Kenneth Grahame Author

British writer Kenneth Grahame (born March 8, 1859) told his son, Alistair, bedtime stories about the adventures of Mr. Toad and his best friends, Badger, Ratty, and Mole. He later published those stories as The Wind in the Willows.
Kenneth Grahame

“Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.”
Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

Leslie Marmon Silko

Leslie Marmon Silko

born
in The United States
March 05, 1948

genre
Literature & Fiction

 

Leslie Marmon Silko (born Leslie Marmon; born March 5, 1948) is a Native American writer of the Laguna Pueblo tribe, and one of the key figures in the First Wave of what literary critic Kenneth Leslie Marmon SilkoLincoln has called the Native American Renaissance.

Silko was a debut recipient of the MacArthur Foundation Grant, now known as the “Genius Grant”, in 1981 and the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas Lifetime Achievement Award in 1994. She currently resides in Tucson, Arizona.

 

Ruth Reichl Author Cooking Biographies and Memoirs Nonfiction

 


 

 
Ruth Reichl
Author profile

born
in New York, The United States
January 16, 1948

gender
female

 

genre
Cooking, Food & Wine, Biographies & Memoirs, Nonfiction
About this author
edit data

Ruth Reichl is an American food writer, the editor-in-chief of Gourmet magazine and culinary editor for the Modern Library.
Born to parents Ernst and Miriam (née Brudno), she was raised in New York City and spent time at a boarding school in Montreal. She attended the University of Michigan, where she met her first husband, the artist Douglas Hollis. She graduated in 1970 with a M.A. in art history.

When she wrote for the New York Times, Ruth Reichl (born January 16, 1948) famously reviewed restaurants in disguise—she had a dozen different undetected personas. Reichl detailed the experience in her bestselling memoir, Garlic and Sapphires.
Ruth Reichl

“Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious.”
Ruth Reichl
“Anyone who thinks they’re too grown up or too sophisticated to eat caramel corn, is not invited to my house for dinner”
Ruth Reichl
“Every restaurant is a theater, and the truly great ones allow us to indulge in the fantasy that we are rich and powerful. When restaurants hold up their end of the bargain, they give us the illusion of being surrounded by servants intent on ensuring our happiness and offering extraordinary food.
But even modest restaurants offer the opportunity to become someone else, at least for a little while. Restaurants free us from mundane reality; that is part of their charm. When you walk through the door, you are entering neutral territory where you are free to be whoever you choose for the duration of the meal.”
Ruth Reichl
“…in the end you are the only one who can make yourself happy. More important, …it is never too late to find out how to do it.”
Ruth Reichl, Not Becoming My Mother: and Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way
“When a person has lived generously and fought fiercely, she deserves more than sadness at the end.”
Ruth Reichl, Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise
“I felt that I was really living in the moment. I did not know where my life was going, but right now the future did not trouble me.”
Ruth Reichl, Comfort Me with Apples: More Adventures at the Table
“…it was so rich and exotic I was seduced into taking one bite and then another as I tried to chase the flavors back to their source.”
Ruth Reichl
“Growing up, I was utterly oblivious to the fact that Mom was teaching me all that. But I was instantly aware of her final lesson, which was hidden in her notes and leters. As I read them I began to understand that in the end you are the only one who can make yourself happy. More important, Mom showed me that it is never too late to find out how to do it.”
Ruth Reichl, Not Becoming My Mother: and Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way
“She was a great cook, but she cooked more for herself than for other people, not because she was hungry but because she was comforted by the rituals of the kitchen.”
Ruth Reichl, Tender at the Bone: Growing Up at the Table
“and he smiled when he saw me, as if just the sight of me had improved his day.”
Ruth Reichl, Comfort Me with Apples: More Adventures at the Table

Lorrie Moore Author Literature and Fiction

by goodreads.com

Lorrie Moore
Author profile

born
in Glens Falls, New York, The United States
January 13, 1957

gender
female

genre
Literature & Fiction
About this author
edit data

Lorrie Moore was born in Glens Falls, New York in 1957. She attended St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York, where she tutored on an Indian reservation, and was editor of the university literary magazine and, at age 19, won Seventeen Magazine’s Fiction Contest. After graduating summa cum laude, she worked in New York for two years before going on to received a Masters in Fine Arts from Cornell University.

Over the course of the last two decades Lorrie Moore has earned a place among the finest writers in this country by exploring the lives of modern women and men, many of them in the Midwest, as they confront the often absurd indignities of ordinary life, most particularly the quest for love and companionship. Her short stories have charted this territory with unfailing intelligence, an almost miraculous wit, and remarkable depth of feeling. Her prose is at once supple and sharp, hilarious and heartrending, and it has come to constitute an unmistakable prose style all her own. Like all great writers, she has managed to bring the pathos of her characters down into the very grammar of her sentences, and as a result her mature work has a generous, open, pellucid quality and a wonderful unexpectedness. It is the work of a writer who has mastered her art. Lorrie Moore’s stories are gifts, for her hard won, no doubt, but for her readers, pure pleasure.

She has been a Professor at the University of Wisconsin since 1984, where she is currently Delmore Schwartz Professor in the Humanities.

Her most recent, A Gate at the Stairs, was published in September, 2009. It was a New York Times bestseller, and was named by the publication one of the year’s best books.

 

Happy 58th birthday, Lorrie Moore! The celebrated writer won the Seventeen magazine fiction contest when she was 19 years old. Other past winners include Meg Wolitzer, Edwidge Danticat, and Sylvia Plath.
Lorrie Moore

“All the world’s a stage we’re going through.”
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
A Gate at the Stairs Birds of America Self-Help Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? Like Life

“This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grew sarcastic.”
Lorrie Moore, Like Life
“One had to build shelters. One had to make pockets and live inside them.”
Lorrie Moore, Like Life
“All the world’s a stage we’re going through.”
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
“I count too heavily on birthdays, though I know I shouldn’t. Inevitably I begin to assess my life by them, figure out how I’m doing by how many people remember; it’s like the old fantasy of attending your own funeral: You get to see who your friends are, get to see who shows up. ”
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
“That is what is wrong with cold people. Not that they have ice in their souls – we all have a bit of that – but that they insist every word and deed mirror that ice. They never learn the beauty or value of gesture. The emotional necessity. For them, it is all honesty before kindness, truth before art. Love is art, not truth. It’s like painting scenery.”
Lorrie Moore, Self-Help
“When she packed up to leave, she knew that she was saying goodbye to something important, which was not that bad, in a way, because it meant that at least you had said hello to it to begin with…”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America
“A short story is a love affair, a novel is a marriage. A short story is a photograph; a novel is a film.”
Lorrie Moore
“They had, finally, the only thing anyone really wants in life: someone to hold your hand when you die.”
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
“I missed him. Love, I realized, was something your spine memorized. There was nothing you could do about that.”
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
“Love drains you, takes with it much of your blood sugar and water weight. You are like a house slowly losing its electricity, the fans slowing, the lights dimming and flickering; the clocks stop and go and stop.”
Lorrie Moore, Self-Help
“Guns, she was reminded then, were not for girls. They were for boys. They were invented by boys. They were invented by boys who had never gotten over their disappointment that accompanying their own orgasm there wasn’t a big boom sound.”
Lorrie Moore, Like Life
“She was not good on the phone. She needed the face, the pattern of eyes, nose, trembling mouth… People talking were meant to look at a face, the disastrous cupcake of it, the hide-and-seek of the heart dashing across. With a phone, you said words, but you never watched them go in. You saw them off at the airport but never knew whether there was anyone there to greet them when they got off the plane. ”
Lorrie Moore, Like Life
“Writers have no real area of expertise. They are merely generalists with a highly inflamed sense of punctuation.”
Lorrie Moore
“You are unhappy because you believe in such a thing as happy.”
Lorrie Moore
“Every arrangement in life carried with it the sadness, the sentimental shadow, of its not being something else, but only itself. ”
Lorrie Moore, Birds of America
“The thing to remember about love affairs,” says Simone, “is that they are all like having raccoons in your chimney.”
…We have raccoons sometimes in our chimney,” explains Simone.
And once we tried to smoke them out. We lit a fire, knowing they were there, but we hoped the smoke would cause them to scurry out the top and never come back. Instead, they caught on fire and came crashing down into our living room, all charred and in flames and running madly around until they dropped dead.” Simone swallows some wine. “Love affairs are like that,” she says. “They are all like that.”
Lorrie Moore
“Once love had seemed like magic. Now it seemed like tricks.”
Lorrie Moore
“I would never understand photography, the sneaky, murderous taxidermy of it. ”
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
“Usually she ordered a cup of coffee and a cup of tea, as well as a brownie, propping up her sadness with chocolate and caffeine so that it became an anxiety.”
Lorrie Moore, Like Life
“It was like the classic scene in the movies where one lover is on the train and one is on the platform and the train starts to pull away, and the lover on the platform begins to trot along and then jog and then sprint and then gives up altogether as the train speeds irrevocably off. Except in this case I was all the parts: I was the lover on the platform, I was the lover on the train. And I was also the train.”
Lorrie Moore, A Gate at the Stairs

Stephen Hawking Author Science Non Fiction

by Goodreads.com

Stephen Hawking
Author profile

born
in Oxford, The United Kingdom
January 08, 1942

gender
male

genre

Science, Non Fiction

Stephen William Hawking was born on 8 January 1942 in Oxford, England. His parents’ house was in north London, but during the second world war Oxford was considered a safer place to have babies. When he was eight, his family moved to St Albans, a town about 20 miles north of London. At eleven Stephen went to St Albans School, and then on to University College, Oxford, his father’s old college. Stephen wanted to do Mathematics, although his father would have preferred medicine. Mathematics was not available at University College, so he did Physics instead. After three years and not very much work he was awarded a first class honours degree in Natural Science.

Stephen then went on to Cambridge to do research in Cosmology, there being no-one working in that area in Oxford at the time. His supervisor was Denis Sciama, although he had hoped to get Fred Hoyle who was working in Cambridge. After gaining his Ph.D. he became first a Research Fellow, and later on a Professorial Fellow at Gonville and Caius College. After leaving the Institute of Astronomy in 1973 Stephen came to the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics, and since 1979 has held the post of Lucasian Professor of Mathematics. The chair was founded in 1663 with money left in the will of the Reverend Henry Lucas, who had been the Member of Parliament for the University. It was first held by Isaac Barrow, and then in 1669 by Isaac Newton.

Stephen Hawking has worked on the basic laws which govern the universe. With Roger Penrose he showed that Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity implied space and time would have a beginning in the Big Bang and an end in black holes. These results indicated it was necessary to unify General Relativity with Quantum Theory, the other great Scientific development of the first half of the 20th Century. One consequence of such a unification that he discovered was that black holes should not be completely black, but should emit radiation and eventually evaporate and disappear. Another conjecture is that the universe has no edge or boundary in imaginary time. This would imply that the way the universe began was completely determined by the laws of science.

His many publications include The Large Scale Structure of Spacetime with G.F.R. Ellis, General Relativity: An Einstein Centenary Survey, with W. Israel, and 300 Years of Gravity, with W. Israel. Stephen Hawking has three popular books published; his best seller A Brief History of Time, Black Holes and Baby Universes and Other Essays and most recently in 2001, The Universe in a Nutshell. There are .pdf and .ps versions of his full publication list.

Professor Hawking has twelve honorary degrees, was awarded the CBE in 1982, and was made a Companion of Honour in 1989. He is the recipient of many awards, medals and prizes and is a Fellow of The Royal Society and a Member of the US National Academy of Sciences.

Stephen Hawking continues to combine family life (he has three children and one grandchild), and his research into theoretical physics together with an extensive programme of travel and public lectures.

 

Happy 73rd birthday, Stephen Hawking! When the astrophysicist wrote A Brief History of Time, his publisher said that every mathematical equation in the book would cause readership to go down by 50 percent. Hawking heeded their advice and included just one: E=mc2. The book has sold nearly 10 million copies.
Stephen Hawking

“One, remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Two, never give up work. Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it. Three, if you are lucky enough to find love, remember it is there and don’t throw it away.”
Stephen Hawking
A Brief History of Time The Grand Design The Universe in a Nutshell A Briefer History of Time Black Holes and Baby Universes

One, remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Two, never give up work. Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it. Three, if you are lucky enough to find love, remember it is there and don’t throw it away.”
Stephen Hawking
“We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special.”
Stephen Hawking
“Quiet people have the loudest minds.”
Stephen Hawking
“Even if there is only one possible unified theory, it is just a set of rules and equations. What is it that breathes fire into the equations and makes a universe for them to describe? The usual approach of science of constructing a mathematical model cannot answer the questions of why there should be a universe for the model to describe. Why does the universe go to all the bother of existing?”
Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time
t
“For millions of years, mankind lived just like the animals. Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination. We learned to talk and we learned to listen. Speech has allowed the communication of ideas, enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible. Mankind’s greatest achievements have come about by talking, and its greatest failures by not talking. It doesn’t have to be like this. Our greatest hopes could become reality in the future. With the technology at our disposal, the possibilities are unbounded. All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.”
Stephen Hawking
“Life would be tragic if it weren’t funny.”
Stephen Hawking
“Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change. ”
Stephen Hawking
“It surprises me how disinterested we are today about things like physics, space, the universe and philosophy of our existence, our purpose, our final destination. Its a crazy world out there. Be curious.”
Stephen Hawking
“[In the Universe it may be that] Primitive life is very common and intelligent life is fairly rare. Some would say it has yet to occur on Earth.”
Stephen Hawking
“I think computer viruses should count as life … I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is purely destructive. We’ve created life in our own image.”
Stephen Hawking
“My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus.”[The Science of Second-Guessing (New York Times Magazine Interview, December 12, 2004)]”
Stephen Hawking
“I believe the simplest explanation is, there is no God. No one created the universe and no one directs our fate. This leads me to a profound realization that there probably is no heaven and no afterlife either. We have this one life to appreciate the grand design of the universe and for that, I am extremely grateful.”
Stephen Hawking
“My goal is simple. It is a complete understanding of the universe, why it is as it is and why it exists at all.”
Stephen Hawking
“The victim should have the right to end his life, if he wants. But I think it would be a great mistake. However bad life may seem, there is always something you can do, and succeed at. While there’s life, there is hope.”
Stephen Hawking
“The role played by time at the beginning of the universe is, I believe, the final key to removing the need for a Grand Designer, and revealing how the universe created itself. … Time itself must come to a stop. You can’t get to a time before the big bang, because there was no time before the big bang. We have finally found something that does not have a cause because there was no time for a cause to exist in. For me this means there is no possibility of a creator because there is no time for a creator to have existed. Since time itself began at the moment of the Big Bang, it was an event that could not have been caused or created by anyone or anything. … So when people ask me if a god created the universe, I tell them the question itself makes no sense. Time didn’t exist before the Big Bang, so there is no time for God to make the universe in. It’s like asking for directions to the edge of the Earth. The Earth is a sphere. It does not have an edge, so looking for it is a futile exercise.”
Stephen Hawking
“There is a fundamental difference between religion, which is based on authority, and science, which is based on observation and reason. Science will win because it works.”
Stephen Hawking
“Although I cannot move and I have to speak through a computer, in my mind I am free.”
Stephen Hawking, Sigan Ŭn Hangsang Mirae Ro Hŭrŭnŭnʼga: Hokʻing Paksa Ŭi Chaemi Innŭn Chʻoesin Ujuron
“I have noticed that even those who assert that everything is predestined and that we can change nothing about it still look both ways before they cross the street”
Stephen Hawking
“The downside of my celebrity is that I cannot go anywhere in the world without being recognized. It is not enough for me to wear dark sunglasses and a wig. The wheelchair gives me away.”
Stephen Hawking
“When people ask me if a god created the universe, I tell them that the question itself makes no sense. Time didn’t exist before the big bang, so there is no time for god to make the universe in. It’s like asking directions to the edge of the earth; The Earth is a sphere; it doesn’t have an edge; so looking for it is a futile exercise. We are each free to believe what we want, and it’s my view that the simplest explanation is; there is no god. No one created our universe,and no one directs our fate. This leads me to a profound realization; There is probably no heaven, and no afterlife either. We have this one life to appreciate the grand design of the universe, and for that I am extremely grateful.”
Stephen Hawking

Philip Levine Poet

by Goodreads.com

Philip Levine
Author profile

born
in Detroit, Michigan, The United States
January 10, 1928

gender
male

genre
Poetry

influences
John Berryman, Yvor Winters, Walt Whitman, Federico García Lorca

 

Philip Levine (b. January 10, 1928, Detroit, Michigan) is a Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet best known for his poems about working-class Detroit. He taught for over thirty years at the English Department of California State University, Fresno and held teaching positions at other universities as well. He is appointed to serve as the Poet Laureate of the United States for 2011–2012.

Philip Levine grew up in industrial Detroit, the second of three sons and the first of identical twins of Jewish immigrant parents. His father, Harry Levine owned a used auto parts business, his mother Esther Priscol (Prisckulnick) Levine was a bookseller. When Levine was five years old, his father died. Growing up, he faced the anti-Semitism embodied by the pro-Hitler radio priest Father Coughlin.

Levine started to work in car manufacturing plants at the age of 14. He graduated from Detroit Central High School in 1946 and went to college at Wayne University (now Wayne State University) in Detroit, where he began to write poetry, encouraged by his mother, to whom he later dedicated the book of poems The Mercy. Levine got his A.B. in 1950 and went to work for Chevrolet and Cadillac in what he calls “stupid jobs”. He married his first wife Patty Kanterman in 1951. The marriage lasted until 1953. In 1953 he went to the University of Iowa without registering, studying among others with poets Robert Lowell and John Berryman, the latter of which Levine called his “one great mentor”. In 1954 he graduated with a mail-order masters degree with a thesis on John Keats’ “Ode to Indolence”, and married actress Frances J. Artley. He returned to the University of Iowa teaching technical writing, completing his Master of Fine Arts degree in 1957. The same year, he was awarded the Jones Fellowship in Poetry at Stanford University. In 1958 he joined the English Department at California State University in Fresno, where he taught until his retirement in 1992. He has also taught at many other universities, among them New York University as Distinguished Writer-in-Residence, at Columbia, Princeton, Brown, Tufts, and the University of California at Berkeley.

Levine and his wife live in Fresno and Brooklyn.

Happy 88th birthday, Philip Levine! The former Poet Laureate of the United States started out with factory jobs at Cadillac and Chevrolet, then went on to write poetry about working-class Detroit.
Philip Levine

“Some things you know all your life. They are so simple and true they must be said without elegance, meter and rhyme…they must be naked and alone, they must stand for themselves.”
Philip Levine
“Some things you know all your life. They are so simple and true they must be said without elegance, meter and rhyme…they must be naked and alone, they must stand for themselves.”
Philip Levine
]
“I find you
in these tears, few,
useless and here at last.
Don’t come back. ”
Philip Levine
]
“You have begun to separate the dark from the dark.”
Philip Levine
 ]
“How weightless
words are when nothing will do.”
Philip Levine, Breath
 ]
“I say, Father, the years have brought me here, still your son, they have brought me to a life I cannot understand.”
Philip Levine
]
“… the river sliding along its banks, darker now than the sky descending a last time to scatter its diamonds into these black waters that contain the day that passed, the night to come.
— Excerpt from the poem “The Mercy”
Philip Levine
]
“Now I must wait and be still and say nothing I don’t know, nothing I haven’t lived over and over, and that’s everything.”
Philip Levine
]
“Thirty years will pass before I remember
that moment when suddenly I knew each man
has one brother who dies when he sleeps
and sleeps when he rises to face this life,and that together they are only one man
sharing a heart that always labours, hands
yellowed and cracked, a mouth that gasps
for breath and asks, Am I gonna make it?”
Philip Levine

]
“From they sack and they belly opened
And all that was hidden burning on the oil-stained earth
They feed they Lion and he comes.”
Philip Levine
]
“Let me begin again as a speck
of dust caught in the night winds
sweeping out to sea. Let me begin
this time knowing the world is
salt water and dark clouds, the world
is grinding and sighing all night, and dawn
comes slowly, and changes nothing.”
Philip Levine, 7 years from somewhere: Poems
]
“I believed even then that if I could transform my experience into poetry I would give it the value and dignity it did not begin to possess on its own. I thought too that if I could write about it I could come to understand it; I believed that if I could understand my life—or at least the part my work played in it—I could embrace it with some degree of joy, an element conspicuously missing from my life.”
Philip Levine
]
GospelThe new grass rising in the hills,
the cows loitering in the morning chill,
a dozen or more old browns hidden
in the shadows of the cottonwoods
beside the streambed. I go higher
to where the road gives up and there’s
only a faint path strewn with lupine
between the mountain oaks. I don’t
ask myself what I’m looking for.
I didn’t come for answers
to a place like this, I came to walk
on the earth, still cold, still silent.
Still ungiving, I’ve said to myself,
although it greets me with last year’s
dead thistles and this year’s
hard spines, early blooming
wild onions, the curling remains
of spider’s cloth. What did I bring
to the dance? In my back pocket
a crushed letter from a woman
I’ve never met bearing bad news
I can do nothing about. So I wander
these woods half sightless while
a west wind picks up in the trees
clustered above. The pines make
a music like no other, rising and
falling like a distant surf at night
that calms the darkness before
first light. “Soughing” we call it, from
Old English, no less. How weightless
words are when nothing will do.”
Philip Levine, Breath

]
“As you know, Joyce was a writer who asked his reader to give him a lifetime,” he said. “I am that reader, and I can tell you it was a wasted life.”
Philip Levine, The Bread of Time: Toward an Autobiography
]
The MercyThe ship that took my mother to Ellis Island
eighty-three years ago was named “The Mercy.”
She remembers trying to eat a banana
without first peeling it and seeing her first orange
in the hands of a young Scot, a seaman
who gave her a bite and wiped her mouth for her
with a red bandana and taught her the word,
“orange,” saying it patiently over and over.
A long autumn voyage, the days darkening
with the black waters calming as night came on,
then nothing as far as her eyes could see and space
without limit rushing off to the corners
of creation. She prayed in Russian and Yiddish
to find her family in New York, prayers
unheard or misunderstood or perhaps ignored
by all the powers that swept the waves of darkness
before she woke, that kept “The Mercy” afloat
while smallpox raged among the passengers
and crew until the dead were buried at sea
with strange prayers in a tongue she could not fathom.
“The Mercy,” I read on the yellowing pages of a book
I located in a windowless room of the library
on 42nd Street, sat thirty-one days
offshore in quarantine before the passengers
disembarked. There a story ends. Other ships
arrived, “Tancred” out of Glasgow, “The Neptune”
registered as Danish, “Umberto IV,”
the list goes on for pages, November gives
way to winter, the sea pounds this alien shore.
Italian miners from Piemonte dig
under towns in western Pennsylvania
only to rediscover the same nightmare
they left at home. A nine-year-old girl travels
all night by train with one suitcase and an orange.
She learns that mercy is something you can eat
again and again while the juice spills over
your chin, you can wipe it away with the back
of your hands and you can never get enough.”
Philip Levine, The Mercy

]
Our ValleyWe don’t see the ocean, not ever, but in July and August
when the worst heat seems to rise from the hard clay
of this valley, you could be walking through a fig orchard
when suddenly the wind cools and for a moment
you get a whiff of salt, and in that moment you can almost
believe something is waiting beyond the Pacheco Pass,
something massive, irrational, and so powerful even
the mountains that rise east of here have no word for it.

You probably think I’m nuts saying the mountains
have no word for ocean, but if you live here
you begin to believe they know everything.
They maintain that huge silence we think of as divine,
a silence that grows in autumn when snow falls
slowly between the pines and the wind dies
to less than a whisper and you can barely catch
your breath because you’re thrilled and terrified.

You have to remember this isn’t your land.
It belongs to no one, like the sea you once lived beside
and thought was yours. Remember the small boats
that bobbed out as the waves rode in, and the men
who carved a living from it only to find themselves
carved down to nothing. Now you say this is home,
so go ahead, worship the mountains as they dissolve in dust,
wait on the wind, catch a scent of salt, call it our life.”
Philip Levine, News of the World

Carlos Castaneda Author Literature and Fiction Religion and Spirituality

Goodreads.com

Carlos Castaneda
Author profile

born
in Cajamarca, Peru
December 25, 1925

died
April 27, 1998

 

genre
Literature & Fiction, Religion & Spirituality
About this author
edit data

Carlos Castaneda (December 25, 1925 – April 27, 1998) was a Peruvian-born American author. Immigration records for Carlos Cesar Arana Castaneda indicate that he was born on December 25, 1925 in Cajamarca, Perú. Records show that his surname was given by his mother Susana Castañeda Navoa. His father was Cesar Arana Burungaray. His surname appears with the ñ in many Hispanic dictionaries, even though his famous published works display an anglicised version. He moved to the United States in the early 1950s and became a naturalized citizen in 1957. In 1960 he was married to Margaret Runyan in Tijuana, Mexico. They lived together for only six months, but their divorce was not finalized until 1973. He was educated at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) (B.A. 1962; Ph.D. 1973).

Starting with The Teachings of Don Juan in 1968, Castaneda wrote a series of books that describe his purported training in traditional Mesoamerican shamanism. His 12 books have sold more than 8 million copies in 17 languages. The books and Castaneda, who rarely spoke in public about his work, have been controversial for many years. Supporters claim the books are either true or at least valuable works of philosophy and descriptions of practices, which enable an increased awareness. Academic critics claim the books are works of fiction, citing the books’ internal contradictions, discrepancies between the books and anthropological data, alternate sources for Castaneda’s detailed knowledge of shamanic practices and lack of corroborating evidence.

Castaneda died on April 27, 1998 in Los Angeles due to complications from hepatocellular cancer. There was no public service, Castaneda was cremated and the ashes were sent to Mexico. It wasn’t until nearly two months later, on June 19, 1998, that an obituary entitled A Hushed Death for Mystic Author Carlos Castaneda by staff writer J.R. Moehringer appeared in the Los Angeles Times.

About this quote:
Happy New Year! May 2015 be filled with books that take you on amazing journeys!
Carlos Castaneda

“You have everything needed for the extravagant journey that is your life.”
Carlos Castaneda
The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge A Separate Reality Journey to Ixtlan Tales of Power The Art of Dreaming