Timelessness
Perhaps someday I will stop putting Nabokovian quotations in my LiveJournal. However, this is not that day. Here is something from Speak, Memory that struck my fancy:
"This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something
else, which is hard to explain. It is like
a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I
love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone.
A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern--to
the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender
ghosts humoring a lucky mortal."
Yes, this is certainly love.
When I first came back from school, I dug myself a rut of indolence and melancholy and buried myself in it quite comfortably. Well, I've decided that such a rut is vanity, and I should enjoy the summer while I can. Why wouldn't I? The days are hot and hazy, the sunset is honey on the horizon, the nights are treasure chests.
"This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something
else, which is hard to explain. It is like
a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I
love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone.
A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern--to
the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender
ghosts humoring a lucky mortal."
Yes, this is certainly love.
When I first came back from school, I dug myself a rut of indolence and melancholy and buried myself in it quite comfortably. Well, I've decided that such a rut is vanity, and I should enjoy the summer while I can. Why wouldn't I? The days are hot and hazy, the sunset is honey on the horizon, the nights are treasure chests.