D.K. Marley > Quotes

“His mind relished the sudden prick of words as her soft, ethereal lips kissed his forehead, filling his mind with a rhythm of words.”
― D.K. Marley, Blood and Ink

“In truth, I bear the fault alone, for a writer longs to see his words come to life, especially as a playwright to see the characters you create in your mind come to flesh and blood on the stage. What delight strokes the vanity of a writer to hear the swoons of the penny-stinkers clamoring at your feet and calling your name.”
― D.K. Marley, Blood and Ink

“In truth, I bear the fault alone, for a writer longs to see his words come to life, especially as a playwright to see the characters you create in your mind come to flesh and blood on the stage. What delight strokes the vanity of a writer to hear the swoons of the penny-stinkers clamorng at your feet and calling your name.”
― D.K. Marley, Blood and Ink

“Tis a shame, but as a lot, those of artistic persuasion are the worst. Writers are the worst. Shall I include myself in the mix? Of course...”
― D.K. Marley, Blood and Ink

“Go ahead, speak my name. For what's in a name? That which we call a rose would smell as sweet by any other name. Ha! But you could not hear the irony in my thoughts when those words first erupted from the fertile womb of my muse. 'Twas a sprinkling, a hint, a clue to the truth and those that have "eyes" will see. Do you have the eyes for truth? Perhaps you need the stomach as well, for my tale is not for those comfortable with lies.”
― D.K. Marley, Blood and Ink

“My Lord, the tale begins with a ghost... - Prince of Sorrows”
― D. K. Marley

“I began as every man does, a simple boy toying with lofty dreams and eating the promise-crammed air. You think you know who I am, and yet, you are deceived. Shall I speak the name with you? Come, let it fall. William Shakespeare. 'Twas easily said and now that I see you settling in for a tale about the man you think you know, a twist. I am not William Shakespeare.”
― D.K. Marley, Blood and Ink

“Something smelled rotten in Denmark. The odor lilted more rank than the slimy cabbage leaves and maggot-boiling mutton discarded in a heap behind the royal kitchen, or more than the moldy cheesed breath of Orrick, the tavern owner in the village, when he blasted a laugh between the yellow posts of his teeth. The putrid aroma drifted on the wind like the blasts of winter, permeating the stone walls of Elsinore Castle in a hard, cold, bitter wetness, and growing along the dark corridors, spreading and eating away at the peace of the entire Kingdom and her inhabitants. - Prince of Sorrows”
― D. K. Marley