Poetry is an affliction of the soul.
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Poetry is an affliction of the soul.
all writing is in fact cut ups. a collage of words read, heard, overheard. what else?
WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS
i can never read all the books i want; i can never be all the people i want and live all the lives i want. i can never train myself in all the skills i want. what do i want? i want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. and i am horribly limited.
SYLVIA PLATH
to write is to forget. literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.
FERNANDO PESSOA
the justification of art is the internal combustion it ignites in the hearts of men and not its shallow, externalized, public manifestations. the purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.
GLENN GOULD
in their struggle for existence, men need the effort of knowledge, the search for truth, because what is good, beneficial and right for them is not immediately evident.
HERBERT MARCUSE
this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out
DAVID FOSTER WALLACE
i am at war with the obvious.
WILLIAM EGGLESTON
for me, a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what i shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm. there are not many such books.
VLADIMIR NABOKOV
a time is marked not so much by ideas that are argued about as by ideas that are taken for granted. the character of an era hangs upon what needs no defense.
JONATHAN LETHEM
i shall never be different. love me.
W.H. AUDEN
these fragments i have shored up against my ruins.
TS ELIOT
where the needs of the world and your talents cross, there lies your vocation.
ARISTOTLE
(life consists of these little touches of solitude)
ROLAND BARTHES
a man who dies at the age of thirty-five is at every point in his life a man who dies at the age of thirty-five.
MORITZ HEIMANN
perhaps home is not a place but an irrevocable condition.
JAMES BALDWIN
to interpret is to impoverish, to deplete the world - in order to set up a shadow world of "meanings"
SUSAN SONTAG