in the vastness of space and the immensity of time

“I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert an afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking. The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there’s little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.”

Carl Sagan

“ When my husband died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me-it still sometimes happens-and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again. Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous-not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… . That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… . That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… . That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful… . The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.”

Ann Druyan, on her husband Carl Sagan

very slowly, deliberately, voluptuously

“And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm – whether it’s something or someone – toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.”

Design Flaws of the Human Condition, Paul Schmidtberger

“It is shocking and profoundly regrettable, but, apparently, sales of oranges are falling steadily because people can no longer be bothered to peel them. As soon as I read this, I began buying oranges more frequently and eating them with greater pleasure. Now I peel an orange very slowly, deliberately, voluptuously, above all defiantly, as a riposte to an age that demands war without casualties, public services without taxes, rights without obligations, celebrity without achievement, sex without relationship, running shoes without running, coursework without work and sweet grapes without seeds.”

The Age of Absurdity : Why Modern Life Makes It Hard To Be Happy by Michael Foley

i want to tell you this story

I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything,
without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something,
that he didn’t love me,
that I wanted to be thrown over, possessed.

I want to tell you this story without having to say that I ran out into the street
to prove something, that he chased after me
and threw me into the gravel.
And he knew it wasn’t going to be okay, and he told me
it wasn’t going to be okay.
And he wouldn’t kiss me, but he covered my body with his body
and held me down until I promised to run back out into the street again.

But the minutes don’t stop. The prayer of going nowhere.

‘The Torn-Up Road‘ by Richard Siken

physical movement

“I like reading descriptions of physical movement, be they remembered, imagined, or projected—like Beckett’s Act Without Words, they’re just these great, sometimes unintentional prose poems on the cusp of word and action.”

Maggie Nelson

does being gay matter

Jeanette Winterson interviews Carol Ann Duffy

• Jeanette Winterson: Does being gay matter?
• Carol Ann Duffy: Falling in love matters.

howl

“All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel.
All of them?
Sure, he says. Think about it. There’s escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist.”

Margaret Atwood

“Not every boy thrown to the wolves becomes a hero.“

John Barth

“Even a man who is pure of heart
And says his prayers by night
May become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms
And the autumn moon is bright.”

The Wolfman

i am falling to the floor crying

Eventually something you love is going to be taken away.
And then you will fall to the floor crying.
And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you:
you’re falling to the floor crying thinking,
“I am falling to the floor crying,”
but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it —
you knew it would happen and, even worse,
while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor
and you realize you didn’t paint it very well
and when you’re having sex with your next lover on this very floor
they will also notice that you didn’t paint it very well
and they will think less of you for it.
And then you think, “Is that sentence too long?”
and then you have to hold the contradictions of sobbing uncontrollably
and wondering about grammar in your head at the same time.

Richard Siken