Adlerlitz > Adlerlitz's Quotes

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  • #1
    W.H. Auden
    The More Loving One

    Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
    That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
    But on earth indifference is the least
    We have to dread from man or beast.

    How should we like it were stars to burn
    With a passion for us we could not return?
    If equal affection cannot be,
    Let the more loving one be me.

    Admirer as I think I am
    Of stars that do not give a damn,
    I cannot, now I see them, say
    I missed one terribly all day.

    Were all stars to disappear or die,
    I should learn to look at an empty sky
    And feel its total dark sublime,
    Though this might take me a little time.”
    W.H. Auden, Collected Shorter Poems, 1927-1957

  • #2
    F. Scott Fitzgerald
    “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
    F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

  • #3
    Lemony Snicket
    “Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.”
    Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

  • #4
    Donna Tartt
    “A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are.”
    Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

  • #5
    T.S. Eliot
    “The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of man”
    T.S. Eliot

  • #6
    Vladimir Nabokov
    “Suddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words.”
    Vladimir Nabokov, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight

  • #7
    Shirley Jackson
    “My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.”
    Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

  • #8
    Mark Twain
    “I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.”
    Mark Twain

  • #9
    Margaret Atwood
    “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.”
    Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

  • #10
    Donna Tartt
    “Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”
    Donna Tartt, The Secret History

  • #12
    Evelyn Waugh
    “I should like to bury something precious in every place where I've been happy and then, when I'm old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

  • #13
    Philip K. Dick
    “There is evil! It's actual, like cement.

    I can't believe it. I can't stand it.

    Evil is not a view ... it's an ingredient in us. In the world. Poured over us, filtering into our bodies, minds, hearts, into the pavement itself.”
    Philip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle
    tags: evil

  • #14
    Evelyn Waugh
    “If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

  • #15
    Hunter S. Thompson
    “Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives... and to the "good life", whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.”
    Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman

  • #16
    Patricia Highsmith
    “They were not friends. They didn't know each other. It struck Tom like a horrible truth, true for all time, true for the people he had known in the past and for those he would know in the future: each had stood and would stand before him, and he would know time and time again that he would never know them, and the worst was that there would always be the illusion, for a time, that he did know them, and that he and they were completely in harmony and alike. For an instant the wordless shock of his realization seemed more than he could bear.”
    Patricia Highsmith, The Talented Mr. Ripley

  • #17
    Jean Baudrillard
    “…sense of futility that comes from doing anything merely to prove to yourself that you can do it: having a child, climbing a mountain, making some sexual conquest, committing suicide.
    The marathon is a form of demonstrative suicide, suicide as advertising: it is running to show you are capable of getting every last drop of energy out of yourself, to prove it… to prove what? That you are capable of finishing. Graffiti carry the same message. They simply say: I’m so-and-so and I exist! They are free publicity for existence.
    Do we continually have to prove to ourselves that we exist? A strange sign of weakness, harbinger of a new fanaticism for a faceless performance, endlessly self-evident.”
    Jean Baudrillard, America

  • #18
    Rainer Maria Rilke
    “I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.”
    Rainer Maria Rilke

  • #19
    David  Mitchell
    “I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive of doing so.”
    David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

  • #20
    Rainer Maria Rilke
    “Love consists of this: two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other. ”
    Rainer Maria Rilke

  • #21
    Donna Tartt
    “Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time. And I feel I have something very serious and urgent to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time—so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small, bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.”
    Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

  • #22
    W.H. Auden
    “The image of myself which I try to create in my own mind in order that I may love myself is very different from the image which I try to create in the minds of others in order that they may love me.”
    W. H. Auden

  • #23
    Anne Carson
    “You remember too much,
    my mother said to me recently.
    Why hold onto all that? And I said,
    Where can I put it down?”
    Anne Carson, Glass, Irony and God

  • #24
    W.H. Auden
    “Desire, even in its wildest tantrums, can neither persuade me it is love nor stop me from wishing it were.”
    W.H. Auden

  • #25
    Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
    “I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.”
    Kurt Vonnegut, Player Piano

  • #26
    W.H. Auden
    “Let me see what I wrote so I know what I think”
    W.H. Auden

  • #27
    T.H. White
    “The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”
    T.H. White, The Once and Future King

  • #28
    Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
    “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
    Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

  • #29
    T.H. White
    “The bravest people are the ones who don’t mind looking like cowards.”
    T.H. White, The Once and Future King

  • #30
    Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
    “Love is where you find it. I think it is foolish to go around looking for it, and I think it can be poisonous. I wish that people who are conventionally supposed to love each other would say to each other, when they fight, 'Please — a little less love, and a little more common decency'.”
    Kurt Vonnegut , Slapstick, or Lonesome No More!

  • #31
    Virginia Woolf
    “For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.”
    Virginia Woolf, Orlando



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