“Only the Mistakes Belong to Us”
—Jorge Luis Borges
This tree keeps falling over. I prop it up,
it falls again. And the rain falls
day after day like a broken wet record.
Here are the birds—tiny, smaller
than birds. And like fresh butcher’s
paper, the light so bright it hurts.
So the birds are paper and so is the sky.
It will be easiest if I draw you a picture,
each of us a different shade of gray.
What goes right is an accident. It can’t
be blamed on us. What goes wrong
is almost impossible to see. How quickly
it disappears, like someone’s hand
into someone else’s pocket.
The cookbook is almost here! It comes out April 15th! (And for those of you who pre-ordered on Amazon, it should be delivered to you on the 15th).
There are 100 vegetarian recipes, inspired by living in our little cabin in the woods, and the local California produce here. Twenty of the recipes are favorites from the blog (like the 3 above) and then there are 80 new ones! (see some of them, here!) Plus the book is packed with lots of my watercolors and photos of the cabin and cocktail parties on our deck.
Just like the blog, everything is displayed visually like the recipes above, so it’s super easy to cook from. There are lots of upcoming book signings scheduled for the New York and San Francisco areas- see them here! More to come. Feel free to sign up for my newsletter for updates.
And of course, you can order the book HERE.
Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.― Louis L’Amour (via psych-quotes)
Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer.Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via honeyforthehomeless)
Anne of Avonlea - Anne & Gilbert
“Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps… perhaps… love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.”
- L.M. Montgomery
The most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them.Stephen King (via psych-facts)
A writer—and, I believe, generally all persons—must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.Jorge Luis Borges (via decrepito)