Here Is Where We Meet

This is the title of a John Berger novel. I love it, and recently picked it up to read again. I know I'm rarely serious on here. What's my ratio of cynicism to sincerity? Anyone counting? In real life I'd say it's roughly 5:1. On here, probably 25:1. I like it here best. See, that was sincere. Damn.

At any rate, here are two of my (sincerely) favorite passages. I dare you not to cry. I dare you.

"Lisboetas often talk of a feeling, a mood, which they call saudade, usually translated as nostalgia, which is incorrect. Nostalgia implies a comfort, even an indolence such as Lisboa has never enjoyed. Vienna is the capital of nostalgia. This city is still, and has always been, buffeted by too many winds to be nostalgic. Saudade, I decided as I drank a second coffee and watched a drunk's hands carefully arrangeing the accurate story he was telling as if it were a pile of envelopes, saudade was the feeling of fury at having to hear the words too late pronounced too calmly." pg 13

See? You're crying aren't you? I told you.

"And I wondered how many times in my life I had taken part in the ritual of men showing to women the special little risks they run while working. (When the risks are large they don't show them.) They want to impress, they want to be admired. It's a pretext for holding the women to show them where to step or how to bend. There's another pleasure too. The ritual exaggerates the difference between women and men and in that expanded difference there is a fluttering of hopes. For an hour or two afterwards the routine feels lighter." pg 66