dk-thrive
dk-thrive
Thrive
/THrīv/ v. Grow or develop well or vigorously. Prosper. Flourish. Blossom.
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dk-thrive · an hour ago
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All she wants is a cup of tea properly made, or an egg properly boiled, or a slice of bread properly toasted.
All she wants is a cup of tea properly made, or an egg properly boiled, or a slice of bread properly toasted. But she never finds any servant or any friend who can do these simple things "properly" -- because her "properly" conceals an insatiable demand for the exact, and almost impossible, palatial pleasures which she imagines she remembers from the past.
— C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (HarperOne; May 28, 2009) 
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dk-thrive · 4 hours ago
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Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one--the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.
C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (HarperOne; May 28, 2009)
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dk-thrive · 8 hours ago
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Music. A meaningless acceleration in the rhythm of celestial experience.
C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (HarperOne; May 28, 2009) 
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dk-thrive · 11 hours ago
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Nothing lasts, and yet nothing passes, either. And nothing passes just because nothing lasts.
Philip Roth, The Human Stain:  A Novel (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, May 10, 2000)
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dk-thrive · 12 hours ago
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Daybreak. 5:05 to 5:12 am, June 19, 2021. 67° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
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dk-thrive · 15 hours ago
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The Problem with Travel
Every time I’m in an airport, I think I should drastically change my life: Kill the kid stuff, start to act my numbers, set fire to the clutter and creep below the radar like an escaped canine sneaking along the fence line. I’d be cable-knitted to the hilt, beautiful beyond buying, believe in the maker and fix my problems with prayer and property. Then, I think of you, home with the dog, the field full of purple pop-ups—we’re small and flawed, but I want to be who I am, going where I’m going, all over again.
— Ada Limón, “The Problem With Travel” in Buenos Aires Review, Feb 13, 2015 (via Alive on All Channels)
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dk-thrive · 22 hours ago
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It takes a certain amount of effort to be miserable and another kind of effort to be happy, and I was willing to do the work of happiness.
It takes a certain amount of effort to be miserable and another kind of effort to be happy, and I was willing to do the work of happiness. I figured even if I couldn’t make Lucy deeply happy, I could very likely make her cheaply and immediately happy. I could provide the kind of happiness that would seem hollow if we had had the money or the time to stay in it too long. It was the same as carrying her. I couldn’t do it forever, but I could do it for a while. I booked Lucy a massage and had her eyelashes dyed. I took her for a pedicure. I bought her the best pâté I could find in Nashville along with Spaghetti-O’s and Hungry Jack biscuits and everything else I knew she liked. We went to a bad movie and then stayed for a second bad movie. I took her shopping and bought her whatever she wanted. And she was happy, and I was happy.
― Ann Patchett, Truth & Beauty: A Friendship (HarperCollins, October 13, 2009) 
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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And sometimes I want to win. And sometimes I want to lose so badly I can taste it. To surrender everything I’m made of: the neat, fenced acres of my separateness— that little plot of land I’ve spent a life defending— to let go until there’s nothing left of me but that great vault we spoke of, its endless dark, its pitiless silence.
— Danusha Laméris, from “Worlds in Worlds,” Bonfire Opera
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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It’s life that matters, nothing but life - the process of discovering, the everlasting and perpetual process, not the discovery itself, not at all.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot (Heritage Illustrated Publishing, November 9, 2014) (via Make Believe Boutique)
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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There is no more light in a genius than in any other honest man — but he has a particular kind of lens to concentrate this light into a burning point.
Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and Value (University of Chicago Press, May 15, 1984)
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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Sometimes I wish I never had to sleep. Sometimes I think that if I stay very, very still, if I never move at all, things will change. I think if I freeze myself I can freeze the pain. Sometimes I won’t move for hours. I will not move an inch. If time stands still nothing can go wrong.
Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me. (HarperCollins November 15, 2011) (via The Vale of Soul Making)
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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Daybreak.  5:15 to 5:35 am, June 18, 2021. 56° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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Lucy’s loneliness was breathtaking in its enormity
But Lucy had been alone too much of her life, and in her loneliness she had constructed a vision of what a perfect relationship would look like. Love, in her imagination, was so dazzling, so tender and unconditional, that anything human seemed impossibly thin by comparison. Lucy’s loneliness was breathtaking in its enormity. If she emptied out Grand Central Station and filled it with the people she knew well, the people who loved her, there would be more than a hundred people there. But a hundred people in such a huge space just rattle around. You could squeeze us all into a single bar. With some effort you could push us into a magazine shop. If you added to that number all the people who loved her because of her book, all the people who admired her, all the people who had heard her speak or had seen her on television or listened to her on the radio and loved the sound of her odd little voice, you could pack in thousands and thousands more people, and still it wouldn’t feel full, not full enough to take up every square inch of her loneliness. Lucy thought that all she needed was one person, the right person, and all the empty space would be taken away from her. But there was no one in the world who was big enough for that. She believed that if she had a jaw that was like everyone else’s jaw, she would have found that person by now. She was trapped in a room full of mirrors, and every direction she looked in she saw herself, her face, her loneliness. She couldn’t see that no one else was perfect either, and that so much of love was the work of it. She had worked on everything else. Love would have to be charmed.
― Ann Patchett, Truth & Beauty: A Friendship (HarperCollins, October 13, 2009) 
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dk-thrive · a day ago
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No, no, no—Don’t repent. This is a museum not a church.
Sit or stand silently. Close your eyes until they are still. In the stillness breathe in the river moving inside you. It is a thick smell, a color. Touch it—not with your hands, but with your entire sensual skin. Touch it with your flesh. Drink from yourself until you are full. Realize the emptiness made by your fullness…. No, no, no—Don’t repent. This is a museum not a church. - Natalie Diaz, from “Exhibits from The American Water Museum”, in Postcolonial Love Poem (Graywolf, March 3, 2020) (via Atrium Vestae)
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dk-thrive · 2 days ago
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When Lucy believed that there were actually things in the world that were worse than what had happened to her, she could pull herself up on this knowledge like a rope. When she lost sight of it, she sank.
Ann Patchett, Truth & Beauty: A Friendship (HarperCollins, October 13, 2009) 
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dk-thrive · 2 days ago
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The world was a blister of grief with only the thinnest layer of tightly stretched skin holding everything in place. The smallest touch, the lightest reminder, and everything was brought to the surface again.
Ann Patchett, Truth & Beauty: A Friendship (HarperCollins, October 13, 2009) 
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dk-thrive · 2 days ago
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There is a hole and I tried to fill up with money, money, money But it gets bigger to your hopes is always Running, running, running…
Javier Dunn, from “Animal” (May 5, 2010)
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dk-thrive · 2 days ago
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I had to stop writing for a short while as I sensed I was about to get terribly boring. Shouldn’t I say something deep or something? I mean, I am supposed to be a poet, aren’t I?
Lucy Grealy, from a letter to Ann Patchett in “Truth & Beauty: A Friendship” (HarperCollins, October 13, 2009)
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dk-thrive · 2 days ago
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Daybreak. 4:50 to 5:30 am, June 13, 2021. 57° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
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dk-thrive · 2 days ago
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Dear ann,
This is the second letter I’ve written in the last hour to you. I had to tear the last one up because it’s basic premise was how meaningless life was. I’m hoping this one will be a little cheerier, but also I guess it’d be dishonest to try and convince you that everything was hunky dory. I hate it here. I hate my flat, I hate my flatmates, I hate my writing, and most of all I hate myself at this moment. I have just finished consuming three doughnuts, which also makes me hate my thighs and my will power…Hopefully, this too shall pass. I just feel so baseless, rootless, but externally and internally. I think to myself, well, okay, do some writing, that’ll make you feel better, but it’s not that I can’t write, I can actually sit down (I don’t believe in writer’s block) but that I hate what I write…Maybe I should stop thinking I’m some sort of artist and look at the actual facts of my never having really and truly succeeded at anything. Sure I was a star at college, but how many stories do we know of people who were stars at college only to do absolutely nothing with the rest of their lives? All this surgery business is only delaying the inevitable while sending out some sort of smoke screen that lets people believe I’m doing something brave and strong (ha). The highlight of my day is watching Neighbours.
— Lucy Grealy, from a letter to Ann Patchett in “Truth & Beauty: A Friendship” (HarperCollins, October 13, 2009)
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