If you’re looking for sunshine, you’ll have to go elsewhere.
This is one of the saddest, darkest, most chilling things I know.
Nina Simone, “Black Is The Color Of My True Love’s Hair”
[L]ife needs a lot of imaginative fixing, since it regularly fails to provide us with wild adventure and comfortable closure. ‘In life,’ Proust wrote in a notebook, ‘novels don’t finish.'”
—Michael Wood, “At the Movies,” London Review of Books, 1/5/12