That there can still be as-yet untranslated fiction by [Tove] Jansson is simultaneously an aberration and a delight, like finding buried treasure.
Ali SmithI went outside mournful, and I hit pure air. The air was full of birdsong. I went outside expecting rain but it was sunny, it was so suddenly, so openly sunny, with so sharp a spring light coming off the river, that I went down the side of the riverbank and sat in among the daffodils.
Ali SmithOh. To be filled with goodness then shattered by goodness, so beautifully mosaically fragmented by such shocking goodness.
Ali SmithThe whole point is, we can forget. It’s important that we forget some things. Otherwise we’d go round the world carrying a hotload of stuff we just don’t need.
Ali SmithI fall in love. More figuratively speaking, I am walking along the road one day when out of nowhere I am struck by lightning.
Ali SmithTags: love
To be known so well by someone is an unimaginable gift. But to be imagined so well by someone is even better.
Ali SmithThe thing about trees is that they know what to do. When a leaf loses its colour, it's not because its time is up and it's dying, it's because the tree is taking back into itself the nutrients the leaf's been holding in reserve for it, out there on the twig, and why leaves change colour in autumn is because the tree is preparing for winter, it's filling itself with its own stored health so it can withstand the season. Then, clever tree, it literally pushes the used leaf off with the growth that's coming behind it. But because that growth has to protect itself through winter too, the tree fills the little wound in its branch or twig where the leaf was with a protective corky stuff which seals it against cold and bacteria.
Otherwise every leaf lost would be an open wound on a tree and a single tree would be covered in thousands of little wounds.
Clever trees.
Tags: growth-life
Jei žinai, kad jau pasimetei, tai reiškia, kad tikriausiai netrukus nepasimesi. Teisingai?
Ali SmithTags: path
L’amore se ne infischia del soldo, l’amore è più caldo del caldo. Che sia vinta la guerra o sia persa, è l’amore che il mondo attraversa. L’amore non fa rima né ha ragioni, l’amore rende pazzo chi lo ha. L’amore sopravvive alle stagioni […]. L’amore vince i giochi, ogni contesa, che scoppi sulla terra o dentro al mare. Nessuna risorsa è meglio spesa, di quelle bruciate per amare.
Ali SmithTags: amore-guerra
(this is before we're living together, before we do the most faithful act of all, mix our separate books into one library)
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