An almost Expat's blog filled with pastries, broadway music, Kate Bush, British weather and rantings on perpetual singledom. Enjoy.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not. Your mother brings you into the world, carries you first in her body. What do we know about what she feels? But whatever she feels, it, at least, must be real. It must be. What are our ideas or ambitions? Play. Ideas! Why, that bloody bleating got Temple has ideas. MacCann has ideas too. Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.
-Cranly in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.