There is no greater comfort in my life than those soothing tones cradled in a woman’s words.
all of it true too, though of course scars are much harder to read. Their complex inflections do not resemble the reductive ease of any tattoo, no matter how extensive, colorful, or elaborate the design. Scars are the paler pain of survival, received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury.
Wer du auch seist: am abend tritt hinaus aus deiner Stube, drin du alles weibt; als letztes vor der Ferne liegt dein Haus: Wer du auch seist.
Whoever you are, go out into the evening.
leaving your room, of which you know each bit;
your hours is the last before the infinite,
whoever you are.
Though I can see, I walk in total darkness. And though I feel, I care less than I see.
…The only thing he ever said was “So?”
The boat’s gone. “So?”
Your mate’s dead. “So?”
Hey at least you’re alive. “So?”
An awful word but it does harden you.
It hardened me.
While the pragmatic space of animals is a function of inborn instincts, man has to learn what orientation he needs in order to act.
Christian Norberg-Schulz p. 74
He wanted to go to bed with her immediately, pull the sheets around them, dig his toes into the mattress, her heals pushing against his calves, her fingers running rivers along his sides. But these days fantasies flourish and die like summer flies.
House of Leaves p. 544