“There are nights that the most ingenious torturers could not have invented. We emerge from them in pieces, stupid, dazed, with neither memories nor anticipations, and without even knowing who we are. And it is then that the day seems useless, light pernicious, even more oppressive than the darkness.”—E. M. Cioran, The Trouble With Being Born
I know a few of you have expressed disappointment in there not being many English written books on Slavic myth. This is the best one I’ve found, though it’s $100 on Amazon. I found it at the UofT library. Maybe you can find it elsewhere. Good luck!
I can feel Autumn’s swift winds in my bones, and the yearning they bring from sweet, melancholy, and ancient memories. I know these harsh winds will bring the change I need, but such a great change arrives only through a greater loss.
I cannot deal with blog/recipe pages where you can’t select the “print friendly” option and they give their life story and memories of childhood evoked by a vegetable they found at a farmer’s market and 10 million artsy pictures in various stages of preparation and all I want is to make some salad.
I work near one of the biggest malls in the GTA. On hot days they have security guards standing at the entrance to each parking lot asking if you have any pets in your car. I’m so, so glad they do that. But it’s also sad that people need this reminder.
If you leave your child or pet in your hot car, you deserve to have your window smashed in (and then some).