I think vestigially there’s a synæsthete in me, but not like a real one who immediately knows what colour Wednesday is.
A.S. Byatt
Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain
What’s your favourite colour? Or, to look at it another way, if you were to be represented by a colour, what would it be?
Myself, I am a sort of dark rusty reddish brown. Plain without being drab, warm without being fiery, simple without being boring. The colour of book-bindings, bloodstains and mahogany furniture – which, now I think about it, makes me sound like a murder in the library.
Well, there are worse places to die – providing, of course, that one does not bleed on the books.
And you? If you abominate the idea of a representative colour, the comment section is also open to discussions of the best places to die. (1,001 Places to Die Before You See?) We speak of birthplaces, why not deathplaces?
Quote: Alter Ego
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“My father’s sense of optimism – that the world would always be full of surprises – was helped by the fact that he thought of his own persona, from day to day, as a surprise…
“His belief goes something like this: Why stick to one identity? Why limit your limitless self every day to the costume of a suburban housewife, if once in a while you can be Salome? Why dress in the costume of a stockbroker – or a retired college teacher – all the time if you can sometimes be a Zouave horseman?”
The Treehouse: Eccentric Wisdom from My Father on how to Live, Love and See
Naomi Wolf