NPQiYBM, day 7

House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all, a pretty good day.

- Neil Gaiman

NPQiYBM, day six

I have a vested interest in the future, because I plan on living there.

–Neil Gershenfeld

NPQiYBM, day five

I can summon spirits from the vasty depths!

Why, so can I, and so can any man; but do they come when you do call for them?
- William Shakespeare

NPQiYBM, day four

William Butler Yeats, On Baile’s Strand. Someday I’m going to write a book about Aoife.

Conchubar: Ah! I remember I have heard you boast,
When the ale was in your blood, that there was one
In Scotland, where you had learnt the trade of war,
That had a stone-pale cheek and red-brown hair;
And that although you had loved other women,
You’d sooner that fierce woman of the camp
Bore you a son than any queen among them.

Cuchulain: You call her a ‘fierce woman of the camp,’
For, having lived among the spinning-wheels,
You’d have no woman near that would not say,
‘Ah! how wise!’ and ‘What will you have for supper?’
‘What shall I wear that I may please you, sir?’
And keep that humming through the day and night
For ever. A fierce woman of the camp!
But I am getting angry about nothing.
You have never seen her. Ah, Conchubar, had you seen her
With that high, laughing, turbulent head of hers
Thrown backward, and the bowstring at her ear,
Or sitting at the fire with those grave eyes
Full of good council as it were wine,
Or when love ran through all the lineaments
Of her wild body – although she had no child,
None other had all beauty, queen or lover,
Or was so fitted to give birth to kings.

NPQiYBM, day three

Only the curious have, if they live, a tale worth telling at all.

- Alastair Reid, “Curiosity”

National Put Quotes in Your Blog Month

It’s Groundhog Day! Which means we’re two days into the fourth annual National Put Quotes in Your Blog Month and I’m already one behind.

But no matter! For today, my favorite passage from the works of the eminently quotable Dorothy Sayers:

“Peter—what did you mean when you said that anybody could have the harmony if they would leave us the counterpoint?”

“Why,” said he, shaking his head, “that I like my music polyphonic. If you think I meant anything else, you know what I meant.”

“Polyphonic music takes a lot of playing. You’ve got to be more than a fiddler. It needs a musician.”

“In this case, two fiddlers—both musicians.”

“I’m not much of musician, Peter.”

“I admit that Bach isn’t a matter of an autocratic virtuoso and a meek accompanist. But do you want to be either?”

I read that when I was thirteen, before I realized what a very unusual book Gaudy Night was, doubly so for the year it was written.