Siegfried Sassoon
I did not dread the dark winter as people do when they have lost their youth and live alone in some great city. ― Siegfried Sassoon, Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man (Andesite Press, August 8, 2015)
Category: War
Markus Zusak
If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter. ― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (Knopf Books for Young Readers; First edition March 14, 2006)
Ernest Hemingway
Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with… Continue reading Ernest Hemingway
Mikhail Shishkin
All the rest, besides my loving and being loved, has no importance whatsoever. ― Mikhail Shishkin, Maidenhair (Open Letter, October 23, 2012) Originally published 2005.
Kurt Vonnegut
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. (Delacorte 1969)
Dee Brown
Nothing lives longOnly the earth and mountains — Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West. (Holt Paperbacks; 30th Anniversary edition January 23, 2001) Originally published 1970.
Kurt Vonnegut
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. (Delacorte 1969)
Carolyn Forché
…the silence of God is God. ― Carolyn Forché, The Angel of History. (Harper Perennial; Reprint edition February 3, 1995)
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Not a single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born. It would be a bit too easy if we could go about borrowing ready-made souls. ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Flight to Arras. (Harcourt Brace October 22, 1969)
David Benioff
I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed. ― David Benioff, City of Thieves. (Viking / Penguin May 15, 2008)
The Vale of Soul-Making 