I received the fundamentals of my education in school, but that was not enough. My real education, the superstructure, the details, the true architecture, I got out of the public library. For an impoverished child whose family could not afford to buy books, the library was the open door to wonder and achievement, and I can never be sufficiently grateful that I had the wit to charge through that door and make the most of it.
Now, when I read constantly about the way in which library funds are being cut and cut, I can only think that the door is closing and that American society has found one more way to destroy itself.
Tolstoy stumbles up to the counter, clutching a ragged, grey blanket around his shoulders. “Is it cold in here?” he stammers. “I feel like it’s cold in here.” The barista, too, is shivering. He offers Tolstoy a small cup of hot coffee. Snow drifts into the shop from the street. The barista nestles against the counter to conserve warmth. Tolstoy decides that the only way to survive is to leave the Starbucks and the barista behind. He wanders for what seems like an eternity, but he is still no closer to the door. The barista calls out to him. Tolstoy fights his way through the snow back to his barista, and they huddle together as they succumb to hypothermia.
Tolkien goes up to the counter and orders a Teavana Shaken Iced Blackberry Mojito Tea Lemonade. All of the hipsters inside the shop overhear and immediately go up and order the same thing. Tolkien is enraged and storms out, screaming that everyone misunderstood what he was trying to order.
"To all the women who silently made history"
Tuscany, Italy | by Elia Locardi
This was part of the reason I used to read
For people who refuse to grow. m.v., Advice to my future daughter, #2. (via dontwakemamabear)
B. Scott (via quoteessential)
Glimpsed between the branches. In your eyes there shines
The strangeness of a sky that isn’t yours. Cesare Pavese, from “Notturno,” Hard Labor: Poems, trans. William Arrowsmith (Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979)