A Shelf of One's Own

When I walked over the lock the other day, I passed a man pushing a bike, explaining autumn to his kid. There are four seasons a year, he said, and this is the one where the leaves fall. 'Each new autumn is closer to the last autumn we’ll have, and the same is true of spring or summer; but autumn, by its nature, reminds us that all things will end, which is something we’re apt to forget when we look around us in spring or summer.' - Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

And then I remembered a quotation from Cassandra at the Wedding , which I read seven years ago. And of course I’d put it on here. So I found this old dear old thing again, how wet behind the ears. There I am, young self: voluble, enthusiastic. I miss old credulities. It’s time to bring this thing out of the closet and into the end of this decade. To tell that old self: I am reading Savage Detectives again, after all these years.