“Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,’ Holly advised him. ‘That was Doc’s mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.”
“She’s drunk,” Joe Bell informed me.
“Moderately,” Holly confessed….Holly lifted her martini. “Let’s wish the Doc luck, too,” she said, touching her glass against mine. “Good luck: and believe me, dearest Doc — it’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.”
Truman Capote
Isn’t it funny, this introspection thing? Being called a “Wild thing”, I had never thought of myself quite as one… maybe my hair, but certainly not me.
He was a skinny boy, taller than me. He looked as though he could be my brother. I could tell he bit his nails because of their squared shape and the hang nails. To be honest, his demeanor and sour face pissed me off, but he did have a nice smile; not friendly or warm or anything… it was nice, simply aesthetically speaking. I lent him “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” to read, and his review was this quote in comparison to me.
I thought to myself that there was no way I could be a wild thing. But could it really be true? And with that began my days of trying out this introspection thing. I had grown accustomed to being an avid people watcher that maybe I forgot to spectate myself.
Is this a natural thing? When do we begin our days of introspection? Does it make one a narcissist?
A Lost Savant. 