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Quotes

people too big for tidy-tiny repetitive existence.

What a blank space I seemed, that everybody overlooked, yet, I was in the way.

Illiterates have to dictate.

Rennet of memory on a swooned body, its perfectly white belly cast in shadow.

all they live by has been handled by others

al mirall mogut

IN RIVERS north of the future
I cast the net that you
haltingly weight
with stonewrit
shadows.

My creatures are born of a long denial.

I can tell them to go, and they go; but sometimes they come, when I don't tell them to come.

I can't. I'm too nervous to eat pie.

There was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even classic face. And there was the last nightmare touch that his smile suddenly went wrong.

they mistrusted openings, gateways, roads by which unhappiness might arrive.

"Do you suppose there is something to be done?" I asked her, "Huddle and cling," said Mrs. Davis. "We can huddle and cling. It will pall, of course, everything palls, in time..."

Where there is veneration,
Even a dog's tooth emits light.

It made one think of the prisons of the spirit men create for themselves and for others - so overpowering,
So much a part of the way things appear to have to be and then abruptly, with a little shift, so insubstantial.

There can be a poverty as well as a wealth in explicitness.

Spending plenty of time on something can be the most sophisticated form of revenge.

Pressure of memory upon a fainting body, its stomach shaded yet perfectly white.

When I'm in the water anything is possible: it is gravity that lets me down.

The world strikes me as a hurdy-gurdy overpressurized with trite rechurning.

...that duffed hybrid in the rough.

Drink a cicada soup, and you'll be singing all right.

The only things that appear are those which are first able to dissimulate themselves. Things already grasped in their aspect or peacefully resembling themselves never appear. They are apparent, of course, but only apparent: they will never be given to us as appearing.

It wasn't my kind of shallow.

Gathering the children from (or for?) the cache.

I live only here, between your eyes and you,
But I live in your world. What do I do?
- Collect no interest - otherwise what I can;
Above all I am not that staring man.

It is sometimes necessary to remain faithful to an idea one has loved, even if one knows this idea to be dying.

God created everything from nothing, but the nothingness shows through.

One must do as the animals do, who erase every footprint in front of their lair.

There commeth much evill in the eares, but more at the eyes.

Nothing is missing, not even, and especially, nothingness, the true solidifier of the scene.

Damned misleading silhouette!

Hell is the place of those who have denied;
They find there what they planted and what dug,
A Lake of Spaces, and a Wood of Nothing,
And wander there and drift, and never cease
Wailing for substance.

All lightly shimmering in the heat, these lifeforms, like wonders much reduced. Rough likenesses thrown up at hearsay after the things themselves had faded in men's minds.

There's no better time to think big thoughts than under the guise of doing something.

Why this sudden affability after such desertion...?

Our nothings are barely different.