Saturday, November 7, 2015


Karl Ove thinks on childhood classmates:
"...they have done so much to one another in their lives since then, so much has happened and with such impact that the small incidents that took place in their childhoods have no more gravity than the dust stirred up by a passing car, or the seeds if a withering dandelion dispersed by the breath from a small mouth. And, oh, wasn't the latter a fine image, of how event after event is dispersed in the air above a little meadow of one's own history, only to fall between the blades of grass and vanish? (Knausgaard, My Struggle, Book Three: Boyhood, transl. Don Bartlett, Archipelago 2014, p. 427)

No comments:

Post a Comment