I needed to purge myself of all the attention my parents had given me - I wasn't neglected enough as a child.
Don Van VlietAbout author
- Author's profession: Artist
- Nationality: american
- Born: January 15, 1941
- Died: December 17, 2010
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With much interest I sat watching him. Savage though he was, and hideously marred about the face--at least to my taste--his countenance yet had something in it which was by no means disagreeable. You cannot hide the soul. Through all his unearthly tattooings, I thought I saw the traces of a simple honest heart; and in his large, deep eyes, fiery black and bold, there seemed tokens of a spirit that would dare a thousand devils. And besides all this, there was a certain lofty bearing about the...
Herman Melville
A writer's work has to take account of many rhythms: Vulcan's and Mercury's, a message of urgency obtained by dint of patient and meticulous adjustments and an intuition so instantaneous that, when formulated, it acquires the finality of something that could never have been otherwise. But it is also the rhythm of time that passes with no other aim than to let feelings and thoughts settle down, mature, and shed all impatience or ephemeral contingency.
Italo Calvino
Both light and shadow are the dance of Love. Love has no cause, it is the astrolabe of God's secrets. Lover and loving are inseparable and timeless. Although I may try to describe love, when I experience it, I am speechless. Although I may try to write about love, I am rendered helpless. My pen breaks, and the paper slips awayat the ineffable place where lover loving and loved are one. Every moment is made glorious by the light of Love.
Rumi
Shukhov enjoyed it. He liked people pointing at him? see that man? He's nearly done his time? but he didn't let himself get excited about it. Those who'd come to the end of their time during the war had all been kept in, "pending further orders"? till '46. So those originally sentenced to three years did five altogether. They could twist the law any way they liked. When your ten years were up, they could say good, have another ten. Or pack you off to some godforsaken place of exile.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn