Moments from Breakfast at Tiffany’s..


… she received V-letters by the bale. They were always torn into strips likes bookmarks.  I used occasionally to pluck myself a bookmark in passing. Remember and miss you and rain and please write and goddamn were the words that recurred most often on these slips; those, and lonesome and love.


I don’t want to own anything until I know I’ve found the place where me and things belong together. I’m not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it’s like. [..] It’s like Tiffany’s. […] It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets, If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s, then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.



The front wall of a nearby house was ripped off by an explosion, but a display cabinet in one of the rooms sat pristine – with television and a wedding photo in pride of place and untouched stacks of china tea cups and plates, as if the owner had just popped out.

An effective description from Emma Graham-Harrison’s article on the state of Kobani.

(Quote taken from today’s Observer. Read the full article here :

The Boy Next Door.

The Iliad. By Homer. A first edition. Just a totally normal thoughtful gift from one classics geek to another. A pristine hardcover that looks like those Jane Austen Penguin Classics they sell at Urban Outfitters. “It must have cost a fortune!” Claire coos. My friends and I screamed in delight.


Brain Pickings..

I subscribe to the newsletter from the wonderful website Brain Pickings, and get gems such as this delivered to my inbox once a week…

We’re only here for a short while. And I think it’s such a lucky accident, having been born, that we’re almost obliged to pay attention. In some ways, this is getting far afield. I mean, we are – as far as we know – the only part of the universe that’s self-conscious. We could even be the universe’s form of consciousness. We might have come along so that the universe could look at itself. I don’t know that, but we’re made of the same stuff that stars are made of, or that floats around in space. But we’re combined in such a way that we can describe what it’s like to be alive, to be witnesses. Most of our experience is that of being a witness. We see and hear and smell other things. I think being alive is responding.

(From the Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Mark Strand).