At my reading this week from my Berlin thriller Blood Summit, someone asked when I found time to write.
I wrote a blog on “Where I write” recently.
A blog on finding time to write is a fine idea – I have added it to my list.
Because, it’s a bummer. Finding time to write is hard: lots of other things I dearly want to do, dear friends, dear family, dear visitors, and a job which I dearly want to do brilliantly.
Sometimes things don’t work out.
Writing at the Wolfgangsee in Austria
Like, this week, I have been away from home all day Friday and Saturday and a bit busy and haven’t got around to writing my planned blog.
Quite separately, another writing thing went wrong. I haven’t found time to put out any of my stock of literary quotes, some gathered years ago, as tweets at @robertpimm (if you are on twitter, feel free to follow me there).
So I turned two uncompleted ideas into a solution. Why not publish some literary quotes as a blog? Here are three.
Actually, one of them is not a literary quote at all. See if you can guess which one. I have separated out the quotes and the sources. No prizes for matching them; but comments welcome!
Here we go:
- I’m Trudi and I’m irresponsible
- His little huddled form was the only thing I could see for miles of darkness that was so packed and concentrated with eager desire to be good. I thought, ‘What a strange thing is man… like in the Bible it says, Who knoweth the spirit of man that looketh upward? This poor kid ten years younger than I am is making me look like a fool forgetting all the ideals and joys I knew before, in my recent years of drinking and disappointment, what does he care if he hasn’t got any money: he doesn’t need any money, all he needs is his rucksack and a good pair of shoes and off he goes and enjoys the privileges of a millionaire in surroundings like this. And what gouty millionaire could get up this rock anyhow? It took us all day to climb.’ And I promised myself that I would begin a new life. ‘All over the West, and the mountains in the East, and the desert, I’ll tramp with a rucksack and make it the pure way.’
- His brow was sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought and his air that of a man who, if he had said ‘Hallo, girls’, would have said it like someone in a Russian drama announcing that Grandpapa had hanged himself in the barn.
- P G Wodehouse, The Mating Season
- Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
- T-shirt worn by cafe owner in Naxos, Greece
Clue: Jack Kerouac was an inspiration for my US road trip, described in my blog The Americans.
Go on. Try and match ’em up.
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