[b]Barbara Kingsolver
What we end up calling history is a kind of knife, slicing down through time. A few people are hard enough to bend its edge. But most won’t even stand close to the blade. I’m one of those. We don’t bend anything.[/b]
Any benders of history here?
I never learn anything from listening to myself.
Well, at least she learned that.
There are always more questions. Science as a process is never complete. It is not a foot race, with a finish line… People will always be waiting at a particular finish line: journalists with their cameras, impatient crowds eager to call the race, astounded to see the scientists approach, pass the mark, and keep running. It’s a common misunderstanding, he said. They conclude there was no race. As long as we won’t commit to knowing everything, the presumption is we know nothing.
You being the exception, right?
Our house is like an empty cigarette packet, lying around reminding you what’s not in it.
Or, for some, an empty syringe.
Bitter words normally evaporate with the moisture of breath, after a quarrel. In order to become permanent, they require transcribers, reporters, complicit black hearts.
Or the equivalent of that here.
To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know.
Marked and…scarred.