45 Minutes

Wed Oct 26

The kids couldn’t hurt Jack.
They tried, tried, tried.
They dropped things on his back.
They lied, lied, lied, lied, lied.

But they couldn’t stop Jack, or the waters lapping,
And they couldn’t prevent Jack from being happy.

Mon Oct 24
“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.” -Fyodor Dostoyevsky (via asleepingforest)

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.” -Fyodor Dostoyevsky

(via asleepingforest)

Ernest Hemingway speaking about writing The Fifth Column while he was under enemy fire during the Spanish Civil War. I will never complain about being distracted by the television while I am writing again.

(via the-draft-blog)

(via the-draft-blog-deactivated20111)

“A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music … and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: ‘Sing for us soon again’; that is as much as to say, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul.’” -Søren Kierkegaard (via poetdreamer)

“A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music … and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: ‘Sing for us soon again’; that is as much as to say, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul.’” -Søren Kierkegaard (via poetdreamer)

“He is a great fish and I must convince him, he thought. I must never let him learn his strength nor what he could do if he made his run. If I were him I would put in everything now and go until something broke. But, thank God, they are not as intelligent as we who kill them; although they are more noble and more able. The old man had seen many great fish. He had seen many that weighed more than a thousand pounds and he had caught two of that size in his life, but never alone. Now alone, and out of sight of land, he was fast to the biggest fish that he had ever seen and bigger than he had ever heard of, and his left hand was still tight as the gripped claws of an eagle. It will uncramp though, he thought. Surely it will uncramp to help my right hand. There are three things that are brothers: the fish and my two hands. It must uncramp. It is unworthy of it to be cramped. The fish had slowed again and was going at his usual pace. I wonder why he jumped, the old man thought. He jumped almost as though to show me how big he was. I know now, anyway, he thought. I wish I could show him what sort of man I am. But then he would see the cramped hand. Let him think I am more man than I am and I will be so. I wish I was the fish, he thought, with everything he has against only my will and my intelligence.” —Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea (via echo4charlie)

“He is a great fish and I must convince him, he thought. I must never let him learn his strength nor what he could do if he made his run. If I were him I would put in everything now and go until something broke. But, thank God, they are not as intelligent as we who kill them; although they are more noble and more able. The old man had seen many great fish. He had seen many that weighed more than a thousand pounds and he had caught two of that size in his life, but never alone. Now alone, and out of sight of land, he was fast to the biggest fish that he had ever seen and bigger than he had ever heard of, and his left hand was still tight as the gripped claws of an eagle. It will uncramp though, he thought. Surely it will uncramp to help my right hand. There are three things that are brothers: the fish and my two hands. It must uncramp. It is unworthy of it to be cramped. The fish had slowed again and was going at his usual pace. I wonder why he jumped, the old man thought. He jumped almost as though to show me how big he was. I know now, anyway, he thought. I wish I could show him what sort of man I am. But then he would see the cramped hand. Let him think I am more man than I am and I will be so. I wish I was the fish, he thought, with everything he has against only my will and my intelligence.”

—Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

(via echo4charlie)

Wed Oct 19
"FROM THIS DAY TO THE ENDING OF THE WORLD"
“A writer’s problem does not change. He himself changes and the world he lives in changes but his problem remains the same. It is always how to write truly and having found what is true, to project it is such a way that it becomes a part of the experience of the person who reads it.”  —Ernest Hemingway (via quitexinfamous)

“A writer’s problem does not change. He himself changes and the world he lives in changes but his problem remains the same. It is always how to write truly and having found what is true, to project it is such a way that it becomes a part of the experience of the person who reads it.”  —Ernest Hemingway (via quitexinfamous)

“At once I found that writing was fun.  I even forgot I hadn’t seen Sherwood Anderson for three weeks until he walked in my door, the first time he ever came to see me, and said ‘What’s wrong?  Are you mad at me?’ I told him I was writing a book.  He said, ‘My God,’ and walked out.  When I finished the book—it was Soldier’s Pay—I met Mrs. Anderson on the street.  She asked how the book was coming and I said I’d finished it.  She said, ‘Sherwood says that he will make a trade with you.  If he doesn’t have to read your manuscript he will tell his publisher to accept it.’ I said, ‘Done,’ and that’s how I became a writer.”   –William Faulkner, on the publication of his first book (via vintageanchor)

“At once I found that writing was fun.  I even forgot I hadn’t seen Sherwood Anderson for three weeks until he walked in my door, the first time he ever came to see me, and said ‘What’s wrong?  Are you mad at me?’ I told him I was writing a book.  He said, ‘My God,’ and walked out.  When I finished the book—it was Soldier’s Pay—I met Mrs. Anderson on the street.  She asked how the book was coming and I said I’d finished it.  She said, ‘Sherwood says that he will make a trade with you.  If he doesn’t have to read your manuscript he will tell his publisher to accept it.’ I said, ‘Done,’ and that’s how I became a writer.” 

 –William Faulkner, on the publication of his first book (via vintageanchor)

Tue Oct 18

Oh Buk, you so crazy!!!

“Our education system tells us that we can all be big-ass winners. It hasn’t told us about the gutters or the suicides.” -Charles Bukowski (via honeyforthehomeless)

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public.” (Winston Churchill)

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public.” (Winston Churchill)