"It had taken a long time to separate her life from her death so that I could think of the first without having to think of the second. Finally I learned to let the small and simple memories float to the surface, as they did sometimes, and I no longer tried to push them down." -pp. 30
"Ashley looks at the tablecloth and shakes his head. He says that for one thing, lasting comfort becomes no comfort at all. All things in the world are perceptible only by contrast. For just as there is not heat without cold nor light without the darkness, it is climbing that throws all of Ashley's life into into sharp relief. It is climbing that makes one feel. It is the driving mountain cold that makes the fire in an alpine hut so delicious; it is the sore and cramped muscles that transform an ordinary hot bath into a sensory revelation; it is the hours of grueling ascent that make a supper of sardines and biscuits and jam so much better than a thousand dinners at the Criterion.
And it is impossible to live without hardship. The hardship of daily trifles, Ashley explains, ever accumulating and impossible to ignore, is so much meaner than pain or cold or fatigue. These annoyances make one weak and petty and shallow, just as greater struggles make one brave and wise." - pp. 81
And it continued with another amazing read by Khaled Hosseini - who has yet to disappoint me (blog here).
"But there was no forgetting. Pari hovered, unbidden, at the edge of Abdullah's vision everywhere she went. She was like the dust that clung to his shirt. She was in the silences that had become so frequent at the house, silences that welled up between their words, sometimes cold and hollow, sometimes pregnant with things that went unsaid, like a cloud filled with rain that never fell. Some nights he dreamed that he was in the desert again, alone, surrounded by mountains, and in the distance a single tiny glint of light flickering on, off, on, off, like a message...And if one day, trekking across some vast open field, despaire should take hold of him, he would stop in his tracks and shut his eyes and he would think of the falcon feather Pari had found in the desert. He would picture the feather coming loose from the bird, up in the clouds, half a mile above the world, twirling and spinning in violent currents, hurled by gusts of blustering wind across miles and miles of deserts and mountains, to finally land, of all places and against all odds, at the foot of that once boulder for his sister to find. It would strike him with wonder, then, and hope, too, that such things happened. And though he would know better, he would take heart, and he would open his eyes, and walk." -pp. 51-52.
"The Light Between Oceans" captivated me during a long and unexpected layover at Dulles, and got me through some serious cardio at the gym.
"There are still more days to travel in this life. And he knows that the man who makes the journey has been shaped by every day and every person along the way. Scares are just another kind of memory."
"Your family's never in your past. You carry it around with you everywhere."
"It seemed his lungs could never be large enough to breath in this much air, his eyes could never see this much space, nor could he hear the full extent of the rolling, roaring ocean. For the briefest moment, he had no edges."
"A Tale for the Time Being" caught me at the right moment in the right bookstore, and carried me through too many days in Las Vegas.
"Or maybe none of these things will happen except in my mind and yours, because, like I told you, together we're making magic, at least for the time being." -pp. 5
"When you beat a drum, you create NOW, when silence becomes a sound so enormous and alive it feels like you're breathing in the clouds and the sky and your heart is the rain and the thunder. Jiko says this is an example of the time being. Sound and no-sound. Thunder and silence." pp. 238
"In your diary, you quoted old Jiko saying something about not-knowing, how not-knowing is the most intimate way, or did i just dream that? Anyway, I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think maybe it's true, even though I don't really like uncertainty. I'd much rather know, but then again, not-knowing keeps all the possibilities open. It keeps all the worlds alive." -pp. 402
And then A.J. Fikry's tale stole my heart.
"No one travels without purpose. Those who are lost wish to be lost."
"Why is any one book different from any other book. They are different, A.J. decides, because they are. we have to look inside many. We have to believe. We agree to be disappointed sometimes so that we can be exhilarated every now and again."
More earmarks from that read here...
And I concluded an adventurous summer with "Wild: from Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail." And it was perfect.
"Thank you, I thought over and over again. Thank you. Not just for the long walk, but for everything I could feel finally gathered up inside of me; for everything the trail had taught me and everything I couldn't yet know, though I felt somehow already contained within me."
And of course, this gem. Lots of earmarks related to mom, too, but those will be saved for another day.
And so summer ends.
As quoted in one of the summer reads, Marcel Proust says it best:
"In reality, every reader, while he's reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, within the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. The reader's recognition in his own self of what the book says is the proof of its truth."
In honor of why we read,
~MJ
