It's just cool how real these stories can be. Every now and then she initiates a few things, but it's almost always me that reaches out. Even in our conversations, it was very much an Ari and Dante thing. A friend of mine that I confessed to, when I had much of the bravery of a Dante. see some resemblance between Ari and a friend of mine. As bright and as enthusiastic about life.ģ. I feel like, if I didn't go through some damaging shit, I could be as dazzling as him. I romanticized darkness too much to the point that I actually pushed myself into melancholy. Ari, he's what I've /become/ in some ways. It came to the point where I romanticized sadness. I'm not sure if I see myself /in/ them, or if they're just the kind of people I'm always trying to be. I see a part of myself in both Aristotle and Dante, like they're me split into half. I guess I just like that because I'm like that with other things too. Maybe it's not for other people, but I just really care for what happens. No, it doesn't need those, because the story already shines on its own. Like the story itself mattered more than the extravaganzas that make it shimmer. real, I guess? Like the author just wanted to tell the story. That's on me of course, but I wish I discovered this type of writing earlier where it could be breathtakingly simple without being shallow or uninteresting. Somehow even books for children manage to sneak 10 unknown words to me in one page. English isn't my first language, and I have a tough time with foreign vocabularies. The vocabularies are so simple?! The sentences too?! And yet they manage to be beautiful and poetic?! Sign me the fuck up. It's that and a whole bunch of others, and the fact that they can all co-exist?! I'll just stary listing them in no particular orderġ. They can have short chapters and have long complicated sentences.
Books can be short but they can have long chapters. As someone who doesn't read often and has the attention span of a dog, that is just heaven for me. I think you're starting to see the pattern there. And that's the first thing needed in analysis, your attention.Īnd I loved, loved, loved this book. Because every single page, every sentence, catches your attention. I think it's easier to do that when you really love a book than when you're quite bored or indefferent about it. I don't know if I do now, but hey, I'm making some progress atleast? Alright the thing is I only experienced the "books tell you a lot about yourself" thing upon reading this one. Well, I think I've always been doing this, I just didn't know the proper way. I've only started psychoanalyzing myself deeper (in a non negative way because the first time I learned to do that was through ruminating on negativity) quite recently, and I think I'm addicted. I just need to release these pent up adrenaline and blabber my heart out about this book somewhere, and what better place than Goodreads can I do that?Īnyway, point is, books reveal to you yourself. I'm drifting to too many spaces at once but it doesn't really matter for now. The workings behind-the-scenes that are responsible for many of our man-made experiences. You get a better glimpse of what is usually in people's minds. They lay bare before you words, thoughts, cultures, people. Well, I think that goes for all other things too in general, but we're unto books right now. Point is, books can be a mirror of our identity, of the many facets of our mind that may otherwise be hard to access. I think there's a pretty famous quote about that, but I forgot. I think that when it comes especially to fiction, your feelings for a story say a lot about you as a person. Everything, or atleast it seems like, speaks to me in so many volume.
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