Molloy

We all have our rituals.  When I have a romantic breakup, I like to read the quotation below.  I’ve been doing this ever since I read Samuel Beckett’s Molloy in college – and had my first serious relationship – well, as serious as a relationship at age 19 can be.  I wonder what Robert Coles, who taught my “Literature of Social Reflection” class would think.  I recall that he termed the class’s bibliography a reading list for life.  I guess it truly is.

“And once again I am I will not say alone, no, that’s not like me, but, how shall I say, I don’t know, restored to myself, no, I never left myself, free, yes, I don’t know what that means but it’s the word I mean to use, free to do what, to do nothing, to know, but what, the laws of the mind perhaps, of my mind, that for example water rises in proportion as it drowns you and that you would do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts than to blacken margins, to fill in the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery.”

Samuel Beckett, “Molloy”

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