My emotions locked, as I saw her lipstick lying on the table and grabbed it, saying, Yes, yes, as I bent to write furiously across her belly in drunken inspiration:SYBIL, YOU WERE RAPEDBYSANTA CLAUSSU...
He only wanted to use me for something. Everyone wanted to use you for some purpose.
Without the possibility of action, all knowledge comes to one labeled file and forget, and I can neither file nor forget.
We look too much to museums. The sun coming up in the morning is enough.
It was unbelievable, but perhaps only the unbelievable could be believed. Perhaps the truth was always a lie.
I wanted peace and quiet, tranquillity, but was too much aboil inside. Somewhere beneath the load of the emotion-freezing ice which my life had conditioned my brain to produce, a spot of black anger g...
I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting...
And I love light. Perhaps you'll think it strange that an invisible man should need light, desire light, love light. But maybe it is exactly because I invisible. Light confirms my reality, gives birt...
Ah, I can hear you say, so it was all a build-up to bore us with his buggy jiving. He only wanted us to listen to him rave! But only partially true: Being invisible and without substance, a disembodie...
While fiction is but a form of symbolic action, a mere game of as if, therein lies its true function and its potential for effecting change.
Yes, they think we're dumb. They call us the common people. But I've been sitting here listening and looking and trying to understand what's so common about us. I think they're guilty of a gross mis-s...
What and how much had I lost by trying to do only what was expected of me instead of what I myself had wished to do? What a waste, what a senseless waste! But what of those things which you actually d...
Then in my mind's eye I see the bronze statue of the college Founder, the cold Father symbol, his hands outstretched in the breathtaking gesture of lifting a veil that flutters in hard, metallic folds...
The blues is an impulse to keep the painful details and episodes of a brutal experience alive in one's aching consciousness, to finger its jagged grain, and to transcend it, not by the consolation of...
Man's hope can paint a purple picture, can transform a soaring vulture into a noble eagle or moaning dove.
It was unbelievably wild. Some continued to shout threats in their outrage and frustration, while others, both men and women, filled the air with a strangely brokenhearted and forlorn sound of weeping...
In those days it was either live with music or die with noise, and we chose rather desperately to live.
I denounce because though implicated and partially responsible, I have been hurt to the point of abysmal pain, hurt to the point of invisibility. And I defend because in spite of it all, I find that I...
His name was Clifton and he was black and they shot him. Isn’t that enough to tell? Isn’t it all you need to know?
At best Americans give but a limited attention to history. Too much happens too rapidly, and before we can evaluate it, or exhaust its meaning or pleasure, there is something new to concern us. Ours i...