The autumn sun fell slantwise into the yard, making the cobbles bluely shine, and in the porch a pot of geraniums flourished aloft their last burning blossoms of the season. Honestly, this world.

∆ John Banville, The Sea (‎Vintage, December 18, 2007)

Performing the rituals of the ordinary as an act of faith.

∆ Marilynne Robinson from Housekeeping

All through autumn we hear a double voice: one says everything is ripe; the other says everything is dying. The paradox is exquisite. We feel what the Japanese call 'aware' — an almost untranslatable word meaning something like 'beauty tinged with sadness.'

∆ Gretel Ehrlich, The Solace of Open Spaces

I think of reality as a sentence, words on a page dadadda...

∆ Interview with Anne Carson: Life is Not Fair | Louisiana Channel

So,​ your life. There it is before you – possibly a road, a ribbon, a dotted line, a map – let’s say you’re 25, then you make some decisions, do things, have setbacks, have triumphs, become someone, a bus driver, a professor of Indo-European linguistics, a pirate, a cosmetologist, years pass, maybe in a family maybe not, maybe happy maybe not, then one day you wake up and you’re seventy. Looking ahead you see a black doorway. You begin to notice the black doorway is always there, at the edge, whether you look at it or not. Most moments contain it, most moments have a sort of sediment of black doorway at the bottom of the glass. You wonder if other people are seeing it too. You ask them. They say no. You ask why. No one can tell you.

A minute ago you were 25. Then you went ahead getting the life you want. One day you looked back from 25 to now and there it is, the doorway, black, waiting.

∆ anne carson, gloves on!

oof

Summer dissolves in my mouth and I can't remember what it tasted like.

∆ Zoë Lianne, Erasure