Vincent Desjardins

“For a few days, uncertain about what I should do next, I go for walks and watch television. The walking is good, but the television leaves me feeling hopeless and worthless. The vile psychopaths it wants me to enjoy cannot hold me in their spell. I can't bear to absorb those indelible images and pollute myself with hatred and violence. What doesn't depress me makes me feel like the cornered victim of a wealthy bore with their holiday movies, who sucks the vitality out of me. I pull the plug and take to my bed to read, cocooned again in poetry and wondering about a rebirth.”
― Marc Hamer, Seed to Dust: A Gardener's Story

“When a song is ended, it leaves nothing but a feeling in those who heard it until that feeling, slowly moving backwards in time, collapses under pressure from more recent feelings and is replaced. Events become memories, unreliable stories, fade away at the ends. Unconnected and distinct from the day's experience, they become one of the millions of strata that make us who we are. We are the sum of all our experiences. We are waves on the ocean, interacting with and affected by all the other waves that move and die and are washed up on the shore. We are each a breath, a song, a flower. We are time itself, and mine has been long and I've collected many disconnected layers.”
― Marc Hamer, Seed to Dust: A Gardener's Story

“Marry, and you will regret it; don’t marry, you will also regret it; marry or don’t marry, you will regret it either way. Laugh at the world’s foolishness, you will regret it; weep over it, you will regret that too; laugh at the world’s foolishness or weep over it, you will regret both. Believe a woman, you will regret it; believe her not, you will also regret it… Hang yourself, you will regret it; do not hang yourself, and you will regret that too; hang yourself or don’t hang yourself, you’ll regret it either way; whether you hang yourself or do not hang yourself, you will regret both. This, gentlemen, is the essence of all philosophy.”
― Søren Kierkegaard

“Despite his attempts to maintain a vigorous structure of errands, golf games, visits, and meetings, there were sometimes days like this one, filled with rain and touched with a gnawing sense of parts missing from life. When the slick mud ran in the flower beds and the clouds smothered the light, he missed his wife.”
― Helen Simonson, Major Pettigrew's Last Stand