Let the Great World Spin

按有用程度 按页码先后 最新笔记

• 

  第697页

  frog423 (奔4)

  When he was a boy he had seldom even folded down the pages of his Bible—he had always kept it pristine. Now the days were stacked up against him. The writing was spidery and he had underlined passages in deep-black ink. I recalled the myth that I had once heard as a university student—thirty-six hidden saints in the world, all of them doing the work of humble men, carpenters, cobblers, shepherd... (更多)

  When he was a boy he had seldom even folded down the pages of his Bible—he had always kept it pristine. Now the days were stacked up against him. The writing was spidery and he had underlined passages in deep-black ink. I recalled the myth that I had once heard as a university student—thirty-six hidden saints in the world, all of them doing the work of humble men, carpenters, cobblers, shepherds. They bore the sorrows of the earth and they had a line of communication with God, all except one, the hidden saint, who was forgotten. The forgotten one was left to struggle on his own, with no line of communication to that which he so hugely needed. Corrigan had lost his line with God: he bore the sorrows on his own, the story of stories. P83/P697

  “Pain’s nothing. Pain’s what you give, not what you get.” P105/697

  Nothing’s over. The cream becomes the milk. The first star at morning is the last one at night. P167/P697

  Death, the greatest democracy of them all. The world’s oldest complaint. Happens to us all. Rich and poor. Fat and thin. Fathers and daughters. Mothers and sons. P211/P697

  All this talk of freedom. Nonsense, really. Freedom can't be given, it must be received. P213/P697 (收起)

  2012-01-19 13:20:42   回应

  收藏

  推荐

• 

  第697页

  frog423 (奔4)

  When he was a boy he had seldom even folded down the pages of his Bible—he had always kept it pristine. Now the days were stacked up against him. The writing was spidery and he had underlined passages in deep-black ink. I recalled the myth that I had once heard as a university student—thirty-six hidden saints in the world, all of them doing the work of humble men, carpenters, cobblers, shepherd... (更多)

  When he was a boy he had seldom even folded down the pages of his Bible—he had always kept it pristine. Now the days were stacked up against him. The writing was spidery and he had underlined passages in deep-black ink. I recalled the myth that I had once heard as a university student—thirty-six hidden saints in the world, all of them doing the work of humble men, carpenters, cobblers, shepherds. They bore the sorrows of the earth and they had a line of communication with God, all except one, the hidden saint, who was forgotten. The forgotten one was left to struggle on his own, with no line of communication to that which he so hugely needed. Corrigan had lost his line with God: he bore the sorrows on his own, the story of stories. P83/P697

  “Pain’s nothing. Pain’s what you give, not what you get.” P105/697

  Nothing’s over. The cream becomes the milk. The first star at morning is the last one at night. P167/P697

  Death, the greatest democracy of them all. The world’s oldest complaint. Happens to us all. Rich and poor. Fat and thin. Fathers and daughters. Mothers and sons. P211/P697

  All this talk of freedom. Nonsense, really. Freedom can't be given, it must be received. P213/P697 (收起)

  2012-01-19 13:20:42   回应

  收藏

  推荐

• 

  第697页

  frog423 (奔4)

  When he was a boy he had seldom even folded down the pages of his Bible—he had always kept it pristine. Now the days were stacked up against him. The writing was spidery and he had underlined passages in deep-black ink. I recalled the myth that I had once heard as a university student—thirty-six hidden saints in the world, all of them doing the work of humble men, carpenters, cobblers, shepherd... (更多)

  When he was a boy he had seldom even folded down the pages of his Bible—he had always kept it pristine. Now the days were stacked up against him. The writing was spidery and he had underlined passages in deep-black ink. I recalled the myth that I had once heard as a university student—thirty-six hidden saints in the world, all of them doing the work of humble men, carpenters, cobblers, shepherds. They bore the sorrows of the earth and they had a line of communication with God, all except one, the hidden saint, who was forgotten. The forgotten one was left to struggle on his own, with no line of communication to that which he so hugely needed. Corrigan had lost his line with God: he bore the sorrows on his own, the story of stories. P83/P697

  “Pain’s nothing. Pain’s what you give, not what you get.” P105/697

  Nothing’s over. The cream becomes the milk. The first star at morning is the last one at night. P167/P697

  Death, the greatest democracy of them all. The world’s oldest complaint. Happens to us all. Rich and poor. Fat and thin. Fathers and daughters. Mothers and sons. P211/P697

  All this talk of freedom. Nonsense, really. Freedom can't be given, it must be received. P213/P697 (收起)

  2012-01-19 13:20:42   回应

  收藏

  推荐