January 19, 2010


"The defining emotion of the romantic period was yearning, not love," I heard today while passing another classroom. Yearning. The word creates delicious feelings for me. It was a pleasure to overhear this morsel of information. Yearning. It echoes so mysteriously for me.

Reading a book review via Bookslut awoke another yearning for me, today. Touching others' creations breeds a yearning to create something myself.

This passage resonated particularly strongly:
"...and the reason I was so transformed wasn’t that it was an opaque experience, with its workings hidden, allowing me to forget that it was a creation, of actors (onstage), of a director (now invisible), of a writer (once alive). It was exactly the opposite. It was that I was participating in that whorl of energy. I could feel the creation happening, right at that moment. And the best books allow their creation to bloom up, again and again, whenever they’re read, and maybe even when they’re closed, on the shelf."

Read the full review here.

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