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[ofbirdsandwires]

Last night when I was deleting some old school work and useless files from my computer I somehow slipped up and deleted the folder with all of my writing in it. ALL of my writing. I didn't even notice until just a few minutes ago when I was looking for the word document with all the quotes I had found over the years and I realised that my desktop

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[oh_marvelous]

you'd be surprised how much pooh bear knows.

And by and by Christopher Robin came to an end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop.

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.

Some people care too much, I think it's called love.

When late morning rolls around and you're feeling a bit out of sorts, don't worry; you're probably just a little eleven o'clockish.

You can't help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn't spell it right; but spelling isn't everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn't count.

You can't stay in your corner of the forest, waiting for others to come to you; you have to go to them sometimes.

[ofbirdsandwires]

you are so lovely

[in_bloom]

I am so sorry! :( I did the same a couple of years ago and it was such sense of loss that I didn't write for months. It was like a feeling of emptiness overwhelmed me because it seemed that I had lost so much of myself. Not writing was one of the worst things I could do because without that release, I only felt more of a loss. I hope your ability to write returns (& it will, because from what I have read you are a writer)

Here is one of my favorite quotes (I hope it soothes you, at least just a little bit):

I have a theory that every time you make an important choice, the part of you left behind continues the other life you could have had. Some people's emanations are very strong, some people create themselves afresh outside of their own body. This is not fancy. If a potter has an idea, she makes it into a pot, and it exists beyond her, in its own separate life. She uses a physical substance to display her thoughts. If I use a metaphysical substance to display my thoughts, I might be anywhere at one time, influencing a number of

[ofbirdsandwires]

It was like a feeling of emptiness overwhelmed me because it seemed that I had lost so much of myself

exactly.
I have read that quote before and I am still amazed by it every time. It did soothe me - thank you so much.

[sightempest]

Oh my god. I had my house robbed a few years ago, I had started a few stories and an attempt at a book and when my computer was stolen I said 'fuck that' and since then have not written anything particularly ambitious. I suck, but I have faith that you'll rebuild that collection rather rapidly, love. As for quotes, these aren't my favorite but some I remember, hope that's okay.

we are all addicted to our tragedies

[oh_marvelous]

a breather....that one is amazing

[ofbirdsandwires]

whether you love what you love
or live in divided ceaseless revolt against it
what you love is your fate

I love that poem.
I think it was Lindsay who quoted that to me before. It seems like something she would find.

we are all addicted to our tragedies.

who is that? I recognise it and it's driving me insane!

Thaaaaaaaank you!
You're wonderful.

[windupsushi]

oh no, i am so, so sorry. such a thing can be devastating. a couple months ago, my computer died suddenly, causing me to lose photos, writing, pages and pages. i'm still a bit adrift. now i'm on my new infant of a laptop, which is a empty book waiting to be filled. i wish i had more to offer you, but as i'm building a store myself, i only have a couple things to leave you.

such a favorite, a love:

the apparition of these faces in the crowd;
petals on a wet, black bough.
ezra pound "in a station of the metro"

yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
with all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
let me forget about today until tomorrow.
bob dylan "mr. tambourine man"

[sightempest]

I love that poem from pound, and Bob Dylan!!! I never knew (having recently overcome his voice and am looking into his works) he was such a great songwriter.

[ofbirdsandwires]

just look: http://bobdylan.com/songs

We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

overcome his voice?
hahah, I love you.

[windupsushi]

oh oh my, that line created a shiver. it rings. thank you for posting this.

[windupsushi]

Strong sun, that bleach
The curtains of my room, can you not render
Colourless this dress I wear?--
This violent plaid
Of purple angers and red shames; the yellow stripe
Of thin but valid treacheries; the flashy green of kind deeds done
Through indolence high judgments given here in haste;
The recurring checker of the serious breach of taste?

No more uncoloured than unmade,
I fear, can be this garment that I may not doff;
Confession does not strip it off,
To send me homeward eased and bare;

All through the formal, unoffending evening, under the clean
Bright hair,
Lining the subtle gown. . .it is not seen,
But it is there.

Edna St. Vincent Millay "the plaid dress"