FRAN RODRIGUEZ

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A.A. Milne
“But it isn't Easy,' said Pooh to himself.... 'Because Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you.

He waited hopefully...

[...]

'So there it is,' said Pooh, when he had sung this to himself three times. 'It's come different from what I thought it would, but it's come.”
A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

David Foster Wallace
“I’m talking about the individual US citizen’s deep fear, the same basic fear that you and I have and that everybody has except nobody ever talks about it except existentialists in convoluted French prose. Or Pascal. Our smallness, our insignificance and mortality, yours and mine, the thing that we all spend all our time not thinking about directly, that we are tiny and at the mercy of large forces and that time is always passing and that every day we’ve lost one more day that will never come back and our childhoods are over and our adolescence and the vigor of youth and soon our adulthood, that everything we see around us all the time is decaying and passing, it’s all passing away, and so are we, so am I, and given how fast the first forty-two years have shot by it’s not going to be long before I too pass away, whoever imagined that there was a more truthful way to put it than “die,” “pass away,” the very sound of it makes me feel the way I feel at dusk on a wintry Sunday.”
David Foster Wallace, The Pale King

Anis Mojgani
“May we all stop breaking others simply to have a sound to dance.”
Anis Mojgani, In the Pockets of Small Gods

Anis Mojgani
“Some years after that hot day she stopped being married to me but didn’t really let me know.”
Anis Mojgani, In the Pockets of Small Gods

Mary Oliver
“One of Aggie, mum & I's favourite poems, it turns out.

/

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
Mary Oliver, Wild Geese
tags: poem

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