Notes and Quotes
I am shredding and filling up trash bags with anything that looks as if I'll never look at it again. Journals filled with copious notes stand like recalcitrant children daring me to throw them out.
Noteworthy quotes were copied and the rest of one journal thrown out. Hemingway said that " what you leave out of a story is perhaps more important than what you put in."
Someone , I didn't get his name since I tore the page out, said that paragraphs are like furniture. they can be moved about. That, I read, is permission to tear out pages-- so much is redundant. Have I repeated myself? Think in propinquities.
Proust said, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes but in having new eyes." As I scan the pages I wait until some line turns neon lemon and forces me to attend. The rest of the words turn to dross.
The depth, writes William Matthew, is in the surface. Now there's a line to ponder. Add that to Flannery O'Connor's line, The writer operates at a peculiar place where time and place and eternity somehow meet. The problem is to find that location.
Between those two thoughts fifteen pages of skirting around the problem with no attempt to understand the link between these lines.
Just when I thought I might attempt to write about that surface while seeking a location with no latitude or longitude I came across a quote from the pen of Richard Zimler. God, he writes, comes to each of us in the form we can best perceive Him. To you, just now, He was a heron. To someone else, He might come as a flower or even a breeze.
Yes, I recall climbing Old Rag Mountain with three friends. At the top we read Psalms. This place, said one friend, feels Holy. We all agreed. A place to enter into worship.
Noteworthy quotes were copied and the rest of one journal thrown out. Hemingway said that " what you leave out of a story is perhaps more important than what you put in."
Someone , I didn't get his name since I tore the page out, said that paragraphs are like furniture. they can be moved about. That, I read, is permission to tear out pages-- so much is redundant. Have I repeated myself? Think in propinquities.
Proust said, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes but in having new eyes." As I scan the pages I wait until some line turns neon lemon and forces me to attend. The rest of the words turn to dross.
The depth, writes William Matthew, is in the surface. Now there's a line to ponder. Add that to Flannery O'Connor's line, The writer operates at a peculiar place where time and place and eternity somehow meet. The problem is to find that location.
Between those two thoughts fifteen pages of skirting around the problem with no attempt to understand the link between these lines.
Just when I thought I might attempt to write about that surface while seeking a location with no latitude or longitude I came across a quote from the pen of Richard Zimler. God, he writes, comes to each of us in the form we can best perceive Him. To you, just now, He was a heron. To someone else, He might come as a flower or even a breeze.
Yes, I recall climbing Old Rag Mountain with three friends. At the top we read Psalms. This place, said one friend, feels Holy. We all agreed. A place to enter into worship.
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