coach sylvester was uncharacteristically solemn in this week’s episode. don’t want to completely ruin it for those who haven’t seen it yet, but i’m not really sure how this is going to play into the storyline.
I miss my sister. The smell of her shampoo. The way she could always convince me to read her another book. When you love someone like I loved her, they’re a part of you. It’s like you’re attached by this invisible tether and no matter how far away you are, you can always feel them. And now every time I reach for that tether, I know there’s no one on the other end. And I feel like I’m falling into nothingness…
sad sad sad.
finally watched it after all these years.
We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman: “O me, o life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life? Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
an excerpt from river town by peter hessler. read this book last year and stumbled across it whilst packing.
“it was hard for me to imagine a better job. my students were eager and respectful, and they were bright. the college was not prestigious, but in china less than 2 percent of the population attend any schooling beyond high school, which meant that even fuling’s students were a very select group. in fact i was glad to be at a lower-level school, because there was an unpolished quality to the students that i had never seen before. everywhere else i had been, education rounded off the edges much earlier – in america, even high school students were cagey, cynical, suspicious. education was a game and students played it, but in fuling they hadn’t yet reached that point. their intelligence was still raw – it smelled of the countryside, of sweat and much, of night soil and ripening rapeseed and everything else that compose the sichuanese farmland. and in their thoughts were flashes of the land, glimpses of the same sort of hard beauty that surrounded the teachers college, where the campus ended in terraced fields that ran steep up the side of raise the flag mountain.”