Is the obsession what is bringing me to the edge of the abyss, or is it what is supposed to rescue me – the last fingernail-hold at the edge? Or like the self-defeating compensations of the neurotic, is it both?
Is the obsession what is bringing me to the edge of the abyss, or is it what is supposed to rescue me – the last fingernail-hold at the edge? Or like the self-defeating compensations of the neurotic, is it both?
“Remembering little things the way you can’t not remember some larger ones — now that’s confusing, the way I put it. Animal smell of the sun on the earth at the exposed root of an outstanding sweet white oak that now belonged to us; or on the other hand my mother and father’s parallel love of life, I suppose.”
Joseph McElroy | “Character”