A mountain’s peak at night…

JournalYou may or may not know that I’ve been scribbling away – in the midst of a literary whirlpool that is Tales of Brave Ulysses. 21 years. Three volumes finished and three that are the ever-widening gyre – to steal a bit of Yeats. Halfway to the end. Writing for me has been a long and difficult path, and if that path were to wind to nothing – given the chance – I’d most likely walk that path again.

Four quotations come to mind…

Jack Kerouac: “My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.”

Madeleine L’Engle: “Human beings are the only creatures who are allowed to fail. If an ant fails, it’s dead. But we’re allowed to learn from our mistakes and from our failures.”

Samuel Beckett: “All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

And most specifically, James Galvin: “The history of the meadow goes like this: No one owns it, no one ever will.”


The mountain’s peak at night – under the relentless burn of stars – even if it can never be reached, can never be seen – is still a beautiful thing.

There’s a danger, surely, of reading too much into this, of reading too little.


~ by samofthetenthousandthings on December 9, 2015.

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