This Time Last Year


I was reading this book and it made me want to collect stamps for a while. It didn’t change my life or anything, but it reminded me that I love books. I need to read more. I will read more.

“You see, in spring, when the dandelions bloom again, the wine goes through a fermentation. As if they remembered.” No, thought Oedipa, sad. As if their home cemetery in some way still did exist, in a land where you could somehow walk, and not need the East San Narciso Freeway, and bones could rest in peace, nourishing the ghosts of dandelions, no one to plow them up. As if the dead really do persist, even in a bottle of wine. — p. 99

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Books and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s