Morsels
Morsels by debgrant
Quotes. Phrases. Carefully kneaded words. A handful of delicious language.
I used to memorize them to hold them to use at a moment’s notice.
Now I write them down in pocket notebooks.
Partly because memory is too randomly inaccessible these days.
Partly because I like the feel of the fountain pen inking the paper.
Today’s menu of morsels included:
· “She might have packed her original disappointments away in a box, but she carried the box with her wherever she went.” – from The Dutch House by Ann Patchett
· “They melted away like a pat of butter out on the hot pancake plains, not even a lick of syrup left.” – from a poem ‘Ghost Towns’ by Larry Schug
· “A classic is a book that has never finished saying all it has to say.” – Italo Calvino
· “The United States suffers from a deficit of imagining the lives of other people.” – from an article in The Atlantic by Derek Thompson
I carry peanuts and biscuits in my pocket to give my bird and dog for no other reason than I am honored to be their human.
Randomly, inside a human conversation, a phrase might surface from the depths. Miraculously, the phrase might even be my own invention. I offer it up like peanut or a biscuit from my pocket. My dog will crunch and swallow the biscuit fast. She never met a biscuit she didn’t like. My bird will either surgically remove the nut meats within and roll the flavors into macerated pate or immediately throw the peanut unwanted and unopened to the floor. That is the risk, the grace and humility of quoting oneself.
We all have morsels in our pockets.
Some were given to us to eat.
Some were made to offer like bread.
Sometimes our timing is not right.
Sometimes a morsel meets a hunger.
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