Second Thoughts on Kerouac
But, disconcertingly, Kerouac was as likable in the flesh as he was repellent in print. In contrast to the seething Ginsberg, who went at me with everything he had, Kerouac (in spite of being the…
Today’s One-Liner (#56)
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy anyway. –Mother Teresa
La Fin du Roman
Karamazov, s’écria Kolia, est-ce vrai ce que dit la religion, que nous ressusciterons d’entre les morts, que nous nous reverrons les uns les autres, et tous, et Ilioucha ? Oui, c’est vrai, nous ressusciterons, nous…
Saints, Mystics, and the Neighbor Next Door: A Class in Inspiration and Imitation
[T]oday it is not nearly enough to be a saint, but we must have the saintliness demanded by the present moment, a new saintliness, itself also without precedent.—Simone Weil, Waiting for God For [Dorothy] Day,…
Thank You, Biographers!
Biography is, of the various kinds of narrative writing, that which is most eagerly read, and most easily applied to the purposes of life. –Samuel Johnson, The Idler, 84 in A Johnson Sampler, edited by…
Today’s One-Liner (#55)
The meaning of life lies not, as we have grown used to thinking, in prospering, but in the development of the soul. –Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, First Things, August/September 2024, p. 70,
Share the Wealth with Natalie Long– Thérèse of Lisieux: The Saint of the Quotidian
Born in 1873, Thérèse of Lisieux entered into this world as the youngest daughter of a devout Catholic family. By the time she passed away at the age of twenty-four, Thérèse was a Carmelite nun…
Today’s Two-Liner (#54)
The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and leftuntried. –G. K.Chesterton, What’s Wrong with the World
How to Deal with the Clickers
The practice of charity, as I have said, dear Mother, was not always so sweet for me, and to prove it to you I am going to recount certain little struggles which will certainly make…
Today’s One-Liner (#53)
En réalité, chaque lecteur est quand il lit le propre lecteur de soi-même. —Marcel Proust, Le Temps Retrouvé