novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- thanks for the lesson, for the reminder, for the love. I'm altering discarded books. Randomly, I came across this. "For he had learned tonight that love was not enough. There had to be a higher devotion than all the devotions of this fond imprisonment. There had to be a larger world than this glittering fragment of a world with all its wealth and privilege. Throughout his whole youth and early manhood, this very world of beauty, ease, and luxury, of power, glory, and security, had seemed the ultimate end of human ambition, the furthermost limit to which the aspirations of any man could reach. But tonight, in a hundred separate moments of intense reality, it had revealed to him its very core. He had seen it naked, with its guards down. He had sensed how the hollow pyramid of a false social structure had been erected and sustained upon a base of common mankind's blood and sweat and agony. So now he knew that if he was ever to succeed in writing the books he felt were in him, he must turn about and lift his face up to some nobler height. He thought about the work he wanted to do. Somehow the events which he had witnessed here tonight had helped him to resolve much of his inner chaos and confusion. Many of the things which had been complex before were now made simple. And it all boiled down to this: honesty, sincerity, no compromise with truth -- those were the essentials of any art -- and a writer, no matter what else he had, was just a hack without them."from You can't go home again by Thomas Wolfe, Harper & Brothers publishers, 1934. This reminds me of that day. Suddenly I feel as if someone believes me after all.8:19 pm - 01.23.11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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