The Neat L'l Bookshop ~

 

"All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you:  the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was.  If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer."

~ Ernest Hemingway Old Newsman Writes.  From Esquire, Dec. 1934.

Dismantling the Old Bridge

There is no trail along this portion of the riverbank ~ only brush with a steep, muddy "slide" I assume used by adventurous kids.

Hearing voices in the trees at the top of the cliff, I replied and accepted a gentleman's assistance to get back up.

Looking upstream, the old abandoned Wabash/CN railway bridge.

[photos: lbw]

Looking upstream

[Photos taken Monday, July 14.]

 

 

 

[Tomorrow ~ The other side of the Bridge]

 





 

"Sir Henry Wotton. . .was a most dear lover, and a frequent practicer of the art of angling; of which he would say, 'it was an employment for his idle time, which was then not idly spent. .. a rest to his mind, a cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of contentedness; and that it begat habits of peace and patience in those that professed and practiced it.' "

~ Izaak Walton (1593 - 1683)
BARTLETT'S Familiar Quotations, 1992.

Smile for Today ~

"At present I'm in lodgings, and while they're quite good as far as lodgings go I can't ignore the blasted RADIO which seems a feature of everyone's life these days, and it prevents me from sitting thinking and scribbling in the evenings, yet if I grumbled my complaint would be regarded as eccentric as a complaint against the traffic or the birds or the children outside.  Do you have radios in Japan? or can you sit long silk-colored evenings wrapped in a cocoon of silence sipping sake, or whatever it is, while the hours pass over as lightly as glances?  If so, me for there.  It is on now, subjecting me to its pathological highpitched burble, damn it.  Excuse this outpouring.  Obviously I ought to live out in the moors somewhere."

~ Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985) English novelist, poet, librarian. In a letter to Dennis Enright, April 27, 1955.  Selected Letters of Philip Larkin 1940 - 1985, edited by Anthony Thwaite.