Our running coach was telling us, after we had done our warm ups on the field behind the school, that long-distance running was not meant to be easy. Most of the time, it was very uncomfortable. Running for long periods of time made your breathing irregular and so you needed to adjust your lungs; you would get a stitch in your side and your shins would ache over time. If you felt too comfortable, you still had more to give, was the gist of what she told us in the shade of the school building where we had all assembled, feeling sore and, some of us, already disheartened by the hour of training ahead.
Frederick Arthur Bridgman
Brittany Sunset, 1873
Alicia Keys- You Don’t Know My Name
My #1 song. My memory. Mi life
— Susan Sontag (via metempsicosis)
"What holds her back, she believes, is not so much some missing intellectual capacity as a problem of temperament. For the “price” of genius is solitude, in fact the same solitary and “inhuman life” that she happens to be leading, “hoping it to be temporary”: “Even now — I know my mind has gone a step forward by virtue of being alone the last 2 ½ years …”"
The Lonely Ones, by Emily Cooke via The New Inquiry
Yiyun Li: In that sense, self-censorship is more black-and-white here in America than it is in China.
Emily Parker: How so?
Yiyun Li: Because here, self-censorship is a moral issue.
“A child had thirteen fingers on each hand and his aunts immediately put him to playing the harp, something that made good use of the extras and he completed the course in half the time needed by poor pentadigitates.
“After that the child came to play in such a way that there was no score worthy of him. When he began to give concerts, the amount of music that he concentrated in that time and space with his twenty-six fingers was so extraordinary that the audience couldn’t keep up and was always behind, so that when the young artisto was coming to the end of The Fountain of Arethusa (a transcription) the poor people were still in the Tambourin Chinois (an arrangement). This naturally created horrible confusions, but everyone recognized that the child played like an angel.”
—Julio Cortázar, from “Feuilletons”
Art: Cover of Cortázar’s End of the Game.
Salisbury Beach, Massachusetts
National Geographic | April 1979