(no subject)
I've started reading The Journals Of Anais Nin, she was a writer in 1930's France. I haven't got very far yet, but it's wonderful already.
"I had a sense of preparation for a love to come. Like the extension of canopies, the unrolling of ceremonial carpets, as if I must first create a marvelous world in which to house it, in which to receive adequately this guest of honor."
"Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous."
It makes me want to buy a new Moleskine and just start writing.