Perhaps it’s good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he’s happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life? — Aldous Huxley, Antic Hay. (Kessinger Publishing May 2005) Originally published 1923.
Sometimes I wake up and lie still enough to hear a petal drop from the vase of flowers. Sometimes I lie awake and wish there was someone to hear my falling. ― Simon Van Booy, The Illusion of Separateness. (HarperCollins Publishers; 1st edition June 11, 2013)
Sometimes, language is the sound of longing. ― Simon Van Booy, The Secret Lives of People in Love. (Turtle Point Press; First Edition edition May 1, 2007)
Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links, Behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks, Under the look of fatigue the attack of migraine and the sigh There is always another story, there is more than meets the eye. — W.H. Auden, from “At Last the Secret… Continue reading W.H. Auden
I’m afraid of losing my obscurity. Genuineness only thrives in the dark. Like celery. — Aldous Huxley
Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings. ― W.H. Auden, The Double Man, a book of poems by W. H. Auden, published in 1941. The title of the UK edition, published later the same year, was New Year Letter. (Faber and Faber; First Edition edition 1941)
Loneliness is like being the only person left alive in the universe, except that everyone else is still here. — Simon Van Booy, Everything Beautiful Began After. (Harper Perennial; Original edition July 5, 2011)