"I note however that this diary writing does not count as writing, since I have just re-read my year’s diary and am much struck by the rapid haphazard gallop at which it swings along, sometimes indeed jerking almost intolerably over the cobbles. Still if it were not written rather faster than the fastest type-writing, if I stopped and took thought, it would never be written at all; and the advantage of the method is that it sweeps up accidentally several stray matters which I should exclude if I hesitated, but which are the diamonds of the dustheap."
"A disgraceful confession — this is Sunday morning and just after ten, and here I am sitting down to write diary and not fiction or reviews, without any excuse, except the state of my mind."
"Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don’t I write it down oftener? Well, one’s vanity forbids. I want to appear a success even to myself. Yet I don’t get to the bottom of it."
De aici.
Blogul nu poate fi decît aşa. Un jurnal, ba mai şchiop ca un jurnal. Şi de aceea, "Vai de mănuşă!", el nu începe şi nu se termină decît la autorul său ca un fir de nisip - slab, leneş, orgolios, smucit, locuitor de cochilie, fericit în mucusul singurătăţii sale.
(Foto: Sub Arini, Trinkbach îngheţat, V.D.N.)
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De acord cu... Virginia Woolf! :)
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