Quotes Wall: Bukowski Part 2


 

the choice
is yours,
he said,
morals died with God,
you’re on your
own.

 

life has abused me and I have mis-
used it.
I enjoy attacking the sun with a
squirt gun.

 

the word is one of
the most
powerful miracles
in
existence,
it can enlighten or
destroy
minds,
nations,
cultures.

 

by the time they get to your books you
are no longer in your
books.

you are on the next page,
in your next
book.

 

a killing unhappiness:
never knowing
what you might have
been.

 

our world
it’s strange, isn’t it?
you can’t
compare it to
anything else
yet you quickly
learn
that there is
something wrong
with it
and with the people
that
inhabit it.

 

the human voice besides being basically
ugly also reminds me of the human
race
and one of the last things I want to
think of and one of the first things I
want to get away from when I listen to
classical music is
the human
race.

 

the same all murderous kiss
of death clothed in a creative
art.

 

I became a writer but when I was a boy
I used to dream of becoming the village idiot

 

– quotes by Charles Bukowski

 


 

Quotes Wall: Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach


 

Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect. -And that isn’t flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn’t have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.

 

Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding. Find out what you already know and you will see the way to fly.

 

“Your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip,” Jonathan would say, other times, “is nothing more than your thought itself, in a form you can see. Break the chains of your thought, and you break the chains of your body, too.”

 

He was not bone and feather but a perfect idea of freedom and flight, limited by nothing at all.

 

You have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way.

 

To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived.

 

You have to practice and see the real gull, the good in every one of them, and to help them see it in themselves.
That’s what I mean by love.

 

Overcome space, and all we have left is Here.
Overcome time, and all we have left is Now.

 

We choose our next world through what we learn in this one. Learn nothing, and the next world is the same as this one, all the same limitations and lead weights to overcome.

 

– quotes from “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach

 


Quotes Wall: Emily Dickinson


 

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – Too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

 

He who weigheth – While the Rest –
Expend their furthest pound –
Of this Man – I am wary –
I fear that He is Grand

 

Assent – and you are sane –
Demur – you’re straightway dangerous –
And handled with a Chain

 

That I did always love
I bring thee Proof
That till I loved
I never lived – Enough –

That I shall love alway –
I argue thee
That love is life –
And life hath Immortality

 

Surrender – is a sort unknown 

 

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so –
‘This Living – hurts us more

 

The Bravest – grope a little –
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead –
But as they learn to see

Either the Darkness alters –
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight –
And Life steps almost straight.

 

I can wade Grief –
Whole Pools of it –
I’m used to that –
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet –
And I tip – drunken

 

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

 

Artist – who drew me so –
Must tell!

 

– quotes from poems by Emily Dickinson

 


 

Quotes Wall: Hymns to the night by Novalis


 

I live through each day,
Filled with faith and desire;
And die when the Night comes
In heaven−born fire.

 

I turn aside to the holy, the inexpressible, the mysterious Night.

 

To the Light is its period allotted; but beyond time and space is the empire of the Night.

 

In Death, eternal Life hath been revealed:
And thou art Death, by thee we first are healed.

 

Soft is the end as the lyre’s mournful trembling.
Remembrance fades i’ the gloom a shadow throws:
So sang the song, a dreadful doom dissembling.
Yet undefined remained eternal Night,
The stern reminder of some distant might.

 

– quotes from “Hymns to the night” by Novalis

 


Quotes Wall: Bukowski Part 2


 

the gods are done with me and them and this,
the last useless word looking for a place to die.

 

I climbed off a park bench to engage the giants of
literature in battle. 
I lived with women madder than the gods
themselves. 

I lived on a candy bar a day. 
I was engaging the giants of literature. 
the ladies descended like locusts. 
I threw people off my front porch. 
I was engaging the giants. 
the giants were not aware of this. 
only I was aware. 
I climed off the park bench to engage the giants of
literature. 

I didn’t think that they were all that good. 

tell me, do you?

 

this darkness shakes me like a dirty rag!
human waste on parade throughout the
centuries!
why am I the last one alive?
there’s no answer to
that. 

 

for want of something to do
we keep slaying our small dragons
as the big one waits. 

 

it has to be madness, 
it was always
madness,
this endless search for the
ultimate
truth that
still can’t be
stopped.

 

about
our argument tonight
whatever it was
about
and
no matter
how unhappy
it made us
feel 
remember that
there is a
cat
somewhere
adjusting to the
space of itself
with a delightful
grace 
in other words
magic persists
without us
no matter what
we may try to do
to spoil it.

 

the last war will be one man sitting in a chair laughing at it all. 

 

– Quotes from “Bone Palace Ballet: new poems” by Charles Bukowski

 


Quotes Wall: The Angel’s Game by Zafòn


 

Poetry is written with tears, fiction with blood, and history with invisible ink.

 

Human beings believe just as they breathe – in order to survive.

 

I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling. 

 

Literature, at least good literature, is science tempered with the blood of art. Like architecture or music.

 

Justice is a rare illness in a world that is otherwise a picture of health.

 

Do you know the best thing about broken hearts?
They can only
really break once the rest is just scratches.

 

The only way you can truly get to know an author is through the
trail of ink he leaves behind him. The person you think you see is
only an empty character: truth is always hidden in fiction.

 

It seems that in the advanced stages of stupidity, a lack of ideas is compensated for by an excess of ideologies.

 

– quotes from “The Angel’s Game” by Carlos Ruiz Zafòn

 


Quotes Wall: Leaves of grass by Walt Whitman


 

Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,
Therefore for thee the following chants.

 

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

 

Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me,
why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?

 

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not
wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.

 

I do not press my fingers across my mouth

 

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work
of the stars

 

My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths,
Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between
ancient and modern,
Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five
thousand years…

 

Each one who passes is consider’d, each who stops is
consider’d, not a single one can it fail.

 

I do not know it – it is without name – it is a word unsaid

[…]

It is not chaos or death – it is form, union, plan – it is
eternal life – it is Happiness.

 

The love of the body of a man or woman balks account,
the body itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is
perfect.

 

Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the
well-off, just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

 

(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?) 

 

– Quotes from “Leaves of grass by Walt Whitman