April 2011
23 posts
- J.D. Salinger, For Esme, With Love and Squalor
“Written in ink, in German, in a small, hopelessly sincere handwriting, were the words “Dear God, life is hell.” Nothing led up to or away from it. Alone on the page, and in the sickly stillness of the room, the words appeared to have the stature of an uncontestable, even classic indictment. X stared at the page for several minutes, trying, against heavy odds, not to be taken in. Then, with...
“i turned silences and nights into words. what was unutterable, i wrote down. i...”
– Arthur Rimbaud 