I’m always at a loss for words. When trying to describe a particular feeling, when trying to console a friend, when faced with death or the unknown, well, ever and ever. I’m a pretend-writer without words. So I collect quotes, usually on bits of paper I loose a few steps further down the road, on restaurants tablecloths, on used bus tickets, but some seem to hang on to a corner of my mind. I decided I should write those down somewhere, because if brilliant minds have written or spoken so many brilliant words, it should be a shame not to pay my respect.
This week, somehow, a passage from Zadie Smith’s White Teeth is stuck in my head. (Read it, read it now!!!)
Our children will be born of our actions. Our accidents will become their destinies. Oh, the actions will remain. It is a simple matter of what you will do when the chips are down, my friend. When the fat lady is singing. When the walls are falling in, and the sky is dark, and the ground is rumbling. In that moment our actions will define us. And it makes no difference whether you are being watched by Allah, Jesus, Buddah, or whether you are not. On cold days a man can see his breath, on a hot day he can’t. On both occasions, the man breathes.