The great miraculous bell of translucent ice is suspended in mid-air; It rings to announce endings and beginnings. And it rings because there is fresh promise and wonder in the skies. Its clear tones resound in the placid silence of the winter day, and echo long into the silver-blue serenity of night. The bell can only be seen at the turning of the year, when the days wind down into nothing, and get ready to march out again. When you hear the bell, you feel a tug at your heart. It is your immortal inspiration. – Vera Nazarian
Not sure where I got this from; it was probably leftover from a way-too late-night red-eyed Internet session. But I stuck it into a file I keep for things that plink my cerebrum in a certain way. Yeah, it’s melodramatic and a wee tad new-agey, but it reflects the feeling I’m having about now, that autumn is once again coming, the world is again going into hibernation, and the Carnegie Deli is finally closing after a gazillion years. Funny how you never think of things until you know you’re gonna miss them. Funny how you know you’re going to miss certain things anyway.
Sandwiches literally several inches high. Where do you see that anymore?
Change. Always comes with some cost. Always inevitable. Always unavoidable. It’s the one true expectation: no matter what you do, strive for, dream about, it will change. Get used to everything—everything—being temporary.
I prefer to look at it as Tom Stoppard put it in one of my favoritest ever plays, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, in a much leaner way: “Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.”
(And try not to trip over the threshold. It's so inelegant.)
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