~ Walter Benjamin (via gravellyrun)
The air and its light are described as ‘melted’, ‘glazed’, ‘unctuous’, ‘elastic’, ‘fermenting’, ‘contracted’, ‘distended’, ‘solidified’, ‘distilled’, ‘scattered’, ‘liquid’, ‘woven’, ‘brittle’, ‘powdery’, ‘crumbing’, ‘embalmed’, ‘congealed’, ‘gummy’, ‘flaked’, ‘squeezed’, ‘frayed’, ‘pressed’, ‘percolated’, ‘vitalised’ and even ‘burning.
~ Ever Kosofsky Sedgwick from The Weather in Proust (via gravellyrun)
Occasionally the river floods these places.
“Floods” is the word they use, but in fact [the river] is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All
water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get to where
it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what
valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that
was there and the route back to our original place. It’s emotional
memory—what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how
it appeared. And a rush of imagination is our “flooding.
Toni Morrison, “The Site of Memory,” in Russell
Ferguson, et. al.,
Out There: Marginalization and Contemporary Culture
(Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1990), 305
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (via itsquoted)
The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls.
~ Italo Calvino