"And yet despite its inherent physicality--the routers, the interchanges, the telephone poles strung with wires, and the fiber optic cables crossing the sea--we persist in our belief that the Internet is inchoate, a cloud."
"'Somehow in the diesel hiss and whine of the bus I look east toward the glow of the rising sun. I am murmuring prayers, because I am frightened as if I had somehow allowed myself, a child of God, to be sent back to Egypt. It was as if my yearning had got me out of an imagined bondage for the real one of the unknown. Probably everyone feels this on their first true flight from whatever nest, but it is no less real for being so universally shared! We all have mothers and fathers, and what sweet anguish, sometimes terror, there is in those names. If you give it much thought, the skeleton of life is stupendously ordinary. So much of the emotional content of our lives seems to occur before we are nineteen or twenty, doesn't it? After that, especially by our age, we seems like stone walls, mortared together by scar tissues. The whole point is not to be. From all my reading done in construction camps throughout the world, the main point of challenge is to stay as conscious as possible, absurd as that seems.'"
Sundog, Jim Harrison
"Life is not segmented artificially by what we call days, months, years, dawns, noons, evenings, night; rather, life is segmented by our moods, impressions, traumas, odd transferences of power from inanimate objects--the aesthetic principle--dreams, linked by time spans of loves and hates and indifference, unexpected changes in the prism of our understanding, areas of passion or lust that disappear in a moment, lapsing into a kind of sloth, dread and slowness..."
Sundog, Jim Harrison
"'For instance, you don't even understand the internal combustion engine that's been hauling you around all your life. I got this little theory, an utterly unimportant theory, that most people never know more than vaguely where they are, either in time or in the scheme of things. People can't read contracts or time schedules or identify countries on blank maps. Why should they? I don't know. There's a wonderful fraudulence to literacy. Yet these same people have emotional lives as intricate as that Bach piece my niece played.'"
Sundog, Jim Harrison
"Something essentially mean-minded in me wanted to probe deeper for a raw nerve, for the great leveler that is at the heart of all personal journalism, wherein the noblest human might be made pedestrian at least for the length of time it took to read the article: ' Faulkner was laughably short,' or 'Churchill, fat as a toad, coughed up his last bite of flan,' or 'Eisenhower, despite his questionable talents in World War II, appeared ill at ease and simple-minded during an after-dinner conversation at Stokely Van Camp's winter home at Hobe Sound.'"
Sundog, Jim Harrison
"Looking back at this with the estranged sensibilities of someone who has spent most of his life in foreign countries, I see that it all doesn't fit together. It's not supposed to. Symmetry is a term better suited to engineering than to people's lives. By the time you wish to become something, you're already something else. In the living nightmare after my accident, I had a dream that we were all black, fertile eggs, each of us encapsuled in our small, liquid universe. I'm aware that everyone sees the world differently, and what I've been telling you might be too peculiar to be of any use. I'm doubtful if I've felt really at home in the world since that summer morning I said good-bye to Violet. I couldn't very well feel homesick when, like so many of us, my home had disappeared. I guess I've moved too fast back and forth across the earth to become preoccupied with the question."
Sundog, Jim Harrison
"Now I was driving straight into half a red ball that was the sun; immense crows swooped back and forth across the road looking for carcasses to pick. I remembered in a confusing moment that Mother had told me to look for the ravens that favored northern climes: My confusion was over a feeling of déjà vu, of a twelve-year-old boy being driven east, then south in 1953 to a faraway home he neither desired nor would ever feel truly at home in; and the boy in a state of petulance and anger staring out of the back seat of the car at this self-same swamp, and how he may have blocked those memories of the first twelve years until he no longer understood their language, which still somehow emanated, however weakly, but was suffocated with irony and mock sophistication. Now the ravens, the puddle ducks in the swamp, the geese wheeling to land in the distance, the dead raccoon and the setting sun, the road itself, cut clumsily but forcibly through the thirty intervening years, leaving them as badly lit photos. There was then, and there was now."
Sundog, Jim Harrison