ece
@moonyreads
into the mystic
she/her. infj.
Şu anda okuduğu kitap
The truth is we all have two faces, and many more. I won’t try to cutely parse them. Nothing invites criticism like a subjective taxonomy. But I will say: Nearly all of Phil’s moral and intellectual and behavioral shortcomings, his limitations and annoying tics, his cognitive dissonances, possessed some sort of counterweight—if not in perfect balance to his sins.
“Kötü bir anıyı unutmanın en iyi yolu güzel bir tanesiyle değişmektir.”
Delos: birthplace of Apollo, god of the sun, of art and knowledge, of straight shots and laurels and swans. Of poetry. Of prophesy. Beautiful, too: youth’s very ideal. You’d think I’d like him—and I do, actually; we have a good deal in common. Still, even allegorically, I am leery of courting his patronage; too aware of his storied conduct toward women like me—of “godly” men more generally, ever ready to credit themselves for women’s gifts then demand a quid pro quo.
Never confuse guilt for desire, not to mention activism. About suffering they were never wrong, the old masters. But what they knew, what is now too often forgotten, is that for suffering to be worthy of art, truth is not enough. It also requires beauty. To serve an aesthetic purpose beyond the suffering itself.
The insistence on coin-flip math, his crusade against luck, how he spoke of his family—his obdurate cognitive dissonance was all, though perhaps not consciously, calibrated to reinforce the twin themes of his personal brand: prediction and rarity. He was a rare medium.
—And one final thing, Phil. Your wife, Raleigh? She already went ahead and named the baby. But I think you’ll agree it’s the perfect choice.
—Meet Virginia, said Sunny.