Charlotte Earl > Recent Status Updates

"Men every one of whom walked in his own individual way the road to dusty death."

"After which harrowing_denouement_sufficient to appall the stoutest he snapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question away as before in his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket."

"When anybody asks what a story is about, the only proper thing is to tell him to read the story."

"I like men who have a future and women who have a past."

"But I say: Let my country die for me. Up to the present it has done so. I didn't want it to die. Damn death. Long live life!"

"The Lady Gwendolyn Dubedat bursts through the throng, leaps on his horse and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Babes and sucklings are held up."

"By the time we get to James Joyce, the author is nowhere to be found in the book. The reader is on his own, floundering around in the thoughts of various unsavory characters. He finds himself in the middle of a world apparently without comment."

"But there was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, for him too a word of pardon even though he had erred and sinned and wandered. Should a girl tell? No, a thousand times no. That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the hiding twilight and there was none to know or tell save the little bat that flew so softly through the evening to and fro and little bats don't tell."

"All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time."

"Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a week"

"And you who wrest old images from the burial earth? The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs. Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting."

"Look at the woebegone walk of him. Eaten a bad egg. Poached eyes on ghost."

"What is he foostering over that change for?"

"The presence alone of Faulkner in our midst makes a great difference in what the writer can and cannot permit himself to do. Nobody wants his mule and wagon stalled on the same track the Dixie Limited is roaring down."

"As it was in the beginning, is now. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a bog: and ever shall be. And snug in their spooncase of purple plush, faded, the twelve apostles having preached to all the gentiles: world without end."