How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.

Sick in bed with a movie that made me cry. Fridays.

It is 4.22AM in the morning.

I've just finished A History of Love and I found it to be a fucking waste of my time.

Until I did my after-Googling and remembered everything I've read. This is the longest I've ever taken to finish because in flat honesty, it bored me shitless. It was only bits and pieces that burned into my head. And I guess that's just the impractical but searing beauty of this book.

Charlotte Singer.

The only character who didn't disgust me. And the only character I could cry for. I could really care less for everyone else. But her world, destructed, was the only one that I ached for.

“She’s kept her love for him as alive as the summer they first met. In order to do this, she’s turned life away. Sometimes she subsists for days on water and air. Being the only known complex life-form to do this, she should have a species named after her. Once Uncle Julian told me how the sculptor and painter Alberto Giacometti said that sometimes just to paint a head you have to give up the whole figure. To paint a leaf, you have to sacrifice the whole landscape. It might seem like you’re limiting yourself at first, but after a while you realize that having a quarter-of-an-inch of something you have a better chance of holding on to a certain feeling of the universe than if you pretended to be doing the whole sky.

My mother did not choose a leaf or a head. She chose my father. And to hold on to a certain feeling, she sacrificed the world.”

― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

Poor soul.

Tonight I'm going to do some work and draw instead of sleep. WISH ME LUCK AND SANITY.