Leaves of grass // Whitman
"I like the strings. I always have. Because that's how it feels. But the strings make pain seem more fatal than it is, I think. We're not as fragile as the strings would make us believe. And I like the grass, too. The grass got me to you, helped me imagine you as an actual person. But we're not different sprouts from the same plant. I can't be you. You can't be me. You can imagine another well - but never quite perfectly, you know?"
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"Maybe it's more like you said before, all of us being cracked open. Like, each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And these things happen - these people leave us, or don't love us, or don't get us, or we don't get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack open in places. And I mean, yeah, once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable. But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and when we finally fall apart. And it's only in that time that we can see one another, because we see out of ourselves through our cracks and into others through theirs. When did we see each other face-to-face? Not until you saw into my ideas of each other, looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. But once the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out."
- Paper towns, John Green
Friday, May 3, 2013 @ 8:37 AM / 0 daisies