I said You don’t know what worry is. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I don’t know whether I can cry or not. I don’t know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in… Continue reading William Faulkner
The scene is memory and is therefore non-realistic. Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart. — Tennessee Williams comments about the concept of his “memory play,” The Glass Menagerie, which… Continue reading Tennessee Williams
To A Lady Reading The whipsaw beloved noise of someone whispering right in your ear. That and the sudden small hillside of your left breast in your open hand. A caress so tender it makes the earth break under your feet. These sting the underneath of my tongue and though they are only words I… Continue reading Steve Scafidi
I painted words and wrote pictures — Frank Stanford, The Battlefield Where The Moon Says I Love You (Lost Roads Publishers, 2000)
Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them. ― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind. (Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition April 1, 1999) Originally published 1936.
The brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love, having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface: and why not? any love is natural and beautiful that lies within a person’s nature; only hypocrites would hold a man responsible for what… Continue reading Truman Capote
Perhaps — I want the old days back again and they’ll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of the world falling about my ears. — Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind. (Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition April 1, 1999) Originally published 1936.