Friday, January 14, 2011
Shosa by Isaac Bashevis Singer
"Haiml began speaking to me, to himself, and to no one in particular:'Where did all the years go to? Who will remember them after we're gone? The writers will write, but they'll get everything topsy-turvy. There must be a place somewhere where everything is preserved, inscribed down to the smallest detail. Let us say that a fly has fallen into a spiderweb and the spider has sucked her dry. This is a fact of the universe and such a fact cannot be forgotten, if such a fact should be forgotten, it would create a blemish in the universe. Do you understand me or not?'"