Only Quotes (page 197)
Invisible prose only!" rules out the sparkling style of [writers]. . . For [whom] vivid prose, and the visionary mind it evinces, rich with speculation, insight, and subjectivity, is the craft and offers a unique caliber of truth. Is there any other art form one would praise by saying it's "invisible"? By definition, art transcends the ordinary, calls attention to itself, and offers virtuosity as its calling card. One that makes it possible to do what metaphor does so well: illuminate what...
Diane Ackerman
In my craft or sullen art. Exercised in the still night. When only the moon rages. And the lovers lie abed. With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light. Not for ambition or bread. Or the strut and trade of charms. On the ivory stages. But for the common wages. Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart. From the raging moon I write. On these spindrift pages. Nor for the towering dead. With their nightingales and psalms. But for the lovers, their arms. Round the...
Dylan Thomas
You should read something else."Why would he have done that to him?"I don't know," she said. Do you ever feel like Job?"She smiled, a little twinkle in her eyes. Sometimes."But you haven't lost your faith?"No," I knew she hadn't, but I think I was losing mine. Is it because you think you might get better?"No," she said,"its because its the only thing I have left.
Nicholas Sparks
He, too, stood looking at her for a moment--and it seemed to her that it was not a look of greeting after an absence, but the look of someone who had thought of her every day of that year. She could not be certain, it was only an instant, so brief that just as she caught it, he was turning...
Ayn Rand
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day. You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand. It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while. And afterward remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave. A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should...
Christina G. Rossetti
The days aren't discarded or collected, they are beesthat burned with sweetness or maddenedthe sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net. They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river. Sleep doesn't divide life into halves, or action, or silence, or honor: life is like a stone, a single motion, a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves, an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metalthat...
Pablo Neruda