February 03, 2014


From "Goldfinch" novel by Donna Tartt: 

On our vocabulary list a few days before we’d had the word consanguinity: joined in blood. The old man’s face had been so torn up and ruined I couldn’t even say exactly what he’d looked like, and yet I remembered all too well the warm slick feel of his blood on my hands—especially since in some way the blood was still there, I could still smell it and taste it in my mouth, and it made me understand why people talked about blood brothers and how blood bound people together. My English class had read Macbeth in the fall, but only now was it starting to make sense why Lady Macbeth could never scrub the blood off her hands, why it was still there after she washed it away.
From St. Augustine's "Confessions":
 What indeed am I to you, that you should command me to love you, and grow angry with me if I do not, and threaten me with enormous woes? Is not the failure to love you woe enough in itself? 
By calling upon you I untied the knots of my tongue and begged you, in my little-boy way but with no little earnestness, not to let me be beaten at school. You did not hear my prayer, lest by hearing it you might have consigned me to a fool’s fate; so my stripes were laughed at by my elders and even my parents, who would not have wished anything bad to happen to me. But bad it was, and very dreadful for me.
From Jack Gilbert's poems:
The pregnant heart is driven to hopes that are the wrong size for this world. Love is always disturbing in the heavenly kingdom. Eden cannot manage so much ambition. The kids ran from all over the piazza yelling and pointing and jeering at the young Saint Chrysostom standing dazed in the church doorway with the shining around his mouth where the Madonna had kissed him.

No comments: