Words and names. I've been reading a book that draws some wonderful parallels and even better contrasts between these two concepts. It's a terrific philosophical morass, and has lead me on quite a path through my own mind tonight. I'm wondering if this is the difference, for example, between being able to see colors, and in merely attempting to describe them to someone either not present or unable to see them? Is it the qualitative difference between loving and being loved?
Is it why a ticklish person is unable to tickle himself? Or why one cannot watch oneself in the mirror, sneezing? Is it why I can find the right word for almost any circumstance, but always seem to choke on the ones that mean the most?
I am awed by and grateful for authors who do the incredibly hard work of making writing seem easy. Not only is it inspiring, but I just flat-out love to read it.
[the title quotation is from The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss]
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