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Routine


Routine and comfort belong to strongest things of the world. Then sometimes it "accidentally" occurs (or rather it is arranged by Fate) that you have to face things, which have been set back whether you want or not. Then it turns out that much more things have been accumulated under the carpet than we can remember, or what we want to take responsibility for. Of course, in this or that way we try to influence the events a little bit, but there is no way out any more. Even it is unpleasant and one is reluctant to do so, we have to make decisions, we do or fail to do things, rethink and reconsider our life. We are constantly hunted by the ideas why we failed to act sooner, why we didn’t do otherwise, only if we had been cleverer and had taken more responsibility, etc. ... but afterwards it is pointless to dwell on it any more. Most of what we can do in this case is that we admit that if we don’t control our lives, fate will decide instead of us and then we have to choose from the remaining alternatives, if there are any at all.

If you want to know more about Agatha Seymour visit agathaseymour.com

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When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t…

When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t… As a writer, I read more than average. Not necessarily books that fall within my immediate interests, but rather those I can learn from, marvel at, analyze word by word, and sometimes even those that demand more effort from me than usual. That is how it is with Alice Munro. I bought my first book by her when she received the Nobel Prize. Then life happened, and the volume sat on my bookshelf—either I had no time for it, or it lingered somewhere at the bottom of my list of priorities. When I finally picked it up, I could hardly believe my eyes—or my reaction. First, I was utterly outraged; my blood pressure shot through the roof in an instant, and I almost started swearing in disbelief. I had barely skimmed the first few lines, yet that was enough to know: it was perfect. A true masterpiece. Excellence among the excellent. Every word reached the deepest layers of my soul. I was touched by its purity, its delicacy, the noblest simpli...
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Evening thought

Now and then journalists in search of copy ask me what is the most thrilling moment of my life. If I were not ashamed to, I might answer that it is the moment when I began to read Goethe’s Faust. I have never quite lost this feeling, and even now the first pages of a book sometimes send the blood racing through my veins. To me reading is a rest as to other people conversation or a game of cards. It is more than that; it is a necessity, and if I am deprived of it for a little while I find myself as irritable as the addict deprived of his drug. I would sooner read a time-table or a catalogue than nothing at all. That is putting it too low. I have spent many delightful hours poring over the price-list of the Army and Navy Stores, the lists of second-hand took-sellers and the A.B.C. All these are redolent of romance. They are much more entertaining than half the novels that are written. /W.S.Maugham/
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