But We Had Music – The Marginalian
By Maria Popova How, knowing that even the universe is dying, do we bear our lives? Most readily, through friendship, […]
By Maria Popova How, knowing that even the universe is dying, do we bear our lives? Most readily, through friendship, […]
Each time I see a sparrow inside an airport, I am seized with tenderness for the bird, for living so
“The true artist,” Beethoven wrote in his touching letter of advice to a young girl aspiring to be an artist,
What was it like for Martha, the endling of her species, to die alone at the Cincinnati Zoo that late-summer
Days after I arrived in America as a lone teenager, the same age Mary Shelley was when she wrote Frankenstein,
“Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you,” Walt Whitman wrote an epoch before the Nobel-winning physicist Erwin
A person is a note in the mouth of probability hungry for song, reverberating with echoes of the impossible. To
“Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer,” Simone Weil wrote in her exquisite reckoning with
There is a silence at the center of each person — an untrammeled space where the inner voice grows free