I'm truly devastated

I was right in the middle of writing a very happy post about my day. Then I heard the news, and my fingers just stopped typing the things I was telling about. I am frozen. I don't recall getting as excited and inspired as I did when I was reading his stories but more specifically his dialogues. I remember telling my mom endlessly about "franny and zooey" after I finished it. I just couldn't stop talking about the book, about how those characters were  beautifully portrayed, in the most real way possible. He was very enigmatic, very mystical yet at the same time very human. I always felt the strange satisfaction knowing that such a great writer is alive, living the life he chose to live, sitting at his table, writing as he wishes. That satisfaction is gone today and it is sad. 

"I don’t think it would have all got me quite so down if just once in a while—just once in a while—there was at least some polite little perfunctory implication that knowledge should lead to wisdom, and that if it doesn’t, it’s just a disgusting waste of time! But there never is! You never even hear any hints dropped on a campus that wisdom is supposed to be the goal of knowledge. You hardly ever even hear the world ‘wisdom’ mentioned!" ~Franny and Zooey, p.146-47 

I just took the book out of my shelve to pick a line that I'd underlined, and I found pages that I just put a star on since I probably felt I should underline the whole page. The margins are full of exclamation marks, smiling faces I put. Reading his stories has always been a unique experience, I was always deeply influenced and effected. His writing was my ultimate goal.  

I found a note at the back cover. I must have written it when I'd finished reading the book:  "brilliant writing *sigh* 22nd june 2005, a peaceful coastal town"