moonrise kingdom

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4. Sam: So, what do you want to be when you grow up?
5. Suzy: I don't know...I want go on adventures I think--not get stuck in one place. How about you?
6. Sam: Go on adventures too, not get stuck too.

conroy

“What's important is that a story changes every time you say it out loud. When you put it on paper, it can never change. But the more times you tell it, the more changes will occur. A story is a living thing; it moves and shifts” 
― Pat Conroy, South of Broad

“The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave 

anything out. I have read like a man on fire my whole life because the 

genius of English teachers touched me with the dazzling beauty of language. 

Because of them I rode with Don Quixote and danced with Anna Karenina at a 

ball in St. Petersburg and lassoed a steer in "Lonesome Dove" and had 

nightmares about slavery in "Beloved" and walked the streets of Dublin in 

"Ulysses" and made up a hundred stories in the Arabian nights and saw my 

mother killed by a baseball in "A Prayer for Owen Meany." I've been in ten 

thousand cities and have introduced myself to a hundred thousand strangers 

in my exuberant reading career, all because I listened to my fabulous 

English teachers and soaked up every single thing those magnificent men and 

women had to give. I cherish and praise them and thank them for finding me 

when I was a boy and presenting me with the precious gift of the English 

language. ” 

― Pat Conroy

stains

my sweet old lady, german shepherd, abby is almost 11 and plagued now with hip dysplasia. I describe watching her bolt out and run searching for me when she hears the car engine humming along towards home as one of the moments in life where the heart swells. That swelling fills with you awareness of its endless capacity to grow and for a few moments, enables you to forget how difficult it is to love. It feels like someone poured a pitcher of goopy, semifluid paint into a small bowl with a border of cut out holes around the top and the amorphous liquid rushes out and clings to the surrounding structures-- leaving them touched with a lightness and hope.

eventually, the fluid dissolves and what just transpired is forgotten but I'd like to think that some of that colorant stains.

to reach

"Always in the dream, it seemed as if there were a destination: a something--he could not grasp what-that lay beyond the place where the thickness of snow brought the sled to a stop. He was left, upon awakening, with the feeling that he wanted, even somehow needed, to reach the something that waited in the distance. The feeling that it was good. That it was welcoming. That it was significant. But he did not know how to get there."
- Lois Lowry, The Giver

construct

“Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.” 
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

fairy's wing

“But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque and fantastic conceits haunted him in his bed at night. A universe of ineffable gaudiness spun itself out in his brain while the clock ticked on the washstand and the moon soaked with wet light his tangled clothes upon the floor. Each night he added to the pattern of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an oblivious embrace. For awhile these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing.”
-Fitzgerald, TGG

to convey

“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced--or seemed to face--the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.” 
F.S. Fitzgerald, TGG

autumnal face

"No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace 

As I have seen in one autumnal face.” - John 

Donne 

the world

“The world was in her heart already, like the small spot of decay in a fruit.” 
― Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory

glittering

“Her eyes were glittering like the eyes of a child when you give a nice surprise, and she laughed with a sudden throaty, tingling way. It is the way a woman laughs for happiness. They never laugh that way just when they are being polite or at a joke. A woman only laughs that way a few times in her life. A woman only laughs that way when something has touched her way down in the very quick of her being and the happiness just wells out as natural as breath and the first jonquils and mountain brooks. When a woman laughs that way it always does something to you. It does not matter what kind of a face she has got either. You hear that laugh and feel that you have grasped a clean and beautiful truth. You feel that way because that laugh is a revelation. It is a great impersonal sincerity. It is a spray of dewy blossom from the great central stalk of All Being, and the woman’s name and address hasn’t got a damn thing to do with it. Therefore, the laugh cannot be faked. If a woman could learn to fake it she would make Nell Gwyn and Pompadour look like a couple of Campfire Girls wearing bifocals and ground-gripper shoes with bands on their teeth. She could get all society by the ears. For all any man really wants is to hear a woman laugh like that.” 
― Robert Penn Warren, All The King's Men

one point on the map

“There is nothing more alone than being in a car at night in the rain. I was in the car. And I was glad of it. Between one point on the map and another point on the map, there was the being alone in the car in the rain. They say you are not you except in terms of relation to other people. If there weren't any other people there wouldn't be any you because what you do which is what you are, only has meaning in relation to other people. That is a very comforting thought when you are in the car in the rain at night alone, for then you aren't you, and not being you or anything, you can really lie back and get some rest. It is a vacation from being you. There is only the flow of the motor under you foot spinning that frail thread of sound out of its metal guy like a spider, that filament, that nexus, which isn't really there, between the you which you have just left in one place and the you which you will be where you get to the other place.” 

― Robert Penn Warren