Whom did he love?
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Whom did he love?
Is something the matter? I asked, but of course she didn’t answer. She didn’t believe in questions.
Anatole Broyard • Kafka Was the Rage: A Greenwich Village Memoir
There are certain aboriginal tribes who get disturbed if you take a photograph of them. They’d say something like, “don’t do that, our souls are trapped in there.” The fear is that the picture imprisons the essence of the subject. Once you look at a picture of yourself, you might slip into “looking at being,” instead of “living through becoming”—yo
... See moreThen he does mention home – he mentions his daughter, he implies a wife, and never names either – and this brings a grieving splitting sensation: there’s a whole life there she cannot see and will never occupy – a series of loves and languages all incomprehensible to her, she is absolutely peripheral, bolted-on, and the bolts are coming loose.