It wasn’t nostalgia exactly; Quentin didn’t miss the old days. But he did miss Fillory. It was only when he was finally alone in his room — not a king’s rooms, a teacher’s room, a very junior teacher’s room — with the door shut that Quentin allowed himself to really truly long for it. He yearned for it. He felt the full force of what he’d lost. He lay down and stared up at the faraway ceiling and thought of everything that was happening there without him, the journeys and adventures and feasts and all the various magical wonders, all across the length and breadth of Fillory, the rivers and oceans and trees and meadows, and he wanted to be there so badly that it felt like his desire should be enough to physically pull him out of his flat hard bed, out of this world, and into the one he belonged in.
'Don't look so surprised, Quentin!' [Fogg] said. 'You were always one of the clever ones. Everyone saw it but you. If you hadn't been so busy trying to convince yourself you didn't belong here, you would have seen it too.'
Currently enjoying this new album from the New Pornographers. I’m also fully on board with Rdio — great application from selection to design to functionality.
Nathan Fielder has been hilarious in almost everything he does.
There is something fascinatingly awkward about an author photo. I’m drawn to those glossy shots in the back of books, mostly because the subjects never look happy to be there.
Where the road sloped upward beyond the trees, I sat and looked toward the building where Naoko lived. It was easy to tell which room was hers. All I had to do was find the one window toward the back where a faint light trembled. I focused on that point of light for a long, long time. It made me think of something like the final throb of a soul’s dying embers. I wanted to cup my hands over what was left and keep it alive. I went on watching it the way Jay Gatsby watched that tiny light on the opposite shore night after night.