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Favourite lines

Who wants to be consistent? The dullard and the doctrinaire, the tedious people who carry out their principles to the bitter end of action, to the reductio ad absurdum of practice. Not I. Like Emerson, I write over the door of my library the word “Whim.”

 

 

Beautiful things

It’s strange to look back on the development of a thought and see what unusual detours it made and which connections happened along the way. Mostly such criss-crossing leads nowhere at all, but sometimes they lead up to a personal or general truth. I love those moments when something that was vague becomes transparent like morning dew on a cat’s whisker.

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This morning I daydreamed of wandering around in an abandoned wild garden. I lived next to it as a child, so it is firmly rooted in reality. There was an apple tree in that garden with the darkest red apples I have ever seen. They didn’t taste very good, but they had pink flesh. Very beautiful bright pink like the sunset on a watercolour painting. Our family made preserves of these apples and then their taste changed and became sweet. Such apples I’ve never seen anywhere else. I also explored the abandoned villa on the same property, climbed up a narrow staircase, almost fell, but reached a tower room with windows on all three sides. The windows were not broken, but there were cobwebs, white lace curtains, and street lamps lighting it up like moonlight. I had a companion with me and we had dialogues befitting a symbolist play. How can you not turn symbolist with apples like that? And gardens and rooms like that? It entertained me for 2 hours. Such are my favourite mornings.