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Daily soul-candy

I’ve got a teaching for a lifetime from my favorite author and ideal. He always comes to my mind whenever I feel blue or I see the situation hopeless. W. S. Maugham became an orphan at the age of ten, his uncle didn’t care much about him, he spent his childhood as an orphan, lonely and stuttering. However, he didn’t break down, he decided very early that despite all the difficulties and seemingly considerable disadvantages he’ll have a great plan for the future and he will make the most of life. Well, he did make the most of it and became a world famous author. For me it means that nothing is impossible, anybody can achieve anything if you work for it hard enough.

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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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