You don’t love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.
Don’t bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.
The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.
I could just remember how my father used to say that the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time.
Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.
Time, the spaces of light and dark, had long since lost orderliness.
Clocks slay time… time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
Clocks slay time… time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
And so I told myself to take that one. Because Father said clocks slay time. He said time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. The hands were extended, slightly off the horizontal at a faint angle, like a gull tilting into the wind.
She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it.
A man is the sum of his misfortunes. One day you’d think misfortune would get tired but then time is your misfortune
It’s a shame that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day is work. He can’t eat for eight hours; he can’t drink for eight hours; he can’t make love for eight hours. The only thing a man can do for eight hours is work.
That’s what they mean by the womb of time: the agony and the despair of spreading bones, the hard girdle in which lie the outraged entrails of events.