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The Walker: On Lo...
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""the walker" literally me

"No walk, as far as I am concerned, is ever wasted. In contrast, for example, to a car journey. In a city – especially one dominated by cars, by individualistic rather than collective, private rather than public modes of transport – it is walking that habitually makes me feel alive. It makes me feel [...] vitally connected to the city's ceaseless circuits of energy.""
Dec 02, 2025 01:02PM

 
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Umberto Eco
“A book is a fragile creature, it suffers the wear of time, it fears rodents, the elements and clumsy hands. so the librarian protects the books not only against mankind but also against nature and devotes his life to this war with the forces of oblivion.”
Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

Umberto Eco
“Books are not made to be believed, but to be subjected to inquiry. When we consider a book, we mustn't ask ourselves what it says but what it means...”
Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

D.H. Lawrence
“I only want one thing of men, and that is, that they should leave me alone.”
D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover

Erich Maria Remarque
“I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another. I see that the keenest brains of the world invent weapons and words to make it yet more refined and enduring. And all men of my age, here and over there, throughout the whole world see these things; all my generation is experiencing these things with me. What would our fathers do if we suddenly stood up and came before them and proffered our account? What do they expect of us if a time ever comes when the war is over? Through the years our business has been killing;—it was our first calling in life. Our knowledge of life is limited to death. What will happen afterwards? And what shall come out of us?”
Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

R.F. Kuang
“I have become something wonderful, she thought. I have become something terrible. Was she now a goddess or a monster? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.”
R.F. Kuang, The Poppy War

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