“What was that terrible thing you told me about Mrs. Tolstoy?”
“Copied War & Peace for him six times by hand. But you know, it would beat copying most books six times by hand.”

— Ursula K. LeGuin, “Hand, Cup, Shell”

I came here to post another quote when I realized that all I’ve been doing is posting quotes. It’s not my fault, entirely; so many good things to do (and not to do) that I’ve been fall-down-asleep tired every spare minute. Like today, it’s bitterly cold and I’m piling on so many layers I could take a punch to no effect, just so I can treat Emily to the farm before she goes back to her icebox in Indiana.

Life is good. The new year has been successfully, absurdly, wildly rung, in disastrous ways that only serve to make it all the more memorable. I love that the people I love best are with the best people; ones that, even amidst shitstorms of great magnitude, can drive around lost and stranded in the middle of New Years’ night and curse the insanity with incredulous laughter.

And now, back home, early and right on time. Frostbite and flannel, mud-caked jeans and boots; how can anyone fault me for wanting to be only here?

I don’t have a single new year resolution to make.

“You should see this place. Man, it’s so beautiful. I mean a Wednesday afternoon at 3:47 is fall-down-the-stairs stunning. We learned to see this. We watched the fireflies come out on the porch and missed the new CSI. Truthfully, we barely look at the television anymore. It’s a side effect of the new place—there’s just so much to do and we’re scared if we let ourselves get distracted we’ll miss the fireflies. We can only take so much tragedy, you see.” — “We’re not from around here,” Cold Antler Farm

The WSJ talks with Cormac McCarthy:

“Your future gets shorter and you recognize that. In recent years, I have had no desire to do anything but work and be with [son] John. I hear people talking about going on a vacation or something and I think, what is that about? I have no desire to go on a trip. My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That’s heaven. That’s gold and anything else is just a waste of time.”

And on productivity, “Your busiest day might be watching some ants carrying bread crumbs. Someone asked Flannery O’Connor why she wrote, and she said, ‘Because I was good at it.’ And I think that’s the right answer. If you’re good at something it’s very hard not to do it. In talking to older people who’ve had good lives, inevitably half of them will say, ‘The most significant thing in my life is that I’ve been extraordinarily lucky.’ And when you hear that you know you’re hearing the truth. It doesn’t diminish their talent or industry. You can have all that and fail.”

I didn’t get along so well with All the Pretty Horses (punctuation!), but this makes me want to read The Road.