small unimportant part you supply your own words. The meaning's the same, the meter's identical. When you read the actual version you can never get it into your head that it's right and you're wrong. Elizabeth McCracken
Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.
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T.S. Eliot
It frightens me that I can't do anything sensible about it."" Are you scared that you'll wind up with a boring job where you have to see the same people every day and drink instant coffee?"" I'm more scared that I'll forget the feeling I...
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Gunnar Ardelius
The days aren't discarded or collected, they are beesthat burned with sweetness or maddenedthe sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net. They don't fall drop by drop from...
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Pablo Neruda
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory’s rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?
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Anonymous
In visions of the night, like dropping rain, Descend the many memories of pain
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Aeschylus
More Quotes By Elizabeth McCracken
Can I tell you something? It wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all right then, me scowling at the dirt, James in his bed, the way it always always was. Look, if that's all that happened, if his dying just meant that I would...
Books remember all the things you cannot contain.
The idea of a library full of books, the books full of knowledge, fills me with fear and love and courage and endless wonder.
Books are a bad family - there are those you love, and those you are indifferent to; idiots and mad cousins who you would banish except others enjoy their company; wrongheaded but fascinating eccentrics and dreamy geniuses; orphaned grandchildren; and endless brothers-in-law simply taking up...
Library books were, I suddenly realized, promiscuous, ready to lie down in the arms of anyone who asked. Not like bookstore books, which married their purchasers, or were brokered for marriages to others.
