Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake. (via medical-mechanica)

(Source: witch-toast)

jiggleitalittleitllopen:

Yes.

I love this book.

(via jiggleitalittleitllopen-deactiv)

Fashion Fridays with Kurt Vonnegut!

Oh man, the powder-blue jacket. And the blue shirt to go with it. Light blue is an excellent colour on Kurt, I think. I like him at this age, when his hair is starting to grey but he doesn’t quite look “old” yet. He’s so distinguished-looking yet casual here.

Here’s my headcanon for this photo: He was on his way to dinner, about to open the door on the driver’s side, and someone said, “Hang on, Kurt, I want a picture of you.” So he leaned against the hood of the car and reached up to adjust his lapel. He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened, and someone snapped the photo. Then he got into the car and didn’t give the picture a second thought.

A Man Without A Country - Kurt Vonnegut 

Last year, I was sat in a tiny little cafe in the Sarrià neighbourhood of Barcelona, reading Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five. A darling old man, nearing 80 years old by my estimation, walked past my table, saw what I was reading, nodded at me smiling and said, ‘Kurt Vonnegut’ in a decidedly Catalan accent. He caught my eye for just a second, still smiling, and then ambled on past. It was a moment that really lifted my spirits, and still does when I think about it.  I knew from his knowing smile that he loved the novel as much as I did, and it made me feel happy. The notion that two people, so different in so many ways (a British student and a Catalan pensioner) can be connected so simply yet so completely by the wonder that is literature is something to be happy about.
Vonnegut said it better than anyone else.