Book Booze Go!

This is where I share stuff while learning the craft of writing.

“We erect a statue in our own image inside ourselves – idealised, you know, but still recognisable – and then spend our lives engaged in the effort to make ourselves into its likeness.”

– Diderot

Milan Kundera on metaphors

If the Pharaoh’s daughter hadn’t snatched the basket carrying little Moses from the waves, there would have been no Old Testament, no civilization as we now know it! How many ancient myths begin with the rescue of an abandoned child! If Polybus hadn’t taken in the young Oedipus, Sophocles wouldn’t have written his most beautiful tragedy!

Tomas did not realize at the time that metaphors are dangerous. Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love.

Hyperion - Sun God, Theia - his wife

Helios - son of Hyperion

Selene - Moon goddess, sister of Helios
Endymion - her mortal lover, Zeus gave him eternal beauty, youth and sleep

Eos - Dawn goddess, sister of Helios
Tithonus - immortal lover without eternal youth, later turned into 1st grasshopper
Others - Cephalus, Orion, Cleitus (immortal)

Clymene - Helios’ lover, from ancient Ethiopia
Phaëthon - son of Helios, Zeus killed him by a thunderbolt when he was driving his dad’s chariot uncontrollably.

Titanomachy - battle in which Zeus and the Olympians beat Cronus and the Titans

Themis - Goddess (Titan) of Right and Justice, on Zeus’ side
Themis’ sons - Prometheus (team Zeus) & Epimetheus (team Cronus)

Hieros Gamos - sacred marriage between sky god and earth goddess
1. Gaia & Uranus
2. Rhea & Cronus
3. Zeus & Hera

side note - Cronus castrated Uranus after his mom got angry because Uranus locked away awful ugly Hecatonchires.

“Musil’s librarian thus keeps himself from entering into the books under his care, but he is far from indifferent or hostile toward them, as one might suppose. On the contrary, it is his love of books—of all books—that incites him to remain prudently on their periphery, for fear that too pronounced an interest in one of them might cause him to neglect the others.”

– How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read

“We all reject out of hand the idea that the love of our life may be something light or weightless; we presume our love is what must be, that without it our life would no longer be the same.”

– Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

“Putting it negatively, the myth of eternal return states that a life which disappears once and for all, which does not return, is like a shadow, without weight, dead in advance, and whether it was horrible, beautiful, or sublime, its horror, sublimity, and beauty mean nothing.”

– Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Italo Calvino’s CV

I was born in 1923 under a sky in which the radiant Sun and melancholy Saturn were housed in harmonious Libra. I spent the first twenty-five years of my life in what was in those days a still verdant San Remo, which contained cosmopolitan eccentrics amidst the surly isolation of its rural, practical folk; I was marked for life by both these aspects of the place. Then I moved to industrious and rational Turin, where the risk of going mad is no less than elsewhere (as Nietzsche found out). I arrived at a time when the streets opened out deserted and endless, so few were the cars; to shorten my journeys on foot I would cross the rectilinear streets on long obliques from one angle to the other—a procedure that today is not just impossible but unthinkable—and in this way I would advance marking out invisible hypotenuses between grey right-angled sides. I got to know only barely other famous metropolises, on the Atlantic and Pacific, falling in love with all of them at first sight: I deluded myself into believing that I had understood and possessed some of them, while others remained forever ungraspable and foreign to me. For many years I suffered from a geographical neurosis: I was unable to stay three consecutive days in one city or place. In the end I chose definitive wife and dwelling in Paris, a city which is surrounded by forests and hornbeams and birches, where I walk with my daughter Abigail, and which in turn surrounds the Bibliothèque Nationale, where I go to consult rare books, using my Reader’s Ticket no. 2516. In this way, prepared for the Worst, and becoming more and more dissatisfied with the Best, I am already anticipating the incomparable joys of growing old. That’s all.

(source -

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”

– L.P. Hartley