He believed that he must, that he could and would recover the good things, the happy things, the easy tranquil things of life. He had made mistakes, but he could overlook these. He had been a fool, but that could be forgiven. The time wasted--must be relinquished. What else could one do about it? Things were too complex, but they might be reduced to simplicity again. Recovery was possible.
The fact that there are so many weak, poor and boring stories and novels written and published in America has been ascribed by our rebels to the horrible squareness of our institutions, the idiocy of power, the debasement of sexual instincts, and the failure of writers to be alienated enough. The poems and novels of these same rebellious spirits, and their theoretical statements, are grimy and gritty and very boring too, besides being nonsensical, and it is evident by now that polymorphous sexuality and vehement declarations of alienation are not going to produce great works of art either.
The first undressing of two lovers is a most special event.
The spirit knows that its growth is the real aim of existence.
She was what we used to call a suicide blonde - dyed by her own hand.
I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.
The life of every citizen is becoming a business. This, it seems to me, is one of the worst interpretations of the meaning of human life history has ever seen. Man's life is not a business.
You have to fight for your life. That's the chief condition on which you hold it.
What Homo sapien imagines, he may slowly convert himself to.
Some people, if they didn't make it hard for themselves, might fall asleep.
I don’t actually take much stock in the collapsing culture bit. I’m beginning to see it instead as the conduct of life without input from your soul.
The physical body is an agent of the spirit and its mirror. It is an engine and a reflection of the spirit. It is the spirit's ingenious memorandum to itself and the spirit sees itself in my body, just as I see my own face in a looking glass. My nerves reflect this. The earth is literally a mirror of thoughts. Objects themselves are embodied thoughts. Death is the dark backing that a mirror needs if we are to see anything.
If I had a child of school age, I would send him to one of the Waldorf Schools.
Conquered people tend to be witty.
A novel is balanced between a few true impressions and the multitude of false ones that make up most of what we call life.
How could I be anything but a dissenter? Who wants the opinion of a group?
Art -- the fresh feeling, new harmony, the transforming magic which by means of myth brings back the scattered distracted soul from its modern chaos -- art, not politics, is the remedy.
It's no disgrace to be a private, you know. Socrates was a plain foot soldier, a hoplite.
I've discovered that rejections are not altogether a bad thing. They teach a writer to rely on his own judgment and to say in his heart of hearts, 'To hell with you.'
With one long breath, caught and held in his chest, he fought his sadness over his solitary life. Don't cry, you idiot! Live or die, but don't poison everything.
I am a true adorer of life, and if I can't reach as high as the face of it, I plant my kiss somewhere lower down. Those who understand will require no further explanation.
Nobody asks you to love the whole world, only to be honest, ehrlich. Don't have a loud mouth. The more you love people the more they'll mix you up. A child loves, a person respects. Respect is better than love.
Death is the black backing on the mirror that allows us to see anything at all.
There is only one way to defeat the enemy, and that is to write as well as one can. The best argument is an undeniably good book.
The body, she says, is subject to the force of gravity. But the soul is ruled by levity, pure.
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