“a great sorrow, and one that i am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. we can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us and what’s good for other people. we don;t get to choose the people we are.
because isn’t it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, and unquestioned platitude in the culture -? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it’s a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt what to do? How do we know what’s right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: “Be Yourself” “Follow your heart”
Only hears what I really really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that cannot be trusted -? what if the heart, for its unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly – held common virtues and instead straight towards the beautiful flare of ruin, self immolation, disaster? is Kitsey right? If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of somehow being a better person? Or – like Boris – is it better to throw yourself into head first and laughing in to the holy rage calling your name?
it’s not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, not a grandeur of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn’t understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose bloom you grow out and out and out.
A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help. …….”
as you cant tell, i fell in love with this book by Donna Tartt.