When I read a book I like to remember my favourite parts.
This week I read Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction by J.D Salinger. Here is what I copied and pasted from this book into my journal.
She worries over the way her love for me comes and goes, appears and disappears. She doubts its reality simply because it isn’t as steadily pleasurable as a kitten. God knows it is sad. The human voice conspires to desecrate everything on earth.
Poetry, sure is, a crisis.
That the more personal Seymour’s poems appear to be, or are, the less revealing the content is of any known details of his actual fails life in this Western world.
Yet a real artist, I’ve noticed, will survive anything.
There are no fools, dopes, yes – fools, no.
Guilt is an imperfect form of knowledge.
Just because it isn’t perfect doesn’t mean it can’t be used.
I never, never failed to have more of Seymour’s hair on me than my own.
Could you not try aiming so much? If you hit him while you aim, it will just be luck.
Pride, on the other hand is one of the fastest moving things in this world.
We just go to one little piece of Holy Ground to the next.Return to issues