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One Italian Summer
“History, memory is by definition fiction. Once an event is no longer present, but remembered, it is narrative. And we can choose the narratives we tell—about our own lives, our own stories, our own relationships. We can choose the chapters we give meaning.”
Grief
Memory
Fiction
History
The Art of Recklessness: Poetry as Assertive Force and Contradiction
“What tame, memory-dependent work I was doing. How polite my poems were, how still they sat, how representational. We poets talked about craft, but what we meant were tricks and illusions.”
Poetry
Illusions
Craft
Tricks
Writing Craft
Poetry Craft
The Arrangement
“Lucullus placed a live fish in a glass jar in front of every diner at his table. The better the death, the better the meal would taste.
Catherine de Medici brought her cooks to France when she married, and those cooks brought sherbet and custard and cream puffs, artichokes and onion soup, and the idea of roasting birds with oranges. As well as cooks, she brought embroidery and handkerchiefs, perfumes and lingerie, silverware and glassware and the idea that gathering around a table was something to be done thoughtfully. In essence, she brought being French to France.
Everything started somewhere else. She thought of Tim's note:
write to me
. He didn't want to hear about Lucullus and Catherine de Medici; but she loved her old tomes and the things unearthed there, the ballast they lent, the safety of information. She spread her notebooks open across the table. There was a recipe for roasted locusts from ancient Egypt, and on the facing page, her own memory of the first thing she ever cooked, the curry sauce and Anne's chocolate.”
Ancient History
Famous Chefs
Old Recipes
Mfk Fisher
Catherine De Medicis
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Self-evaluation proved to be distasteful business. The refraction of light created from an undulating wave of critical self-observation passing through a tarnished lens produces its own morose, self-negating fixations that can result in a dangerous downward spiral. Unless timely arrested, murderous bouts of self-hatred can destroy a person. A person must use self-detestation exclusively as a means to pry oneself away from the haunting specter created courtesy of the clamor, filth, and grunginess of their prior anarchism. Kick starting a stranded person’s emotional motors through reflective contemplation and thoughtful rumination acts to prod loose remote memories seared in the unspoken silence of a person’s unconscious memory bank. Self-discovery is also an uplifting affair. Contemplation helps one confront their streaked presence and realign their inner voice with the sanguine spirits of their ancestors that preceded one in the walk through time.”
Self Discovery
Inner Voice
Self Hatred
Self Criticism
Self Evaluation
Self Evolution
Self Critic
Self Observation
Self Critical
Mind Chatter
The Social History of Art: Volume 4: Naturalism, Impressionism, The Film Age
“Aesthetic culture implies a way of life marked by uselessness and superfluousness, that is to say, the embodiment of romantic resignation and passivity. But it outdoes romanticism; it not only renounces life for the sake of art, it seeks for the justification of life in art itself. It regards the world of art as the only real compensation for the disappointments of life, as the genuine realization and consummation of an existence that is intrinsically incomplete and inarticulate. But this not only means that life seems more beautiful and more conciliatory when clothed in art, but that, as Proust, the last great impressionist and aesthetic hedonist, thought, it only grows into significant reality in memory, vision and the aesthetic experience. We live our experiences with the greatest intensity not when we encounter men and things in reality—the ‘time’ and the present of these experiences are always ‘lost’—but when we ‘recover time’, when we are no longer the actors but the spectators of our life, when we create or enjoy works of art, in other words, when we remember. Here, in Proust, art takes possession of what Plato had denied it: ideas—the true remembrance of the essential forms of being.”
Time
Memory
Remember
Ideas
Proust
Aesthestic
“... it struck me with a huge sense of relief that I would never be returning, that everything I saw I was seeing for the final time. That the houses and the places that disappeared behind me were also disappearing out of my life, for good. Little did I know then that every detail of this landscape, and every single person living in it, would forever be lodged in my memory with a ring as true as perfect pitch.”
Norwegian Literature
Citizens of Peace: Beyond the Savagery of Sovereignty
“Time is memory - where there is memory, there is time, where there is no memory, there is no time.”
Time
Psychology
Memory
Time Quotes
Neuropsychology
Brainy Quotes
Human Mind
Neuroscience
Pearls Of Wisdom
Human Memory
Aether
“The wise is a fool aware of the reasons for his sorrow
His mind on the opportune moment recovering a key memory
The fool is the one who thinks wisdom to be an incessant state of mind”
Wisdom
Wisdom Quotes
Learning From Mistakes
Being Wise
Foolish People
Foolishness Quote
Foolishnessshness
Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors
“Let's get her to her room. She'll be fine." This time she didn't care how harsh she sounded.
"Why don't we let a doctor decide that?" he said, so coolly he couldn't possibly be messing with her... could he?
"A doctor
is
deciding that. So if you don't mind." She pushed him out of the way and grabbed her sister's am. The action made her feel like she was six and playing at being doctor instead of actually being one, and that shot her rioting emotions right into intense annoyance.
"I'm sorry," he said utterly unapologetically. "How could I forget?" And then she could swear he muttered, "The worth of your hands and all that," under his breath.
She couldn't remember the last time her ears had heated with embarrassment. What was it with him getting so hung up on that? Her hands
were
worth too much to burn on saving a pot of caramel. Why was that so hard to understand? He should be glad- she was going to save his sister's life, for shit's sake.
"That's okay," she said, then she matched his mumble with, "It's not like you need a photographic memory to cook food.”
Dj Caine
Trisha And Dj
Trisha Raje
Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors
“DJ, let Trisha look. She's really good at this doctor thing," Ashna said and Trisha Raje grinned at her as though she had just dropped the deepest curtsy in front of her.
DJ picked up the colander filled with okra and moved to the fryer. "As I've already mentioned, my hands are fine. I hope yours are still worth as much as they were last evening." Definitely a petty bastard.
That made her tilt her head in confusion again. Apparently, you needed no memory at all to get through medical school. Or maybe it was he who needed to have his head examined for remembering every word that had come out of her mouth like some fragile, egotistical half-wit.”
Prideful
Payback
Bastard
Dj Caine
Trisha And Dj
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Editing a written text is a collaborative enterprise that commences with the other parties commenting up the author’s initial ideas and it can include technical assistance in correction of grammatical mistakes, misspellings, poorly structured sentences, vague or inconsistent statements, and correcting errors in citations. Editing is as much as an art form as writing a creative piece of literature. A good editor is a trusted person whom instructs the writer to speak plainly and unabashedly informs the writer when they write absolute gibberish. Perhaps the most successful relationship between a writer and an editor is the storied relationship shared by Thomas Wolfe and his renowned editor, Maxwell Perkins. By all accounts, the prodigiously talented and mercurial Wolfe was hypersensitive to criticism. Perkins provided Wolfe with constant reassurance and substantially trimmed the text of his books. Before Perkins commenced line editing and proofreading Wolfe’s bestselling autobiography Look Homeward, Angel,’ the original manuscript exceeded 1,100 pages. In a letter to Maxwell Perkins, Thomas Wolfe declared that his goal when writing “Look Homeward, Angel,” was “to loot my life clean, if possible of every memory which a buried life and the thousand faces of forgotten time could awaken and to weave it into a … densely woven web.” After looting my own dormant memories by delving into the amorphous events that caused me to lose faith in the world and assembling the largely formless mulch into a narrative manuscript of dubious length, I understand why a writer wishes to thank many people for their assistance, advice, and support in publishing a book.”
Editing
Memoir
Writers On Writing
Writing Process
Writing Advice
Acknowledgement
Editor
Memoir Writing
Essayist
Publishing Process
“Memory has ambushed her again, slamming down a wall between her and the present moment. Sometimes it comes in order, like a story, sometimes in flashes, like a series of snapshots. Sometimes it comes in a split second, cutting through the middle of another thought. It grabs her and won't let her pay attention to what is being said around her. Other times it just settles softly down on her like a pillow, cutting off air.”
Memory
Ptsd
Trauma
Traumatic Memories
Flashbacks
Traumatic Stress
Little Wrecks
Red Sparrow
“... Zyuganov authorized a course of amobarbital that unpeeled Nasarenko's memory enough for him to walk them through the recent past, ...”
Sedatives
Truth Serum
The Journal of A Perimeter Man Vol. IV Metaphor Bridge
“We are God's Memory Palace. We are an interactive holographic construct of dynamic memory being visualized by a higher form of consciousness.”
Personal Transformation
What Are We
Love in the Afternoon
“What do you think of her?" he asked.
Annandale replied without hesitation. "I would marry her myself, were I five years younger."
"Five?" Christopher repeated skeptically.
"Ten, damn you." But a slight smile had appeared on the earl's time-weathered face. "I commend you on your choice. She's a spirited girl. Fearless, Lovely in her own way, and with her charm she has no need of true beauty. You'll need to keep a firm hand on the reins, but the trouble will be worth it." He paused, looking wistful. "Once you've had a woman like that, you can never be content with the ordinary kind."
Christopher had been about to argue over the question of Beatrix's beauty, which in his opinion was unequaled. But that last sentence caught his attention. "You're referring to Grandmother?" he asked.
"No. Your grandmother was the kind of woman I thought I should marry. I was in love with someone else- a far less suitable girl. And I let her go, to my everlasting regret." He sighed, pondering some distant memory. "A lifetime without her..."
Fascinated, Christopher wanted to ask more... but this was hardly the time or place for such a conversation. However, it gave him an unexpected insight into his grandfather. What would it do to a man, to marry a Prudence when one might have had a Beatrix? It would be enough to turn anyone bitter.”
Comparison
Approval
Grandfather
Beatrix And Christopher
Beatrix Hathaway
Prudence Mercer
How to Read a Book: The Classic Guide to Intelligent Reading
“The vice of "verbalism" can be defined as the bad habit of using words without regard for the thoughts they should convey and without awareness of the experiences to which they should refer. It is playing with words. As the two tests we have suggested indicate, "verbalism" is the besetting sin of those who fail to read analytically. Such readers never get beyond the words. They possess what they read as a verbal memory that they can recite emptily. (P. 127)”
Empty Words
Reading For Undertanding
Analytical Reading
Verbalism
Lady Sophia's Lover
“Some people did stand out in her memory, one of them being Sir Grant Morgan's wife, Lady Victoria. Having long been curious about what kind of woman would wed the intimidating giant, Sophia was surprised to discover that his wife was quite small of stature. Lady Victoria was also one of the most spectacularly beautiful women Sophia had ever seen, with a voluptuous figure, a profusion of vivid red hair, and a vivacious smile.
"Lady Sophia," the petite red-haired woman said warmly, "no words can express how thrilled we are that Sir Ross has finally married. Only a remarkable woman could have enticed him away from widowerhood."
Sophia returned her smile. "The advantage of the match is entirely mine, I assure you."
Sir Grant interceded, his green eyes twinkling warmly. He seemed far different from when he was at Bow Street, and Sophia observed that he basked in the presence of his wife as a cat would in sunshine. "I beg to disagree, my lady," he told Sophia. "The match holds many advantages for Sir Ross- which is obvious to all who know him."
"Indeed," Lady Victoria added thoughtfully, her gaze finding Ross's dark form as he stood in a separate receiving line. "I've never seen him look so well. In fact, this may be the first time I've ever seen him smile."
"And his face didn't even crack," Morgan commented.
"Grant," his wife scolded beneath her breath. Sophia laughed. Morgan winked at her and drew his wife away.”
Victoria And Grant
Victoria Devane
Good Natured Banter
Sophia Sydney
Accomplishing the Impossible: What God Does, What We Can Do
“Without an acknowledgment of God and God’s law in one’s life, momentary pleasures will be continually contaminated by gnawing guilt. Momentary pleasures would become meaningless as each raw experience would be stripped of deep meaning and sweet memory, Each day’s work would become sheer drudgery, beauties of nature would become boring, and children would be deemed nuisances to be endured. Without God’s moral underpinnings, political behavior would be skewed toward short-term expediency, lurching nervously from crisis to crisis.”
Happiness
Morality
Obedience
Hedonism
Momentary Pleasure
Reflection
“The Lady of Forgetfulness passed the sword to Mulan, but Mulan shook her head. "It's yours, not mine. I have my father's sword waiting for me back in the real world."
Meng Po smiled again. "Then take this, as a memory of the battles you have fought here."
The sword disappeared, and in its place was a magnolia blossom. Its petals were soft and pink like the blush of a peach.
Meng Po tucked the blossom behind Mulan's ear. "There. A reminder that where there is beauty, there is also strength and courage and resilience.”
Mulan
Reminder
Magnolia Blossom
Reflection
“All they could do was flutter their fans and bat their eyes. The matchmaker Mother hired bragged that they were perfect porcelain dolls. What she didn't say was they had no minds of their own." Shang grimaced at the memory without looking at her. "They'd say anything to make me like them."
How familiar that sounds
. Mulan put her hands on her hips. "Not all girls are like that. You have to look at it from their perspective, too. Girls are raised to be pretty and graceful, and
quiet
." She made a face. "They aren't allowed to speak their minds, and they don't have a choice in who they marry. My parents were lucky that they fell in love, but their marriage was arranged, too. And my mother, she doesn't even belong to her family anymore after they got married. It wasn't my mother's decision, but her family's. They told her that a woman's only role in life is to bear sons."
Shang leaned forward. "You sound quite passionate about this."
His closeness made Mulan hunch back. Remembering who she was pretending to be, she felt her cheeks burn. "I just... I mean, I bet there are some girls who'd make better soldiers than boys. If they were given the chance."
"A female soldier? That's the craziest thing I've heard."
"Girls can be strong, too."
"Not like us, Ping."
Mulan hid a smile. "You'd be surprised.”
Girl Power
Mulan
Mulan And Shang
Power Writing: Make Your Genre Fiction Soar: by the Author of The Silk & Steel Saga
“Stories pervade our lives. This inundation of content makes us all export story listeners, or expert story readers, but only a few of us dare to become expert story tellers. We dare to add our tales to the collective memory of mankind that stretches back to early cave paintings.”
Writing
Writing Fiction
Writing Fantasy
May Day Eve and Other Stories
“BUT, alas, the heart forgets; the heart is distracted; and Maytime passes; summer ends; the storms break over the rot-ripe orchards and the heart grows old; while the hours, the days, the months, and the years pile up and pile up, till the mind becomes too crowded, too confused: dust gathers in it; cobwebs multiply; the walls darken and fall into ruin and decay; the memory perishes...”
Seasons
Filipino Authors
February Rain: Lyrics of a Lonely Traveler
“Do you ever miss me?
The way we held each other close,
What about our history?
Have you blocked out the memory
Of the things that meant the most?”
Missing Someone
Love And Loss Quotes
Our History
Poetry Lyrics
Shadowsong
“She played her song for the Goblin King every spring, every year, to bring the world from death back into life. And when the little girl's gnarled and aged fingers could no longer hold her bow, her children and students picked up her song and continued to play, one long, unbroken melody that stretched across time and memory. On and on and on, for as long as the seasons turn and the living remember all that is good and beautiful and worthwhile in the world. For love is our only immortality, and when memory is faded and gone, it is our legacies that endure.”
Goblin King
Shadowsong
Liesl Vogler
With the Fire on High
“And today, for the first time, we are given a real recipe: making chocolate pudding from scratch. We stir cocoa and cornstarch and sugar together, then stir in milk. Chef guides us step by step and we all clean our stations as the pudding chills. As I'm putting away my ingredients, a little red bottle in the pantry calls my attention. I snatch it up and sprinkle some on my pudding. When Chef Ayden calls us up to test our dishes, I'm the first student to set my bowl in front of him. He grabs a clean plastic spoon and pulls my dish closer to him, leaning down to inspect it, turning the dish slowly in a circle. "Mmm. Nice chocolate color, smooth texture; you made sure the cream didn't break, which is great. And I'm curious what this is on top."
He takes a tiny spoonful and pops it into his mouth, and the moment his mouth closes around the spoon his eyelids close, too. I wonder if my cooking woo-woo will work on him. "What is that?" he asks, his eyes still closed. I assume he means the spice on top and not whatever memory may have been loosened by my pudding. His eyes open and I realize the question was in fact for me.
"I used a little smoked paprika," I say. Heat creeps up my neck. I hadn't even thought about what would happen if I used an ingredient that wasn't in the original recipe.
"You trying to show off, Emoni?" Chef Ayden asks me very, very seriously.
"No, Chef. I wasn't."
"The ancient Aztecs too would pair chocolate with chipotle and cayenne and other spices, although it is not so common now. Why'd you add it?"
"I don't know. I saw it in the pantry and felt the flavors would work well together."
He takes another spoonful. Chef told us from the beginning that since every student is evaluated, he would very rarely take more than one bite of any single dish. I'm surprised he does so now, but he closes his eyes again as if the darkness behind his lids will help him better taste the flavors. His eyes pop open.
"This isn't bad." He drops his spoon. "Emoni, I think creativity is good. And this, this..." He gives a half laugh like he's surprised he doesn't know what to say. He clears his throat and it seems almost like a memory has him choked up.”
Memory
Creativity
Intuition
Pairing
Chocolate Pudding
Paprika
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