You know: in a foolish, undiscriminating way, I've been happy these last few months. I don't know why. I just am. I love my friends; I love my pupils; I love what I read; I -- dammit -- love my thoughts. I love the taste of oranges.
Thornton Wilder in a letter to Gertrude Stein, Aug 14, 1936

Thursday, July 14, 2011


But though I confined my Family, I could not prevail upon my unsatistfy'd Curiosity to stay within entirely myself; and though I generally came frighted and terrified Home, yet I could not restrain, only that indeed, I did not do it so frequently as at first...In these Walks I had many dismal Scenes before my Eyes, as particularly of Persons falling dead in the Streets, terrible shrieks and shreekings of women who in the Agonies would throw open their Chamber Windows, and cry out in a dismal, surprising Manner; it is impossible to describe the Variety of Postures in which the Passions of the Poor People would Express themselves.

Daniel Defoe, A Journal of the Plague Year (1772)


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