Highlighted passage, The Theatre of Tennessee Williams, Vol. 3
Quote from the play Orpheus Rising (Act 2, Scene 1)
F. Scott Fitzgerald died on this day in 1940, aged forty-four.
“That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald
|—||John Hendel, “Cyber-Babbittry: Conventionality and Banality Are Alive and Well on the Internet” (via millionsmillions)|
|—||Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms|
“I would always rather be happy than dignified.”
-Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
All of the books mentioned in Gilmore Girls the Rory reads of the course of the series…one’s I’ve read are in bold.
1984 by George Orwell
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael…
This list seems short…
New goal: start the Rory Gilmore Book Club.
You live in your body every day of your life. Things change slowly, inexorably, in increments too small to measure. You gain weight, you lose weight, your hair falls out. Your skin slackens, your voice thins, your bones become brittle, your ankles swell. Your prostate and a piece of your colon are removed. Your back bends with the weight of gravity and passing time. You wake up twice during the night to pee; once in a while, you wet your pants. Crossing your legs has become a project that requires your hands; getting out of a chair has become a gymnastic routine; eating a bowl of soup has become a logistical feat. Whenever you go to the store, you can’t remember if you have coffee at home. There are two blue cans of Maxwell House in your cupboard. You buy another can just to be sure. There is a tiny droplet of moisture suspended from the bottom of your nose. There is food crusted on the front of your shirt, the crotch of your pants, the tips of your shoes. You ask people questions several times over. Sometimes, just as you’re asking, you realize that you’ve already asked this same question, that you’ve already heard the answer. You go ahead and ask again anyway. It’s too embarrassing to to do anything else. Your parents and your five siblings and your spouse have all died. Your late-life companion has moved on to constant care. You visit her three times a day. She lights up when you’re around, Your children have entered their own retirement years in distant states. People talk to you as if you were a four-year-old; they are always trying to give you hard candies. You can’t even cut your own toenails. The podiatrist does it for fifty-five dollars. His nurse calls you to remind you about your appointment. It was thirty minutes ago.
All this happens; everything changes, but the odd part is, you don’t really notice. You’re aware of it sure, but somehow it doesn’t integrate. Deep down, to yourself, you are always just you, the same pair of eyes in the mirror, the same familiar voice in your head still wondering, “When will I feel grown up?”
|—||a segment from “Old” by Mike Sager, arguably the most depressing article in his collection, “Revenge of the Donut Boys.” What a great/completely underrated writer.|
In this Sept. 25, 1985 file photo, author Maurice Sendak poses with one of the characters from his book “Where the Wild Things Are,” designed for the operatic adaptation of his book in St. Paul, Minn. Sendak died, Tuesday, May 8, 2012 at Danbury Hospital in Danbury, Conn. He was 83.