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Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words.
I don’t believe in “sadness,” “joy,” or “regret.” Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feelings. I’d like t ohave at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster.” Or: “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.” I’d like to show how “intimations of morality brought on by aging family members”connects with “the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.” I’d like to have a word for “the sadness inspired by failing restaurants”as well as for “the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.”

(c) jeffrey eugenides, 2002
middlesex is published by bloomsbury

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whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death?

there must have been one, a moment, in childhood, when it occured to you that you don’t go on forever. it must have been shattering, stamped into one’s memory, and yet i can’t remember it. it never occured to me at all.

we must be born with the intuition of immortality. before we know the word for it, before we know that there are words, out we come, bloodied and squalling… with the knowledge that for all the points of the compass, there’s only one direction and time is its only measure.

{i don’t have the source}

about.

girl from a tropical paradise living in a cold but beautiful little island between england and the normandy.

and that's her life in almost daily irrelevant photographs and stolen poetry.

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