forty five reasons to read morrissey`s autobiography
today my part is going to be very-very short. i would just like to tell you that there is a very special book out there - "
(he is a british musician, singer, songwriter and an extraordinary human being). i have wanted to read his book for a couple of years and finally last autumn i got it with a friend in paris. from the first page, i could see that this book was outstanding, there was something very different from most books. in the end, it was even better than i thought it would be. the way he works with words is truly magical. fastforward to last week, when i decided that if i cannot keep on buying new books on amazon right now, i will re-read my old ones. at first, this thought seemed pathetic and made me even more upset than i was before, but as i opened this book, i realized that it was actually a great idea. i am coming back to kiev tomorrow and i am looking forward to keep on picking up books from my shelves, that i have previously read a year or two ago and discovering their treasures again.
i thought about the ways i could tell you why this book is worth reading, but then i realized that there is no better way to do it than to just let you "try" it a little bit. this is why you can read phrases and sentences, that touched me the most. they are not motivational or inspirational, but they are honest and sincere and raw. this is what i look for in every book, and i am so happy that i got a chance to discover this one. hopefully you will get interested too, because it is definitely worth your money and time - it makes you feel so much...
let me know what you think and definitely let me know, if you read it!!!
the honest poor now have no future, this now is their future, that moment when time runs out.
the ordinary process of living takes up everyone`s time and energy. the elderly muse in bitter ways and the kids know too much of the truth already.
sadness is habit-forming and shame is cattle-prodded into kids who are in pursuit of bliss amid the unrelenting disapproval.
born unasked, their circumstantial sadness is their own fault, and is the agent of all of their problems.
i would never again assume that any figure of authority automatically held any intellectual distinction.
song made a difference to everything, and permitted expression that otherwise had no way through.
loudly and wildly the music played, always pointing to the light, to the way out, or the way in, to individualism, and to the remarkable if unsettling notion that life could possible be lived as you might wish it to be lived.
perhaps i didn`t win, but it didn`t help anyone to point it out.
school offers nothing at all except a lifelong awareness of hate as a general truth.
i knew then that life could only ever be changed for the better because somebody somewhere had taken a risk - often with their own life.
in the fashion of the day, nothing encourages openness, and we instinctively never widen our understanding of anything, and the fetish of secrecy begins.
let me be older and let this mediocrity pass as a dream - one in which the utmost was done to bury me alive.
they can tell you everything you need to know about your own sorrow, and about the joy and sadness that is usually found side by side.
the will surrenders to the resolve and dignity of the written word, and i, the gentle self, step forward, pattering up the ramp, one half of an incomplete person, knowing with certainty that i cannot live - yet wondering if i could possibly write?
slight and weary and full of angularity, my heart is never unbroken, but i am unable to call out.
i have a sudden urge to write something down, but this time they are words that must take a lead.
everyone tries to know your desires lest your success highlight their own failure.
all of his work would be governed by this loss, as if life could only ever offer one chance of happiness.
the written word is an attempt at completeness.
when there is no matching of lives, and we live on a strict diet of the self, the most intimate bond can be with the words that we write.
sadness can often...just be...fatigue.
like an unappreciated wife, he became exclusively absorbed in his own reflection - not because he loved himself, but because he didn`t.
the reflection was always the truth, the mirror had the last word, and james was too vigorous in his self-doubt to ever be doubted.
it was probably nothing, but it felt like the world.
it is a matter of finding yourself in possession of the one vital facet that the other lacks, but needs.
undernourished and growing out of the wrong soil, i knew at this time that a lot of people found me hard to take, and for the most part i understood why.
although a passably human creature on the outside, the swirling soul within seemed to speak up for the most awkward people on the planet.
the in-built censorship can also often be a substitute for not actually knowing any better.
i felt burdened only because i took things as hard as i did, so that whenever i`d overhear how people found me to be "a bit much" (which is a gentle way of saying the word "unbearable"), i understood why. to myself i would say: "well, yes, of course, i`m a bit much - if i weren`t, i would not be lit up by so many lights".
could things get any worse? why, yes, little one. be patient.
does anyone go to war and win? no.
there is no self-discovery in a safe life.
no matter how your new circumstances pad themselves out, the roots of your behavior patterns have already marked you out for slaughter.
it is a fact that even warming moments overwhelm me with dispair, and this why i am i.
you are obsessed with dead people, you ought to get interested in the living.
accept, accept, accept. accept even the unacceptable.
such meetings reveal that which we all darkly suspect about those whose art we have loved: that they are unlikely to be whatever it is that we imagine them to be.
if people only spoke of what they had done as opposed to what they were about to do, it would be the most silent city on the face of the earth.
she did not betray herself with self-pity, but each written line revealed a lifetime of having been passed over or refused.
why, after all these years, are you still surprised? why do you still question the love?
it is a relief to receive praise from someone who has a true perspective on all things, and who is not easily fooled - if ever fooled at all.
it is only today in which we live - it is not as if we can live today and tomorrow as one.
wealthy french people kiss in publich, but not in private, like those who put on display romantic affection that must be observed by others because it is untrue.
i am no more unhappy than anyone else, and most humans are wretched creatures - cursed by the sadness of being.
it is quite true that i have never had anything in my life that i did not make for myself.
there can never be too much reading. there can never be too many quotes. previous posts can be read