I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often. — Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness.… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
[A]nd soon now we shall go out of the house and go into the convulsion of the world, out of history into history and the awful responsibility of Time. ― Robert Penn Warren, All the King’s Men. (Harcourt Brace, September 1, 1996) Originally published 1946.
No, I didn’t imagine my being alone with you the way you do. If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and… Continue reading Franz Kafka
He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music. ― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. (Penguin Classics; 1 edition, March 25, 2003) Originally published December 29th 1916.
My body gnaws at me from one side and my spirit gnaws at me from the other. — Charles Bukowski, “I Love You, Albert,” Hot Water Music. (Black Sparrow Press; First edition. Edition, October 1983)
I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles. — Anaïs Nin, House of Incest. (Swallow Press; 1 edition, January 1, 1958) Originally published 1915.
As he held her and tasted her, and as she curved in further and further toward him, with her own lips, new to herself, drowned and engulfed in love, yet solaced and triumphant, he was thankful to have an existence at all, if only as a reflection in her wet eyes. — F. Scott Fitzgerald,… Continue reading F. Scott Fitzgerald