“But you are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on the bus, or in the car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account, but your soul.”
“We marveled at the total animal freedom of being beautiful and free in a faraway land. After that trip, some of us got pregnant, some of us divorced, some of us drifted away, and some of us stagnated. Doesn’t matter. On that one August night, we stuffed our faces with cannoli and laughed and drank and understood that at no other time would the light be so golden, the evening so balmy, and us so beautiful.”
There is nothing more erroneous than the idea, which is only too common, that a writer’s imagination is always at work, and he is constantly inventing an inexhaustible supply of incidents and stories. In reality he does not have to invent his stories; he need only let characters and events find their own way to him, and if he retains to a high degree the ability to look and listen, they will keep seeking him out as someone who will pass them on.
— Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig
A friendly PSA from Maddie the Coonhound 🐶👋
This is exactly what I need to see.
Recommended reading for March!
Avantika and I are recommending books to each other on a brand spanking new Tumblr - The Siren and the Sphynx. Visit away!
She wasn’t charming or easy to be with, but she was immensely energetic, always curious, always interesting, always formidable. She was a doer, an explorer, a bestower, a thinker.
— A Rooting Interest by Johnathan Franzen, New Yorker, Feb 13. 2012
“Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
1. What is the earliest meal you can remember eating as a child?
I remember I was a really fussy eater, and my grandmother would have to make little balls out of rice and daal or roti and gud, and she’d feed them to me one by one saying “This one’s for your mum” and “This one’s for your dad” and…
"…And the next thing I know I’m on a boat on an ice lake with a dinosaur."
This should be the title of your memoir, Avantika!