“A biography is always constructed from ruins but, as any archaeologist will tell you, there is never the means to unearth all the rooms, or follow the buried roads, or dig into every cistern for treasure. You try to see what the ruin meant to whoever inhabited it and, if you are lucky, you see a little way backward into time.”
– Loren Eiseley, All the Strange Hours
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“Autobiography is a poorly named genre. After all, when we tell stories about ourselves, we’re speaking not of who we are but of who we have been, somebody we once were, one who no longer exists except in memory, that mental function more attractive to errors, distortions, and fantasies than the myths of the American West or Sasquatch or cavity probes by aliens.”
– William Least Heat-Moon, Writing Blue Highways
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Who am I?
Can you tell by these fragments that I write every day?
Are they honest, true to myself?
Do I even know the answer?
Perhaps writing is an attempt at getting a clearer picture.
To put together the stories of myself through the books I have read.
Am I hiding behind these quotations?
Or can others’ stories help tell my own?
I’m pretty sure there is no definitive answer to any of the questions I have about myself.
But I keep asking away.
What else is there to do?
Conversations With Quotations 