graveyards

The bookstore was a parking lot for used graveyards. Thousands of graveyards were parked in rows like cars. Most of the books were out of print, and no one wanted to read them any more and the people who had read the books had died or forgotten about them, but through the organic process of music the books had become virgins again. They wore their ancient copyrights like new maidenheads.

i missed sam's

25¢ proof

bob and constance

"I'm crying because of all those Greeks," Bob said.
His face was so full of tears that there wasn't room for another tear. He tried to find enough room for one more tear but he couldn't find it, so he stopped crying.
"What Greeks?" Constance said and as the word's left her mouth, she knew what Greeks. It was those Greeks. She wished that she hadn't asked the question.
"The ones in the Greek Anthology," Bob said. "What about them?" Constance said and then realized that she'd said it. She felt as if she'd subconsciously set a trap for herself and then fallen into it.
"They're dead," Bob said.

Willard and His Bowling Trophies-Richard Brautigan

sure was high

walk with me

"Through the darkness of future past, the magician longs to see, one chance out between two worlds, fire walk with me!"

8-1

for my dear friend joseph steininger

'' love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases…''
Pablo Neruda

Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne

Ben Whishaw on acting

You realize that some of the things that you are feeling as a person, they can be used for something, for something bigger than yourself. You can express yourself through someone else’s words.. I guess that kind of things struck me very strongly.

rb rb rb rb rb

Probably the closest things to perfection are the huge absolutely empty holes that astronomers have recently discovered in space. If there’s nothing there, how can anything go wrong?
— Richard Brautigan

Soak it in the sun

Teddy

Teddy lingered for a moment at the door, reflectively experimenting with the door handle, turning it slowly left and right. “After I go out this door, I may only exist in the minds of all my acquaintances,” he said. “I may be an orange peel.”

Nine Stories, J.D. Salinger

Mama I's

try it all

NO MORE WORDS

F. Scott Fitzgerald

The standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering - this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutary daytime advice for every one. But at three o’clock in the morning … the cure doesn’t work - and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.