“If the imaginative faculty refused to act at such an hour, it might well be deemed a hopeless case. Moonlight, in a familiar room, falling so white upon the carpet, and showing all its figures so distinctly,—making every object so minutely visible, yet so unlike a morning or noontide visibility,—is a medium the most suitable for a romance-writer to get acquainted with his illusive guests. There is the little domestic scenery of the well-known apartment; the chairs, with each its separate individuality; the centre-table, sustaining a work-basket, a volume or two, and an extinguished lamp; the sofa; the book-case; the picture on the wall;—all these details, so completely seen, are so spiritualized by the unusual light, that they seem to lose their actual substance, and become things of intellect. Nothing is too small or too trifling to undergo this change, and acquire dignity thereby. A child’s shoe; the doll, seated in her little wicker carriage; the hobby-horse;—whatever, in a word, has been used or played with, during the day, is now invested with a quality of strangeness and remoteness, though still almost as vividly present as by daylight. Thus, therefore, the floor of our familiar room has become a neutral territory, somewhere between the real world and fairy-land, where the Actual and the Imaginary may meet, and each imbue itself with the nature of the other. Ghosts might enter here, without affrighting us. It would be too much in keeping with the scene to excite surprise, were we to look about us and discover a form, beloved, but gone hence, now sitting quietly in a streak of this magic moonshine, with an aspect that would make us doubt whether it had returned from afar, or had never once stirred from our fireside.”—
"the custom-house," nathanial hawthorne
you can’t imagine my excitement when I found an eloquent description of an emotion I’ve been feeling for years. at certain moments in my life, simple things appear more poetic and I begin to feel like a fixture of the room. thank you nathanial hawthorne for putting words to this feeling.
“I heard what you said. I’m not the silly romantic you think. I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I have those things already. I want a steady hand, a kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe.”—Shana Abé
in the midst of my packing I’ve stumbled on the most beautifully large collection of my old books. I love flipping through the pages to find some mementos, highlighted passages, and lose myself in the past worlds that I lived in. Among the authors: Francine Rivers, Henri Nouwen, Honore de Balzac, St. Augustine, Dave Eggers, Stephanie Meyers, and Jeannette Walls.
I’m home today from my trip to Australia. It was more than I could have expected to be that far from home and still feel at home. I know that every day of life can’t feel like a well-written poem, but each day of that trip inspired me to feel poetic. I’m learning more about life as each moment passes.
“there is a force in the world that doesn’t want us to live good stories. It doesn’t want us to face our issues, to face our fears and bring something beautiful into the world. I guess what I am saying is, I believe God wants us to create beautiful stories, and whatever isn’t God wants us to create meaningless stories, teaching people around us that life just isn’t worth living.”—
"A Million Miles in a Thousand Years," Donald Miller
thankful for a friend who shared this book with me—I’m looking forward to editing my story.