Sometimes you make a mistake.
You say something, you write something - and you find you cannot take the words back.
Othertimes you don't make a mistake.
You say something, you write something - and the listener/reader interprets the words differently.
Maybe you could take it back, but how would you know what to retract?
And sometimes, you write something that lives inside your reader forever.
Whether in context or out of context - the words resonate and leave a lasting impression.
For years, I have kept a journal of such 'writings'.
Something I read, I kept. Even when far removed from the book/article/story, the words hang with me.
Equity, they came to realize,
was not the same thing as equivalence,
as evidenced by bedside tables and snowflakes.
False Friends, by Myla Goldberg, pg. 167
It surprised him that his grief
was sharper than in the past few days.
He forgot that grief does not decline
in a straight line
or along a slow curve like a graph
in a child's math book.
Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, by Helen Simonson, pg. 35
Not an elegant tapestry
but a serviceable quilt.
Butterflies of the Grand Canyon, by Margaret Erhart, pg. 311
If you occasionally wonder
how I know about some of the events
I describe in this book, I don't.
I have found that - just as in real life -
imagination sometimes has to stand in for experience.
An Object of Beauty, a novel, by Steve Martin, pg. 4
My physical mother is gone.
My spiritual mother remains.
I am a woman rewriting my genealogy.
Refuge, An Unnatural History of Family and Place, by Terry Tempest Williams, pg 241
When taken out of context, when used incorrectly - words, thoughts and deeds can still be meaningful. Not everyone has to see it your way or even read it with the intent you meant.
Beauty might be in the eye of the beholder
-or the writer.