There are billions of us and that’s too many. Nobody knows anyone. Strangers come and violate you. Strangers come and cut your heart out. Strangers come and take your blood.
She was as rational as you and I, more so perhaps, and we burnt her.
It’s bad to get up early, stand at your typewriter and work, then find it’s nothing and take a bottle to bed.
The books are to remind us what asses and fools we are. They’re Caesar’s praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, ‘Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.
The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching,′ he said. ‘The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.
Let me alone, said Mildred. I didn’t do anything. Let you alone! That’s all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. how long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?
They got Indian vision and can sight back further than you and me will ever sight ahead.
A red ganglion, no bigger than a scarlet thread, snapped and quivered; a nerve, no greater than a red linen fiber twisted. Deep in her one little mech was gone and the entire machine, imbalanced, was about to steadily shake itself to bits.
And with the trick, much admired by magicians, of sitting in a green velour chair and-vanishing! Turn your head and you forgot his face. Vanilla pudding.
How’s Uncle Louis today?” “Who?” “And Aunt Maude?
You can only go with loves in this life.
Noi, pamantenii, avem talentul de a distruge tot ce e mare si frumos. Singurul motiv pentru care n-am instalat tarabe cu crenvursti in templul egiptean de la Karnak este pentru ca nu avea vad si nu oferea nici un beneficiu comercial deosebit.
They’re Caesar’s praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, ‘Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.
And then, to the sound of death, the sound of the jets cutting the sky in two black pieces beyond the horizon, he would lie in the loft, hidden and safe, watching those strange new stars over the rim of the earth, fleeing from the soft color of dawn.
There was a crash like the falling parts of a dream fashioned out of warped glass, mirrors, and crystal prisms.
The crisis is past and all is well, the sheep returns to the fold. We’re all sheep who have strayed at times. Truth is truth, to the end of reckoning, we’ve cried. They are never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts, we’ve shouted to ourselves.
And the men with the cigarettes in their straight-lined mouths, the men with the eyes of puff adders, took up their load of machine and tube, their case of liquid melancholy and the slow dark sludge of nameless stuff, and strolled out the door.
You don’t have to burn books, do you, if the world starts to fill up with nonreaders, nonlearners, non-knowers?
See the world: It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.
Love. Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for.