There are things that can't be said, because it's hard to have to know them.
Ali SmithTag: ali-smith the-acciental
Then I saw her smile so close to my eye that there was nothing to see but the smile and the thought came into my head that I’d never been inside a smile before. Who’d have thought being inside a smile would be so ancient and so modern both at once
Ali SmithMidge, inimioara mea dulce și cumplit de cinică, spune bunicul. Va trebui să înveți acel tip de speranță care transformă lucrurile în istorie. Altfel, n-o să existe vreo șansă pentru propriile tale adevăruri mărețe, și nici un adevăr bun pentru proprii tăi nepoți.
Ali SmithWhat shop did this book come from? she asked. Her father was looking worried at the cooker. He always got rice wrong. I don't know, Brooksie, he said, I don't remember. That was unimaginable, not remembering where a book has come from! and where it was bought from! That was part of the whole history, the whole point, of any book that you owned! And when you picked it up later in the house at home, you knew, you just knew by looking and having it in your hand, where it came from and where you got it and when and why you'd decided to buy it.
Ali SmithI went outside mournful, and I hit pure air.
Ali SmithWhat would happen if you did just shut a door and stop speaking? Hour after hour after hour of no words. Would you speak to yourself? Would words just stop being useful? Would you lose language altogether? Or would words mean more, would they start to mean in every direction, all somersault and assault, like a thuggery of fireworks? Would they proliferate, like untended plantlife? Would the inside of your head overgrow with every word that has ever come into it, every word that has ever silently taken seed or fallen dormant? Would your own silence make other things noisier? Would all the things you’d ever forgotten, all layered there inside you, come bouldering up and avalanche you?
Ali Smithremember you must live.
remember you most love.
remainder you mist leaf.
Tag: muriel-spark remember-you-must-die
Outside the leaves on the trees constricted slightly; they were the deep done green of the beginning of autumn. It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four. The clouds were high and the swallows would be here for another month or so before they left for the south before they returned again next summer.
Ali SmithTag: time live seasons lack september end-of-summer make-the-most
Tonight I can smell the season the way it's usually only possible to at the very first moments of its return, before you're used to it, when you've forgotten its smell, then there it is back in the air and the flow of things shifting and resettling again.
Ali SmithTag: memory smell season first-days flashback
[...] its small squares of fast-passing light, the early evening windows of the lives of hundreds of others.
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