Who Quotes (page 157)
In the art of literature there are two contending parties. Those who aim to tell stories that are more or less well thought out, and those who aim at beautiful language, beauty of form. This contest may last a very long time; each side has a fifty-fifty chance. Only the poet can rightfully demand that verse be beautiful and nothing but.
Paul Gauguin
Today. While the blossoms still cling to the vine. I'll taste your strawberries. I'll drink your sweet wine. A million tomorrows shall all pass away. Here I forget all the joy that is mine. Today. I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover. You know who I am by the songs that I sing. I'll feast at your table. I'll sleep in your clover. Who cares what tomorrow shall bring. I can't be contented with yesterday's glory. I can't live on promises winter to spring. Today is my moment and now is my story....
John Denver
Oh, maybe a little treasure for the more rabid Incunks, the collectors and the academics who maintained their positions in large part by examining the literary equivalent of navel-lint in each other's abstruse journals; ambitious, overeducated goofs who had lost touch with what books and reading were actually about and could be content to go on spinning straw into footnoted fool's gold for decades on end.
Stephen King
Blood in the water I sing, and one who shed it: deadliest hunger I sing, and one who fed it- weaving the ancient-most tale of the Sea's sending: singing the tragedy, singing the joy unending This is our shame- this is the whole Ocean's glory: this is the Song of the Twelve. Hark to the story! Hearken, and bring it to pass: swift lest the sorrow long ago laid to it's rest devour us tomarrow!
Diane Duane