Wednesday, July 4, 2012
If you don’t know, I can not explain it to you.
— Helen Ramírez, High Noon
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
We’re born alone and we die alone, that’s it. Who wants another scotch?
— Michael Longstreet, Carnage
Monday, July 2, 2012
I found myself enormously moved, and I was struck by the sense that I was recovering, under a different guise, something that had once been my own.
— Jorge Luis Borges, “Story of the Warrior and the Captive Maiden”
Sunday, July 1, 2012
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
— Fabian, Twelfth Night
Saturday, June 30, 2012
It seemed to be so fragile.
— Ian Fleming, The Spy Who Loved Me
Friday, June 29, 2012
The unit disappears into the pattern.
— Stan Alan, “Conversation: Field Conditions Maribor,” Field Conditions Revisited
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Man somehow feels he is infinite.
— Umberto Eco, “The Sacred Is Not Just A Fashion”
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
And it has to be enough.
— Miriam Grant-Panofsky, Barney’s Version
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Solely so that I might discover who she was and what she was really like.
— Jorge Luis Borges, "There Are More Things"
Monday, June 25, 2012
It simplifies; it diminishes great, complex ideas, stretches of time; whole careers become reduced to a single snapshot.
— James Reston, Frost/Nixon
Sunday, June 24, 2012
How do you know for sure?
— John Nash, A Beautiful Mind
Saturday, June 23, 2012
An inclination for ships always means the joy of perfectly enclosing oneself, of having at hand the greatest possible number of objects, and having at one’s disposal an absolutely finite space.
— Roland Barthes, “The Nautilus and the Drunken Boat," Mythologies
Friday, June 22, 2012
We’ll use our eyes instead.
— Matt & Kim, “Cameras”
Thursday, June 21, 2012
He can only kill you if you’re OK.
— Volkswagen Commercial
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Further from my widowed home take the road that sets it to the sun.
— Matthew and the Atlas, “I Will Remain”
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
— Oliver Fields, Beginners
Monday, June 18, 2012
I hate to say I told you so, so welcome to Miami.
— Tracy Jordan, “When It Rains, It Pours," 30 Rock
Sunday, June 17, 2012
He was a wanderer and a vagabond like myself.
— Rudyard Kipling, The Man Who Would Be King
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Words deform seeing by imposing their own form on seeing.
— Edward Tufte
Friday, June 15, 2012
A sort of narrative center.
— Jad Abumrad, “Who Am I?,“ WNYC’s Radiolab