….for beyond this, my son, be warned. For the writing of many books is endless, and much study is wearying to the flesh.
But, not always. Great writing sings lullabies to us, whispering comfort, even reassurance in a world where shapes shift and shadows startle.
… For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.
They are full of all the things that you don´t get in real life – wonderful, lyrical language, for instance. And quality of attention: we may notice amazing details during the course of a day but we rarely let ourselves stop and really pay attention. An author makes you notice, makes you pay attention, and this is a great gift. My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; I´m grateful for it the way I´m grateful for the ocean. …
I so wish this were original. It isn’t. Anne Lamott, thanks for the ‘carbonated holiness’. LOL.