And Ut Pictura Poesis Is Her Name You can’t say it that way any more. Bothered about beauty you have to Come out into the open, into a clearing, And rest. Certainly whatever funny happens to you Is OK. To demand more than this would be strange Of you, you who have so many lovers,… Continue reading John Ashbery
If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing. ― Samuel Beckett, Molloy. (Grove Press, January 12, 1994) Originally published 1951.
[S]o when it comes Time to depart our good-byes will read automatically true or false According to what has gone before. And that loneliness will accompany us On the far side of parting, when what we dream, we read. —John Ashbery, from “Wet Are the Boards,” April Galleons: Poems (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1999)
I always imagine them at nightfall, in the dusk of a slum or a vacant lot, in that long, quiet moment when things are gradually left alone, with their backs to the sunset, and when colours are like memories or premonitions of other colours. We must not be too prodigal with our angels; they are… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges
Most writers waste people’s time with too many words. I’m trying to reduce everything down to the minimum. My last work will be a blank piece of paper. — Samuel Beckett
The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. ― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot. (Grove Press; 1 edition, May 17, 2011) Originally published 1952. Premiered 5 January 1953 at theThéâtre de Babylone, Paris France.
Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream, exhale, release life’s rapture. — Vladimir Nabokov