My Commonplace Blog
A digital form of the sadly lost fashion for copying out memorable passages from texts. I kept losing my actual book.
Sunday, 12 July 2026
You should not be allowed to remove a rule or a tradition unless and until you fully understand the reasons why it was first put in place, and all the effects that its presence has
N. Leamon & B. Jones, Hitting Against the Spin: How Cricket Really Works (2021), loc.159
Saturday, 11 July 2026
We took a Germanic language and enfolded it with Norman French and a bunch of Latin and ever since we keep building out
I miss being at home in a culture. Using English with other native speakers is what I might miss most. For nuance and verve, English wins. We took a Germanic language and enfolded it with Norman French and a bunch of Latin and ever since we keep building out. Our words, our expanse of idioms, are expressive and creative and precise, like our music and our subcultures and our street style, our passion for violence, stupidity, and freedom. The French might have better novels (Balzac, Zola, and Flaubert) and they have better cheeses (Comté, Roquefort, Cabécou). But in the grand scheme that’s basically nothing.
R. Kushner, Creation lake (2024). loc 2,808
Friday, 10 July 2026
Having a good accent is nothing. It’s a consolation prize for people who aren’t fluent
R. Kushner, Creation lake (2024). loc 699
Thursday, 9 July 2026
Reading in bed is a precision art
A. Michaels, Held (2024), loc. 1,059
Wednesday, 8 July 2026
When the lights of Cape Town come they’re a talon that marks the beginning, or end, of a continent
When the lights of Cape Town come they’re a talon that marks the beginning, or end, of a continent of several thousand miles. The ascending orbit moves up its coast, Mozambique, Tanzania, Kenya, Somalia. Africa is dusty brown in the moonlit night, sparsely clouded, and electrified by lightning across its breadth. Its city lights are discreet and scant. Maputo here, Harare there, Lusaka over there, Mombasa ahead, and each is a small heap of gold coins on a tapestried cloth, joined by nothing – no night-lit roads or urban sprawl. A beautiful velvety poverty of man on an earth that tips into the void; you feel you’d fall off, except with each new moment there’s yet more earth, and you follow its trail across the Gulf of Aden to the Middle East.
S. Harvey, Orbital (2024), loc. 1,825
Tuesday, 7 July 2026
The last thing you need is to get sick in space
Absently Anton runs his fingers over a lump that’s appeared on his neck the last fortnight and that he tries to obscure by raising the collar of his polo shirt. The last thing you need is to get sick in space. They’ll worry and send you home and, because you can’t fly back on your own, two others will have to go with you, and to cut short the missions of those two others would be unforgivable. He’ll say nothing to the flight surgeon or to his fellow crew and he’ll hope nobody notices. It’s the size of a cherry in the low hollow of his neck, and perfectly painless.
S. Harvey, Orbital (2024), loc. 1,359
Monday, 6 July 2026
From the space station’s distance mankind is a creature that comes out only at night
From the space station’s distance mankind is a creature that comes out only at night. Mankind is the light of cities and the illuminated filament of roads. By day, it’s gone. It hides in plain sight.
S. Harvey, Orbital (2024), loc. 302