{"id":5,"date":"2009-02-02T20:51:08","date_gmt":"2009-02-02T20:51:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/2009\/02\/02\/aphorisms\/"},"modified":"2009-02-12T04:12:22","modified_gmt":"2009-02-12T04:12:22","slug":"aphorisms","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/2009\/02\/02\/aphorisms\/","title":{"rendered":"Aphorisms"},"content":{"rendered":"<h3>by Olivia Dresher<\/h3>\n<p>Selections from <em>Darkness and Light: Private Writing as Art<\/em> (an anthology of contemporary journals, diaries, and notebooks) and <em>In Pieces: An Anthology of Fragmentary Writing<\/em><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>Truth reveals itself in consequences.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Nothing lasts these days except what we throw away.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>They say: don&#8217;t take it personally if someone doesn&#8217;t love you. I say: should I also not take it personally if someone <em>does<\/em>?<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Life used to be cheap because it was short. Now it&#8217;s cheap because it&#8217;s long.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>A vacation is a cage of freedom.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Despair is a sort of ecstasy, an ecstasy that feels bad.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>In person we&#8217;re only puppets of ourselves.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>I&#8217;ve tried to know hundreds of people. But I keep running into the same person, over and over again.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Hope is like having one last fling.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Identity is an illusion, a temporary state. Everyone is searching for it, but it&#8217;s only a brief reflection in a very shallow pool of time.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Everything holds the possibility of falseness, except tragedy.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>I feel invisible but not invisible enough.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Wonder and doubt are one, leaves from the same tree.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Holidays are too soft (and too loud).<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>The darkest night is a light, compared to eternity.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Tenderness is humility.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>What&#8217;s free? Only thoughts, as long as we keep them to ourselves.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Life says: death is none of your business.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Ordinary life is like a bad novel: clich\u00e9s everywhere, and no real character development.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Patriotism is the opposite of free speech.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>What are whispers? The sound of words breathing.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Aphorisms: drops of blood from my life.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>I secretly embrace <em>everything<\/em>, sideways.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Blinded by the sun of my own longing to see.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Thoughts are intangible heartbeats.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Only the dead are old. The living are always young and na\u00efve.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Fog is rain that whispers.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Who do I write to\/for? No one I know. Only strangers, the unborn, and the dead.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>No way to say it except <em>this<\/em> way.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>The simple moods are a clear blue sky, and a secret is a bird that hauntingly flies by.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Lack of intimacy with others is a death sentence.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Only the wind remembers.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Language is a wave that covers me and then recedes back into the sea, leaving just sand and broken shells at my feet. I walk in the sand, I pick up the broken shells. <em>These<\/em>.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Love is a dance. Friendship is a walk.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Life is a vacation from death.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Why do people look at me when they look at me? And why do people not look at me when they look away?<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Link the leaps.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>Proof that I&#8217;ve never grown up: all the questions I ask.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>A lifetime is just one long Now.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>To be celibate with someone you&#8217;re in love with is almost like making love.<\/p>\n<h6>* * *<\/h6>\n<p>What are my fragments? Parachutes that open as I fall through the night.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>by Olivia Dresher<br \/>\nSelections from Darkness and Light: Private Writing as Art (an anthology of contemporary journals, diaries, and notebooks) and In Pieces: An Anthology of Fragmentary Writing<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-aphorisms"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/fraglit.com\/od\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}