#disch

There are people who cannot scream even when the occasion calls emphatically for screaming. Any drill sergeant can tell you of men, good soldiers every other way, who, when they must run forward to plant a bayonet in the guts of a sawdust dummy, cannot let loose with any sort of battle cry--or at best can manage some bloodless imitation, a half-hearted _Kill Kill Kill!_ It is not that these men lack the primordial emotions of hatred and bloodlust; they have just become too civilized, too bound in, to experience a pure berserker rage. Perhaps a real battle will bring it out of them; perhaps nothing will. There are emotions more primordial, more basic to survival, than hatred and bloodlust; but it is the same with them too-they can be stilled, covered over with civilized form and secondary modes of feeling. Only extreme circumstances can release them.

He would never know, no one would know, that she had turned back for his sake. He had not yet taken thought of the Bible that had been left behind, and later, when he would, he would regret it no more nor less than Gracie's death or the hundred other irredeemable losses he had suffered. But Lady had foreseen quite accurately that without that one artifact, in which she herself had had no faith, without the sanction it lent his authority, the old man would be bereft, and that his strength, so long preserved, would soon collapse, like a roof when the timbers have rotted. But she had failed, and her failure would never be understood.

Пока загружается программа, напишу-ка я пост. Время 8 утра, суббота, поехали. Последнее время все чаще слышу, что я хочу чего-то запредельного. Не выбираю, из того, что есть, а придумываю себе свой идеал и упорно его ищу. А как можно по другому? Я знаю свой вкус, свои потребности, свои желания, в конце концов. Если то, что, скажем так, есть в ассортименте, не отвечает всем моим требованиям, для чего оно мне? Зачем захламлять пространство вокруг себя тем, что, по большому счету, не очень тебя и радует. Будь то, вещи, духовные идеи, люди… Все, что нас окружает, вбирает в себя часть нашей энергии, и я искренне не понимаю, для чего люди растрачивают в пустую свой волшебный ресурс. Минимализм. Это именно та идеология, которой я стараюсь придерживаться. Меньше хлама, больше качества. Во всем. Без исключений.

With each year of their marriage he had become stranger and stranger to her. At times - and these the times she loved him best - he seemed scarcely human. Not that she blinded herself to his flaws (he was - who isn't? - riddled); rather that the core of him seemed never to have known anguish, fear, doubt - even, in any important way, pain. He possessed a serenity that the facts of his life did not warrant, and which (here was the thorn on which she could not resist rubbing her finger) excluded her. Yet just when his self-sufficiency seemed most complete and cruelest he would turn round and do something incongruously tender and vulnerable, until she'd wonder if it were all just her own iciness and bitchery that kept them, twenty-five days in a month, so far apart.