a red herring without mustard de alan bradley

I.

It was a stupid thought, and I realized it instantly. I´d learned quite early in life that the mind loves nothing better than to spook itself with ourlandish stories, as if the various coils of the brain were no more than a troop of roly-poly Girl Guides huddled over a campfire in the darkness of the skull.

II.

It always surprises me after a family row to find that the world outdoors has remained the same. While the passions and feelings that accumulate like noxious gases inside a house seem to condense and cling to the walls and ceilings like old smoke, the out-of-doors is different. The landscape seems incapable of accumulating human radiation. Perhaps the wind blows anger away.

If Beale Street Could Talk de James Baldwin

Those were great days and we were always very happy – but that was because of our father, not because of the city. It was because we knew our father loved us. Now, I can say, because I certainly know it now, the city didn´t. They looked at us though we were zebras – and, you know, some people like zebras and some people don´t. But nobody ever asks the zebra.

The Cruellest Month de Louise Penny

She knew that kindness kills. All her life she´d suspected this and so she´d only ever been cold and cruel. She´d faced kindness with cutting remarks. She´d curled her lips at smiling faces. She´d twisted every thoughtful, considerate act into an assault. Everyone who was nice to her, who was compassionate and loving, she rebuffed.

Because she´d loved them. Loved them with all her heart, and wouldn´t see them hurt. Because she´d known all her life that the surest way to hurt someone, to main and cripple them, was to be kind. If people were exposed, they die. Best to teach them to be armored, even if it meant she herself was forever alone. Sealed off from human touch.

Still Life de Louise Penny

Life is change. If you aren´t growing and evolving you´re standing still, and the rest of the world is surging ahead. Most of these people are very immature. They lead «still» lifes, waiting.

Waiting for what?
Waiting for someone to save them. Expecting someone to save them or at least protect them from the big, bad world. The thing is no one else can save them because the problem is theirs and so is the solution. Only they can get out of it.
(…) That´s it. The fault lies with us, and only us. It´s not fate, not genetics, not bad luck, and it´s definitely not Mom and Dad. Ultimately it´s us and our choices. But, but- the most powerful, spectacular thing is that the solution rests with us as well. We´re the only ones who can change our lives, turn them around. So all those years waiting for someone else to do it are wasted.»

Salinger de David Shields y Shane Salerno

I.

Y eso me recuerda a algo que Jerry me dijo en una carta: «A veces tienes que darte la aprobación a ti mismo. A veces la gente no te la da. O bien te llega demasiado tarde o bien no te llega nunca.»

II.

Todos estamos rotos; todo el mundo en algún momento, y sobre todo en la adolescencia, se siente irreparablemente traumatizado, todos necesitamos curación. El guardián entre el centeno proporciona esa curación, pero muy sutilmente. Ni siquiera sabes cómo; al final solamente te llega una pizca de optimismo, pero no te da la sensación de que te haya suministrado un remedio universal. Solamente te sientes curado a un nivel profundo e imposible de expresar.