"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."
~ Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms



"Our lives disconnect and reconnect, we move on, and later we may touch one another, again bounce away. This is the felt shape of a human life, neither simply linear nor wholly disjunctive nor endlessly bifurcating, but rather this bouncey sequence of bumping into's and tumblings apart."
~ Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet



Friday, February 19, 2010

A Note from Catherine...In Madrid...



While having a drink this evening at Chicote's bar I was thinking of Picasso and Cervantes and these thoughts occured to me:

Do we all not feel at times a bit quixotic, a lttle too much like Don Quixote,suffering from delusions of grandeur in one way or another. And like Cervantes we sigh and think, "En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor." This we want to believe is real, that this man exists - this man, "...whose name I do not care to recall...." That we exist,and are as real as the "ferocious giants" that Don Quixote see's and then we awake and realize that they are but windmills.

We resign at times and enter into our seasons of melancholy as dreams of quests fade into the recesses of our minds...we mutter of adventures yet we feel more familiarity with Wittgenstein and think, "Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muß man schweigen."
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