Book Titles Without Context #7
Radio-cuisine : chroniques gastronomiques diffusées par t.s.f.
Édouard de Pomiane (1933-36)
Looke what thy memorie cannot containe, Commit to these waste blacks
Radio-cuisine : chroniques gastronomiques diffusées par t.s.f.
Édouard de Pomiane (1933-36)
From the series: Book Titles Without Context
No future in this. Alas yes.
Samuel Beckett, Worstward Ho (1983)
From the series: Apocalypse
New York had all the iridescence of the beginning of the world.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, “My Lost City” (1932)
From the series: Manhattan, Order of the Universe
Ted Kennedy
(1932-2009)
I am confident that the Democratic Party will reunite on the basis of Democratic principles, and that together we will march towards a Democratic victory in 1980.
And someday, long after this convention, long after the signs come down and the crowds stop cheering, and the bands stop playing, may it be said of our campaign that we kept the faith.
May it be said of our Party in 1980 that we found our faith again.
And may it be said of us, both in dark passages and in bright days, in the words of Tennyson that my brothers quoted and loved, and that have special meaning for me now:
I am a part of all that I have met
To [Tho] much is taken, much abides
That which we are, we are—
One equal temper of heroic hearts
Strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
For me, a few hours ago, this campaign came to an end.
For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die.
1980 Democratic National Convention Address (August 12, 1980)

From the series: America, In Memoriam
[L]a plupart des grands auteurs contemporains, Proust, Joyce, Dos Passos, Faulkner, Gide, V. Woolf, chacun à sa manière, ont tenté de mutiler le temps. Les uns l'ont privé de passé et d'avenir pour le réduire à l'intuition pure de l'instant ; d'autres, comme Dos Passos, en font une mémoire morte et close. Proust et Faulkner l'ont simplement décapité, ils lui ont ôté son avenir, c'est-à-dire la dimension des actes et de la liberté.
Most of the great contemporary authors, Proust, Joyce, Dos Passos, Faulkner, Gide, and Virginia Woolf, have tried, each in his own way, to distort time. Some of them have deprived it of its past and future in order to reduce it to the pure intuition of the instant; others, like Dos Passos, have made of it a dead and closed memory. Proust and Faulkner have simply decapitated it. They have deprived it of its future, that is, its dimension of deeds and freedom.
Jean-Paul Sartre (1939)
From the series: Books on Books, Time
The G.O.P. elephant shuffles off this mortal coil under the watchful eye of spectral megafauna.
The card in the brontosaurus's mouth reads, "Ancient Order of Extinct Animals. Membership Ticket."
Puck (November 27, 1912)
From the series: Plausible Historical Analogies, The Animal Kingdom
To speak—perhaps to write?—of Casablanca is like looking at an old photograph: there you are but somehow that is not you: in between there is memory, the time that went by and the renewed photofinish, its battle with time won—and lost. Time does not pass: you pass through time and as in a narrow hedge of brambles you leave your clothes and skin on the thorns too. In short, time is like the bank in roulette: it always wins. (It wins even when it loses.) And it has won against Casablanca. It that obsolete, distant, almost ridiculous and false movie the one which you so lovingly remembered? Is the petulant part of Claude Rains the perfect portrayal of a gentleman in cynic’s clothing that we treasured in our memory? And Humphrey Bogart, isn’t he a caricature of what he pretends to be, with his absurd existentialist gallantry? And isn’t Paul Henreid ridiculous as the hero of the Resistance that they oblige him to be? Instead of conspiring underground and keeping himself hidden he devotes himself to conducting the Marseillaise in front of all the Germans, like a laughable apprentice of Leopold Stokowski? And what about Conrad Veidt, with his real German accent made into a phony one by the falseness of his role as a stupid Prussian gentlemen? To the cronista’s questions, the reader can in turn ask: “So, then, why the four points (the sign of excellence), what are they for?” They are for memory.
G. Cain (a.k.a. Guillermo Cabrera Infante), “Time v. Cinema” (June 2, 1956)
The face of Vincent Prince superimposed over Frank Lloyd Wright's Ennis House, Los Angeles, California.
From the opening sequence of House on Haunted Hill d: William Castle (1959)
From the series: Architecture, Cinema
All the Flowers of the Spring
Meet to perfume our burying:
These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time.
Survey our progresse from our birth,
We are set, we grow, we turne to earth.
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites;
Sweetest Breath, and clearest eye,
Like perfumes goe out and dye;
And consequently this is done,
As shadowes wait upon the Sunne.
Vaine the ambition of Kings,
Who seeke by trophies and dead things,
To leave a living name behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.
John Webster, from The Devil's Law-Case (c. 1623)
From the series: Death, Order of the Universe
From Paris to New York by Land
Harry de Windt (1903)
From the series: Book Titles Without Context
San Francisco Disaster, American Mutoscope & Biograph Co.
Camera, G.W. "Billy" Bitzer, shot at the Biograph studios, New York City (May 19, 1906)
From the series: Cinema, Monumental Fictions
[T]he camera seems to me, next to unassisted and weaponless consciousness, the central instrument of our time ; and is why in turn I feel such rage at its misuse: which has so nearly universal a corruption of sight that I know of less than a dozen alive whose eyes I can trust even so much as my own.
James Agee, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men
From the series: Annals of Photography
Travels of a Republican Radical in Search of Hot Water
H.G. Wells (1939)
From the series: Book Titles Without Context
Time dissipates to shining ether the solid angularity of facts.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, “History,” Essays, First Series (1841)
From the series: History, Order of the Universe, Time
Peut-être est-ce le néant qui est le vrai et tout notre rêve est-il inexistant, mais alors nous sentons qu’il faudra que ces phrases musicales, ces notions qui existent par rapport à lui, ne soient rien non plus. Nous périrons mais nous avons pour otages ces captives divines qui suivront notre chance. Et la mort avec elles a quelque chose de moins amer, de moins inglorieux, peut-être de moins probable.
Maybe it is the nothingness that is real and our entire dream is nonexistent, but in that case we feel that these phrases of music, and these notions that exist in relation to our dream, must also be nothing. We will perish, but we have for hostages these divine captives who follow and share our fate. And death in their company is less bitter, less inglorious, perhaps less probable.
Marcel Proust, Du côté de chez Swann
English translation by Lydia Davis
From the series: Music, Order of the Universe