Thoughts Not Veggies
Where I record the bits and pieces of future novels, future lives: some truths, some just phrases that I found lying around my head one day. I put it down here in case people turn out to like them, and in fear of forgetting something important to me.
She should have died hereafter;
Shakespeare, Macbeth
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win… And I feel I am a man. And I feel that a man is a very important thing - maybe more important than a star. This is not theology. I have no bent towards the gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed - because ‘Thou mayest.’
John Steinbeck, East of Eden
- Jessie: Daphne, we asked a magic eight ball at the CCA resale store yesterday if you would get into Columbia and it said yes!
- Me: YES!!
- Jessie: Well, but then we asked if it would be early decision, and it said no.
- Me: Oh, darn.
- Suwetha: Yeah, so that means you're going to get in, but they're going to defer you, so it still works out!
- Me: THAT'S OKAY!!
- Chris: Wait, but it also said I was going to die yesterday.
She describes the perfect guy in perfect words. Where she got them from I don’t know.
But then she turns them over again, saying, even in her own dreams, “No guy is like this.”
My guy was like this. So exactly like this that it seems eerie, and tragic, and heartbreaking all over again.
But perhaps she is right. No guy could be like this twice.
Her chops were slow and heavy, as if she was slicing thought instead of vegetables. Every thump sounded like death.
