Memorable Stuff I Read This Week

There is a fine line between losing yourself and finding your deepest truths. Sometimes there is no line at all.

— Laura Killingbreck / “Into the Wind” / Bicycling

The frequency with which bicyclists are hit on the road makes me believe it is a rite of passage and that not having personally been hit is an indicator that I have yet to achieve true bicycler status. This inference might stem from humanity’s positive spin on suffering: battle scars earn us glory.

— Tree Abraham / Cyclettes

you entered the dwelling place of dead tenderness alive
and in each step you recognized
yourself as an enticing answer
the world hasn’t changed from ash for you
nor has anguish crucified itself

— Tristan Tzara / “Speaking Alone”

In the labyrinth of memories, I often ask myself how much are they in flux, what mattered when, and how much has evaporated or changed tonality. How true are our memories?

— Werner Herzog / Every Man for Himself and God Against All

Besides, nothing inside me is ever certain or
In agreement with my self … Beautiful hours
Belong to others, or simply don’t exist.

— Álvaro de Campos / “Three Sonnets”

. . . only moving / does it have a soul.

— Pablo Neruda / “Ode to Bicycles”

In that moment I understood: Joy was its own form of power. It flowed through people, through landscapes, through wind and motion. It radiated from the body and was stored there, too. Joy was limitless and easy to share. After all these miles, I’d arrived somewhere.

— Laura Killingbreck / “Into the Wind” / Bicycling

What I’m Listening To:

I’m just dressing for the weather,
and the forecast is for pain

— Arab Strap / “Strawberry Moon”