It's all now you see. Yesterday won't be over until tomorrow and tomorrow began ten thousand years ago. For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the insta...
It's like it ain't so much what a fellow does, but it's the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it.
It's not when you realise that nothing can help you - religion, pride, anything - it's when you realise that you don't need any aid.
My mother is a fish.
My, my. A body does get around.
She has no mother because fatherblood hates with love and pride, but motherblood with hate loves and cohabits.
That's the one trouble with this country: everything, weather, all, hangs on too long. Like our rivers, our land: opaque, slow, violent; shaping and creating the life of man in its implacable and broo...
They say love dies between two people. That’s wrong. It doesn’t die. It just leaves you, goes away, if you aren’t good enough, worthy enough. It doesn’t die; you’re the the one that dies. It’s like th...
Your outside is just what you live in, sleep in, and has little connection with who you are and even less with what you do.
The saddest thing about love, Joe, is that not only the love cannot last forever, but even the heartbreak is soon forgotten.
When my horse is running good, I don't stop to give him sugar.
An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why.
I decline to accept the end of men... I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice but because he has a so...
The ideal woman which is in every man's mind is evoked by a word or phrase or the shape of her wrist her hand. The most beautiful description of a woman is by understatement. Remember all Tolstoy ev...
One of the saddest things is the only thing a man can do for 8 hours a day day after day is work. You can't eat 8 hours a day nor drink for 8 hours a day nor make love for 8 hours.
An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn’tknow why they choose him and he’s usually too busy to wonder
Because there is something in the touch of flesh with flesh which abrogates, cuts sharp and straight across the devious intricate channels of decorous ordering, which enemies as well as lovers know be...
Before us the thick dark current runs. It talks up to us in a murmur become ceaseless and myriad, the yellow surface dimpled monstrously into fading swirls travelling along the surface for an instant,...
Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion a...
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