I'm reading Jim Harrison's Dalva. I do not know anyone else who reads Harrison, but I wish I did. These are just a few examples from this writer someone described as having "immortality" in him. I fully agree.
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While his bathwater thundered I poured myself a drink and speculated about his secret life, his concealed ideas about himself...The secret life can be based in the childhood mythology of cowboys and Indians, the outlaw, and rambling gambler, or more recently, in the popular culture of detectives, rock music, sports, gurus, religious and political leaders. The roots seem always connected to sex and power, and how free they felt as children to enact feelings that ran counter to the behavior they were taught. It is usually deeply comic but also poignant...
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A poet, I can't remember who, said there is a point beyond which the exposed heart cannot recover.
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...the "emotional burnout," as it is rather glibly called, was actually a vital emptiness, a time when life was so poignant, and full of what is understood as suffering but is really only life herself making us unavoidably unique.
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...how each of us must live with a full measure of loneliness that is inescapable, and we must not destroy ourselves with our passion to escape this aloneness.
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In the elevator it occurred to me that every man, woman, and dog in America was tethered on too short a lead or chain...
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What we are, what we have done, what we have made, weighs as heavily and usually as unnoticeably as gravity weighs upon us. It is the historian's job to study this unseeable gravity, to take core samples from the past and bring them to the quasi-light of the present.
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Horses always know the way home.
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