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There’s only ever one day that matters, and it moves along with you.
I know this much though: anyone who talks about the right way to live, as if there was only just the one, is blind in one eye or maybe both and is not worth listening to.
I can set her words down in their right sense now, on account of some things that happened to me later: back then the best I could do was to run along next to her meanings like a man who’s trying to get up onto a horse but can’t fix his foot in the stirrup.
Koli on Ursala
them as lay claim to great wisdom most often got nothing in their store but bare scrapings. And by the same token, them as think they’re ignorant think it because they can see the edges of what they know, which you can only see when what you know is tall enough to stand on and take a look around.
All right then, Ursala said. And she laid it out for me: the big lie, and all the little lies that had been piled on top of it. She brung me out of a fool’s paradise into a colder place, and it was all at my asking so the only fool was me.
It never stops amazing me how a story can deliver you out of your own self, even in the worst of times.
The yellow-breasted bunting, which was a bird that sang like an angel having an orgasm, was eaten into extinction because it had the bad luck to taste nice with egg-yolk batter.
The reason I didn’t see it was because this was a different kind of hole. It wasn’t altogether my fault, for it was a hole I growed up in, kind of, and the things that’s all around you when you first come into the world is ever after invisible to you, unless you make a great effort to see them.
