“What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time.”
Found that beautiful quote on this blog I happened upon, Even Cleveland. Thought it was beautiful, and wanted to share (:
Also, my last post I was supposed to tell you of a latest happening, but my mind wandered. Hopefully this coming Spring, depending on schedules, a dear friend of mine and I are going on an adventure to take her senior photos (: she asked me a few weeks ago if I would do it, and I whole-heartily agreed. She is such a beautiful, loving young woman. I honestly can’t wait! She wants something natural, girlish. We’re going to brainstorm on and off, and hopefully find the perfect concoction for her photos.
Yes, I know I’m strange, but I love taking senior photos, simply because you get to know the young person’s dreams, hopes, fears, and all that makes them to be unique. Its intriguing, and fun (:
“Don’t be amazed if you see my eyes always wandering. In fact, this is my way of reading, and it is only in this way that reading proves fruitful for me. If a book truly interests me, I cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought that the text suggests to it, or a feeling, or a question, or an image, goes off on a tangent and springs from thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it. The stimulus of reading is indispensable to me, and of meaty reading, even if, of every book, I manage to read no more than a few pages. But those few pages already enclose for me whole universes, which I can never exhaust.”
P.S. Italo Calvino describes, quite wondrously, exactly how my mind works as I read. Another beautiful quote from the same blog (: