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What Fresh Hell is This?

20 July
External Services:
  • emmarytz@livejournal.com
Short Version:
We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.
(from, of course, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead)

LJ Version:
Then all my images, all my reflections and all my epithets, taken in themselves and with no memory of the failure of my aims that they represented, charmed me with their brilliance, their novelty and their profundity. And when I sensed too great a failure, I took refuge in the soul of your average admiring reader, and said: 'Well, how could a reader notice that? There may be something lacking there I admit. But heavens above, they ought to count themselves lucky! It's full enough of good things as it is, far more than they usually get.'
(from pp. 535-36, The Prisoner and The Fugitive by Marcel Proust as translated by Peter Collier and published by Penguin UK)

Longer Version
See my "interests" below which will reveal that I'm equivocating ("most Booker Prize winners") and a Mac user ("my ibook"); it also suggests that I've lived in Seattle too long ("good coffee") and have impeccable taste in film ("Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead" should be on the list of interests below, but it didn't survive the posting process and was replaced by "Tom Stoppard plays" which also works). I'm obviously addicted to parentheticals and I seldom feel a semicolon is inappropriate, no matter what Word's despicable grammar-checker might say to the contrary. Switching to the quotidian: I work in publishing. I was born on the East Coast but have lived longer in the PNW. I haven't a clue about most of those big rectangular states in between.

Truly lovely illuminated manuscript mood theme graciously and generously courtesy of grace_poppy.