When lost in a thick-wooded country alwaysWork downward as water would. YouWill come out somewhere. — Robert Penn Warren, from “A Few Axioms for a Young Man,” Uncollected Poems 1943-1989, The Collected Poems of Robert Penn Warren, ed. John Burt (Louisiana State University Press, 1998)
But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up, Mr Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll… Continue reading Truman Capote
I have a need of silence and of stars ;Too much is said too loudly ; I am dazed.The silken sound of whirled infinityIs lost in voices shouting to be heard. — William Alexander Percy, from “In New York,” In April Once. (Hesperides Press October 26, 2007) Originaly published 1920.
When you’ve got nowhere to turn, turn on the gas. — Truman Capote, Answered Prayers . (Hamish Hamilton [London] 1986) Unfinished novel published posthumously.
I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won. They are not even fought. The… Continue reading William Faulkner
–luring me to a past that never was. This is the treachery of nostalgia. — Natasha Trethewey, from section 3 “Siren” in “Mythology,” Thrall: Poems (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012)
My, how foolish I am! You know what I’ve always thought? I’ve always thought a body would have to be sick and dying before they saw the Lord. And I imagined that when He came it would be like looking at the Baptist window: pretty as colored glass with the sun pouring through, such a… Continue reading Truman Capote
We are alone, darling child, terribly, isolated each from the other; so fierce is the world’s ridicule we cannot speak or show our tenderness; for us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laughter; and with the garbage of loneliness stuffed down us… Continue reading Truman Capote
Amaranth There are no starfish in the sky tonight, But there is one below your belly, And there are cold evenings in your eyes. If I could get to your house I would look under the bed of your childhood, The tongueless loafer without laces or eyes, The cave of your young foot With its… Continue reading Frank Stanford
She smelled like trees. In the corner it was dark, but I could see the window. I squatted there, holding the slipper. I couldn’t see it but my hands saw it, and I could hear it getting night, and my hands saw the slipper but I couldn’t see myself, but my hands could see the… Continue reading William Faulkner