Really, now...

Really, now... this is the after-taste that comes to my mind reading the last post, the one in Romanian, the one about not feeling that special sensation of  "right man in the right place", the one about the weird perception of some things as being phony.

Wrong or right, these previous thoughts sprung from a real reaction to something. Uh-oh, the righteous indignation... very old fashioned and frowned upon nowadays.

I still stand by my views. It is though useful and truthful to add that probably in an open conversation with an opposite thinker I would avoid exposing them, as I fear I would make a poor job as a defender of some ideas that have their own life and have the right to a more clever defender/exposer.

A book that answered my inner opinions was The Tree by John Fowles. It cheered me up after trying in vain to read and appreciate various modern writers and "free thinkers". After declaring myself obviously stupid for not being able to force such readings into my own time, and preferring to do nothing at all, I read in one breath this entire book and it felt like a breeze of fresh air.

Let's ...quote:)

“Older and less planned quarters of cities and towns are profoundly woodlike, and especially in this matter of the mode of their passage through us, the way they unreel, disorientate, open, close, surprise, please. The stupidest mistake of all the many stupid mistakes of twentieth-century architecture has been to forget this ancient model in the more grandiose town-planning. Geometric, linear cities make geometric, linear people; wood cities make human beings.”
John Fowles
The Tree (New York: Ecco, 1983), 61.
via Kevin Lippert
via Quotenik

“The evolution of human mentality has put us all in vitro now, behind the glass wall of our own ingenuity.”
 John Fowles, The Tree via goodreads

and a new  one, from another book, nice one:

“Being a poet, divining beauty, is like divining nature—a gift. It does not matter if one does not create. It is enough to have the poetic vision. To see the beauty hidden. As I did tonight, hearing someone whistle in the distance as I stood by an open window. I felt all kinds of moods of streets at night, of walking with loved women, of the dark blue and whiteness, and the strange, magical desertion of streets at night. I felt it all exactly in a moment, such a rush of impressions that they can hardly be seized. Algernon Blackwood: ‘To feel like a poet is not to be a poet.’ True, yet, poetry making is not necessarily the printing of words. It is a philosophical outlook, an epicureanism, a hedonism.”
source: entry dated September 24, 1949, in The Journals: Volume One 1949–1965 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), 4. via Quotenik

“we shall never full understand nature (or ourselves), and certainly never respect it, until we dissociate the wild from the notion of usability.” (39-40)
via http://tomthompsonnews.blogspot.ro/2012/01/green-chaos-or-wood.html

"No art is truly teachable in its essence. All the knowledge in the world of its techniques can provide in itself no more than imitations or replicas of previous art "

It is very difficult to grasp this book in a description and this is only natural. One either absorbs it or thinks of it as drivel.

But it is honest.