Posts Tagged ‘Quotes’
I’m doing that thing again…
You know, the one where I have a ton of things to post about like visiting friends, new homes, delicious food, good times, and the holidays (oh yeah! And early Christmas presents! WOO!), but I haven’t the time to do it. Strangely, for me, the Christmas holiday has been tied to sad feelings for a long time, so I constantly battle self reflection and social examination with the desire to put up a Festivus pole, celebrate the Solstice, Decorate trees, bake cookies, and wrap more gifts than I should because wrapping with wire ribbon and shiny paper makes me happy… it’s the simple things, folks. So I’ve been doing some literary and musical meditation, and what better way to share my holiday spirit than to get you all thinking? I intend to post more, but we’ll see how the travel-crazy holidays effect that.
On with the quotes, my darlings… can you detect a theme?
“If it’s true that every seven years each cell in your body dies and is replaced, then I have truly inherited my life from a dead man; and the misdeeds of those times have been forgiven, and are buried with his bones.”
— Neil Gaiman “Murder Mysteries”
“There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.
You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her. ”
— Neil Gaiman (accompanying text for Tori Amos’s album Strange Little Girls)
“I am not unique in my elegiac sadness at watching reading die, in the era that celebrates Stephen King and J.K. Rowling rather than Charles Dickens and Lewis Carroll.”
— Harold Bloom
“Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on.
“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least–at least I mean what I say–that’s the same thing, you know.”
“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as well say that “I see what I eat” is the same thing as “I eat what I see”!”
— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
“Do you know, I always thought unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!”
“Well, now that we have seen each other,” said the unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you.”"
— Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass
“I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost…but won’t. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.”~*~
As Hamlet said, “I have of late–but wherefore I know not–lost all my mirth.” It never fails to surprise me that a day can turn on a dime. Today I was planning to post about March Madness and how much I love this time of year. I love everything about the NCAA tournament. I wait for these two weeks. This morning was like Christmas morning for me! I spent a good portion of the day amped for the games to start. I got to come home early today because of the holiday (best. boss. ever!), and I threw on my comfy Pitt gear, got my chips and soda, and had one game on the TV and two on my laptop. I was in March Madness heaven! But after a series of phone calls and emails, all coming in perfectly timed intervals to create the most angst, sadness, and a frustrating sense of helplessness, I can only say that I’m emotionally exhausted. So look for that great March Madness post tomorrow. Today, however, I’ll give you a list that doesn’t require a whole lot of strain on me (unless you ask for translations, in which case, we’ll just go get coffee and talk about it over lattes.).
Some Shakespearean snipits that move me every time I see or read them :
1. Othello, Act IV, Scene iii: Desdemona has just been called a “whore,” slapped in public, and sent to her chambers by Othello. Desdemona, in her naivety, questions the more worldly Emilia about whether she thinks any woman exists who would cuckold (cheat on) her husband:
Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would
store the world they played for.
But I do think it is their husbands’ faults
If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us; or say they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despite;
Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them: they see and smell
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is: and doth affection breed it?
I think it doth: is’t frailty that thus errs?
It is so too: and have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well: else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.
2. Hamlet, Act III, Scene i: Most characters already believe Hamlet to be “mad” at this point. Polonius and Claudius orchestrate a chance meeting between Ophelia and Hamlet, believing Ophelia’s forced rejection of Hamlet’s love caused his madness. Ophelia truly loved Hamlet and acted only out of duty to her father.
Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner
transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the
force of honesty can translate beauty into his
likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the
time gives it proof. I did love you once.
3. Antony and Cleopatra, Act IV, Scene xv: Antony believes Cleopatra killed herself with his name on her lips as she died, and, full of guilt, falls on his sword. He does not die immediately, but is mortally wounded and begs for his servant to kill him. A messenger arrives to tell him Cleopatra lives. He demands to be taken to her. They place the dying Antony in her lap as he utters, “I am dying, Egypt, dying.” She consoles him as he weakens, but is too late.
Only after compiling these quotes did it occur to me that nearly all of Shakespeare’s tragedies occur because of miscommunication, or lack of communication. I knew this before, but I don’t think it struck home until tonight. It seems to be a prevailing theme throughout most aspects of my own life. Sometimes it takes a flood of examples (personal and literary) to cast light enough on prevailing woes to summon their sculptors from the shadows.