You think it will never happen to you, that it cannot happen to you, that you are the only person in the world to whom none of these things will ever happen, and then, one by one, they all begin to happen to you, in the same way they happen to everyone else.
Your bare feet on the cold floor as you climb out of bed and walk to the window. You are six years old. Outside, snow is falling, and the branches of the trees in the backyard are turning white.
Speak now before it is too late, and then hope to go on speaking until there is nothing more to be said. Time is running out, after all. Perhaps it is just as well to put aside your stories for now and try to examine what it has felt like to live inside this body from the first day you can remember being alive until this one. A catalogue of sensory data. What one might call a phenomenology of breathing."
Paul Auster, Winter Journal, 2012
“Pooh and his friends were given as gifts by author A. A. Milne to his son Christopher Robin Milne between 1920 and 1922. Pooh was purchased in London at Harrods for Christopher’s first birthday. Christopher later gave them to publisher E. P. Dutton, who in turn donated them to the New York Public Library.”
The Book Thief, by Markus Suzak
“I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn’t already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race-that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.”
J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Benedict Cumberbatch reads “All the World’s a Stage” from Shakespeare’s As You Like It
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world so wide
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José Saramago, Seeing, translation by Margaret Jull Costa
Louis Aragon, Le paysan de Paris
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume
W. Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up
Haruki Murakami - Sputnik Sweetheart