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Quote by Joyce Johnson

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Minor Characters: A Beat Memoir

This book is a personal narrative that delves into the author's journey as a supporting figure in the realms of music and the arts. It offers insights into the challenges and triumphs of being a part of the background, while also reflecting on the broader themes of creativity, identity, and the pursuit of passion. more

Author

Joyce Johnson
Joyce Johnson

Joyce Johnson is an American author born on September 27, 1935. Known for her autobiographical novels and literary criticism, her most famous work is 'How to Be a Woman'. Her writing style is deeply influenced by French existentialism and feminist thought. more

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“Quer motivo maior para falarmos do que amor e solidão? Falamos porque somos sós e precisamos proferir palavras para dar notícias de nós e receber algo do outro – e também falamos justamente porque nos somos insuficientes a nós e queremos nos dirigir ao outro. Então, falar é isso, usar o vazio da boca para pedir algo que não se sabe bem o que é. Quando pedimos alguma coisa, nunca conseguimos alcançar exatamente o que desejamos, porque aquilo que coincidiria exatamente com o buraco do desejo – pasmem! – não existe. Por isso aprendemos em psicanálise que o desejo é sempre insatisfeito, na medida em que satisfazê-lo inteiramente está fora do plano da criação humana. Nesse sentido, o desejo é indestrutível. O objeto que viria a realizá-lo existe apenas no campo da fantasia.”

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“A gente não vive sem criar expectativas. Sem expectativas não há motivos para sair de casa, não escovamos nem os dentes, nem sequer abrimos os olhos. É disso que se faz a vida, de expectativas – um nome para a fantasia, talvez! A gente vive porque espera algo da vida. Ama porque espera algo do ser amado. Trabalha porque espera algo do nosso esforço. Expectativa e esperança têm uma relação etimológica com espera, que é bem o que se aprende a fazer nos caminhos do que chamamos de desejo, em psicanálise.”

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“She wasn't particularly artistic, but without thought she knew the combination that would get her the color she wanted. Last night she'd arrived at a rich royal made up of layered cobalt blue and indigo, and she knew exactly what it would taste like. Dry, but not bitter, with a bold apple finish. Not shy of what it was, but proud and majestic. Tonight the greens she sketched spoke to her of gentle whispers and a soft sweetness, with just a lilt of apple, but very refreshing.”

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“She spread her arms wide, past the width of the blanket, and buried her hands in the long grass, stretching her fingertips to the cool dirt. Lying like this, she fancied she could hear the orchard talking to her, telling her about the apples, and what trees should be grafted next. She drifted and envisioned the orchard from above. She could see the scraggly trees where she lay now, and the tiny twigs of the newly grafted Honeycrisp trees on the other side of the orchard, and the precise rows of the eating-apple trees- well groomed and trimmed for easy picking in the fall. With her eyes closed, a new color spread across the back of her eyelids- a creamy white with a gentle red undertone. Her tongue started to wrap itself around the flavors as she smiled to herself. It would be dry, almost champagne-like, but with a late, sweet lilt of red apple, like a kiss on the nose. It would pair exceptionally with Parmesan, pasta, and a simple salad and it would be the perfect wedding cider, if she knew anyone getting married.”

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