A born writer is born scrofulous; his career is an accident dictated by physical or circumstantial disabilities.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower. Drives my green age that blasts the roots of trees is my destroyer.
Topics: Life and Living
One Christmas was so much like another,…that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
An alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do.
Don’t be too harsh to these poems until they’re typed. I always think typescript lends some sort of certainty: at least, if the things are bad then, they appear to be bad with conviction.
A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe, helps to extend everyone’s knowledge of himself and the world around him.
You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick… You’re back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps… so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.
We can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. But our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don’t know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don’t care that we don’t.
When one burns one’s bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Whatever talents I possess may suddenly diminish or suddenly increase. I can with ease become an ordinary fool. I may be one now. But it doesn’t do to upset one’s own vanity.
Great is the hand that holds dominion over man by a scribbled name.
This bread I break was once the oat, This wine upon a foreign tree Plunged in its fruit; Man in the day or wind at night Laid the crops low, broke the grape’s joy.
Wondering Whom to Read Next?
- Joseph F. Smith American Religious Leader
- Raymond Chandler American Novelist
- Fred Astaire American Dancer, Singer
- Ford Madox Ford English Novelist, Poet, Critic
- Lu Xun Chinese Writer
- Antoine de Saint-Exupery French Novelist, Aviator
- Joseph Conrad Polish-born British Novelist
- Mikhail Bulgakov Russian Novelist, Dramatist
- George Orwell English Novelist, Essayist, Journalist
- Samuel Beckett Irish Novelist, Playwright