"You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw -- but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of -- something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clap-clap of water against the boat's side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it -- tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest -- if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself -- you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say "Here at last is the thing I was made for". We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all."
-C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain
29.12.12
28.12.12
3.12.12
2.4.12
10.3.12
6.3.12
Vintage Time//Family Photos
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| Grandparents, wedding day. Obviously! |
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| Sassy Gran Catherine! |
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| Who cares? He has a pocket watch! |
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| Not sure, but he looks like a boss. |
22.2.12
20.2.12
Quote//I Don't Understand
“I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.” -Jonathan Safran Foer
photo via Miss Jess.
19.2.12
18.2.12
InstaCalifornia//CA in January
Within a few hours of landing, I realized my brother's camera was terrible, and even if it wasn't...I just wanted to Instagram my entire trip to CA. The following shots include Sacramento, Lake Tahoe, and Muir Woods & Beach.
15.2.12
Berlinist//Ollie Falls Asleep
Berlinist, I have no idea how I found you. But I think it's cute that your dog and I both fall asleep to the same sounds-or is it weird? Not sure yet.
Lady Danville//Operating
Lady Danville not only has no ladies, but has also got its poppy bro rock stuck in my head.
It's Time & Oliver Tank//Last Night
For anyone that's been under a rock or busy kicking puppies, here's It's Time, the best visual/audio experience in favor of marriage equality....and Oliver Tank's "Last Night I Heard Everything in Slow Motion" that I (and everyone else, apparently) had to hear again after It's Time ended.
It's Time.
Oliver Tank-Last Night I Heard Everything in Slow Motion
It's Time.
Oliver Tank-Last Night I Heard Everything in Slow Motion
14.2.12
9.2.12
Nothing Good Gets Away//Steinbeck 1958
I love reading Letters of Note, and I particularly like John Steinbeck's response to his son Thom. Read the full version here.
November 10, 1958
[...]There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had. [...]
But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. [...]
And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
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