27 January 2009

When a move is imminent, furniture becomes ridiculous, and Margaret now lay awake at nights wondering where, where on earth they and all their belongings would be deposited in September next. Chairs, tables, pictures, books, that had rumbled down to them through the generations, must rumble forward again like a slide of rubbish to which she longed to give the final push, and send toppling into the sea. But there were all their father's books--they never read them, but they were their father's, and must be kept. There was the marble-topped chiffonier--their mother had set store by it, they could not remember why. Round every knob and cushion in the house sentiment gathered, a sentiment that was at times personal, but more often a faint piety to the dead, a prolongation of rites that might have ended at the grave.
-E.M. Forster, HOWARDS END
This quote resonated with me this week because, while I am staying put, one of my roommates is moving out after almost a year and a half. I'm sorry to see her go; as the past two weeks I have spent on Craigslist prove, a good roommate is hard to find. I may not have a lot of sentimental furniture in my place, but I am attached to it.

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