Sometimes he used a spade in his garden, and sometimes he read and wrote. He had but one name for these two kinds of labor; he called them gardening. ‘The Spirit is a garden,’ said he
Victor HugoAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer
- Nationality: french
- Born: February 26, 1802
- Died: May 22, 1885
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The winter evening settles down. With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps. The grimy scraps. Of withered leaves about your feet. And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat. On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street. A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.
T. S. Eliot
Nothing has a more sinister effect on art than the artist's desire to prove that he's good. The terrible temptation of idealism! You must achieve mastery over your idealism, over your virtue as well as over your vice, aesthetic mastery over everything that drives you to write in the first place - your outrage, your politics, your grief, your love!
Philip Roth