To write is to divorce the world and temporarily marry an idea of it instead.
If you're going to write about love, write it in pencil.
The most beautiful stories always start with wreckage.
I know but one freedom and that is the freedom of the mind.
The facts about anything, and especially about a man’s writings, are usually so much dust in the eye. What is important to know about a writer is given in his writing.
Pity the poor in spirit who know neither the enchantment nor the beauty in language.
Do you want to see my pockets? They are quite empty. I have not filled my life and my cupboards with all sorts of goodies. I have lived for what I did and I have loved what I did. And I've also bled for what I did.
It wasn't easy.
I write because I hate. A lot. Hard.
I think highly of faithfulness, but my temperament belongs to the writer, not to the woman.
“Books are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.”
Oh blessed art, how often in dark hours when the savage ring of life tightens around me have you kindled warm love in my heart and transported me to a better world.
I develop a fascination for a veritable parade of unsuitables, renewing my ability to identify, acquire and germinate an unhealthy obsession. I am not unlucky in love, I am unlikely. The state of play goes right back to notions of collection, to my propensity for strays, to my undone romanticism …
I am the solitude that asks and promises nothing;
That is how I shall set you free.
Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate.
Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.
She was a dramatist. For the past ten years she had fed her imagination on extremes of engagement and solitude.
She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.
Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken.
She is a woman palpably meant for happiness … and yet casually, it seems, she has chosen solitude.
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
“Life can't ever really defeat a writer who is in love with writing, for life itself is a writer's lover until death – fascinating, cruel, lavish, warm, cold, treacherous, constant.”
Writing is a solitary occupation. Family, friends and society are the natural enemies of the writer. He must be alone, uninterrupted, and slightly savage if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking.
This section will not be visible in live published website. Below are your current settings:
Current Number Of Columns are = 3
Expand Posts Area = 1
Gap/Space Between Posts = 10px
Blog Post Style = card
Use of custom card colors instead of default colors =
Blog Post Card Background Color = current color
Blog Post Card Shadow Color = current color
Blog Post Card Border Color = current color
Publish the website and visit your blog page to see the results