cody coyle > Recent Status Updates

This book fucking rocks!!! I love it. I really enjoy his minimalist approach. It works so well. He puts a lot of trust in you to know who is speaking even without quotation marks. And we switch back and forth in time but with no indication of when the switch is and somehow you just know. No names, no character descriptions.

I’m already pre-sad from the bad things that I expect will happen

I think I’m going to enjoy this minimalistic writing style. For a second I was scared I accidentally stumbled on more beat poetry but it’s definitely not that, just sparse. I have Jack Kerouac trauma. I’m sure he’s goated. Maybe one day I’ll appreciate.

The little glimpse of domestic harmony which had been offered her, gave her no regret, no longing. It was not a condition which fitted her, and she could see nothing in it but an appalling and hopleless ennui. She was moved by a kind of commiseration- a pity for that colorless contentment, in which no moment of anguish visited the soul, in which she would never have the taste of life’s delirium.

She had all her life been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves. They had never taken the form of struggles. They belonged to her and were her own, and she entertained the conviction that she had a right to them and that they concerned no one but herself.

The present alone was significant; was hers, to torture her as it was doing then with the biting conviction that she had lost that which she had held, that she had been denied that which her impassioned, newly awakened being demanded.

She had never sent for him before. She had never asked for him. She had never seemed to want him before. She did not appear conscious that she had done anything unusual in commanding his presence. He was apparently equally unconscious of anything extraordinary in the situation. But his face was suffused with a quiet glow when he met her.

A certain light was beginning to dawn dimly within her - the light which, showing the way, forbids it. At that early period it served but to bewilder her. It moved her to dreams, to thoughfulness, to shadowy anguish. In short, she was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.

S’pose you didn’t have nobody. How’d you like that? S’pose you had to sit out here an’ read books. Sure you could play horseshoes till it got dark, but then you got to read books. Book ain’t no good. A guy needs somebody to be near him. A guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody. Don’t make no difference who the guy is, long’s he’s with you. I tell ya a guy gets too lonely an’ he get’s sick.

I am so sad about them making the old man put down his stinky dog. The dog was his best friend. And the way he was looking around hoping someone would rise to his defense and say no you shouldn’t kill him. But that one guy just insisted and I understand But poor old man. Now he’s just staring at the wall. What the fuckkkkkk this so fucked up. I’m sorry old man

Again, I feel like these very intelligent, methodical men are failing to take some very obvious precautions. Why is Mina’s room not COVERED in garlic? Everyone’s room should have crucifixes and garlic. Come on guys!!!

Oh my god. How does this keep happening to them? How do they keep leaving her alone at night? So much could be avoided if they could just sleep in the day when Dracula is sleeping and rotate shifts watching her at night. I think things would have gone differently if I was there and I had some garlic.

But love, which had, like a benevolent monarch, swelled the population of his neighboring kingdom, Death, had not himself descended: they owed him no allegiance here. Here there was no speech or language, and there was no love; no one to say: You are beautiful, John; no one to forgive him, no matter what his sin; no one to heal him and lift him up.

Yet, most strangely, and from deeps not before discovered, his faith looked up; before the wickedness that he saw, the wickedness from which he fled, he yet beheld that power of redemption to which he must, till death, bear witness; which though it crush him utterly, he could not deny.

Yet, if he could not play their games, he could do something they could not do; he was able, as one of his teachers said, to think. But this brought him little in the way of consolation, for today he was terrified of his thoughts. He wanted to be with these boys in the street, heedless and thoughtless, wearing out his treacherous and bewildering body.

The devil, who is clever, took to hating man; man, who is more clever, took to loving woman. In this way he has done himself more good than the devil has done him harm. This trick was discovered at the time of the earthly paradise.

One “misery” I don’t think I would have been able to handle was if Marius and M. Gillenormand stayed estranged. M. Gillenormand softening his aristocratic attitudes and just becoming a sweet little grandpa was exactly what I was needing.

Javert had never seen the unknown except below. The irregular, the unexpected, the disorderly opening of chaos, the possible slipping into an abyss; all of that belonged to inferior regions, to the rebellious, the wicked, the miserable. Now Javert was thrown over backward, and he was startled by this monstrous apparition: a gulf above him.

I desperately need to know why Victor Hugo was so passionate and knowledgeable about the Parisian sewer system

There are interior collapses. The penetration of a torturing certainty within a man does not occur without breaking up and pulverizing certain deep elements that are sometimes the man himself. Grief, when it reaches this level, is a panic of all the forces of consciousness. These are fatal crises.