"I don't think anything's wrong with him, sir," he'd said, carefully. "I just think he's not—" Happy, he nearly said. But what was happiness but an extravagance, an impossible state to maintain, partly because it was so difficult to articulate? He couldn't remember being a child and being able to define happiness: there was only misery, or fear, and the absence of misery or fear, and the latter state was all he had needed or wanted. "I think he's shy," he finished.
Bazen ölüm korkusuna
Panzehir olarak,
Yıldızları yerim.
Rebecca Elson, "Antidotes to Fear of Death", A Responsibility to Awe
0-30p: Kontrollü okuyucu 📖
40-70p: Hafif bağımlı 👀
80p+: Geçmiş olsun, kitaplar seni ele geçirmiş 😅
... a four-year-old First Nations child, Carlene, had a pin stuck in her tongue on her first day at a federally mandated, church-run residential school not far from where I lived. Her crime had been to speak her Native language in the classroom. For an hour this little girl could not put her tongue back in her mouth for fear of cutting her lips. Soon after, years of sexual abuse began. By age nine Carlene was an alcoholic and later became dependent on opiates to soothe her pain. We met at a healing ceremony not long ago and that was when, sobbing and trembling with emotion, she told me her story. I thought I had heard everything. I had not. Now a grandmother and years sober, she grieves to see her grandchildren suffer the throes of addiction.
Kötü bir resim asarım korkusuyla hiç resim asmadım; kötü yaşarım korkusuyla hiç yaşamadım.
I never hung a painting for fear it might be a bad one; I never stopped living for fear I might live badly.
Oh, what ridiculous resolutions men take when possessed with fear!
