#abandon

I would never write realistic prose. I don't like people who try to write in a poetic style, but in the course of their book abandon it for realism, and weave back and forth like drunkards between the surreal and the real. ↗

— Marguerite Young

#back #between #book #course #drunkards

I intentionally abandoned the hard stuff early on because not only do I think it's useless, I think it's a distraction. ↗

— Seth Godin

#because #distraction #early #hard #i

You can fire your secretary, divorce your spouse, abandon your children. But they remain your co-authors forever. ↗

— Ellen Goodman

#children #divorce #fire #forever #remain

We are not abandoning our convictions, our philosophy or traditions, nor do we urge anyone to abandon theirs. ↗

— Mikhail Gorbachev

#abandoning #anyone #convictions #nor #our

The writer cannot abandon himself simply to inspiration, and feign innocence vis a vis language, because language is never innocent. ↗

— Juan Goytisolo

#because #cannot #feign #himself #innocence

Until 1914 I loved to travel; I often went to Italy and once spent a few months in India. Since then I have almost entirely abandoned travelling, and I have not been outside of Switzerland for over ten years. ↗

— Herman Hesse

#almost #been #entirely #few #i

And then she felt her Ell’s great strong presence beside her, and Saturday slipped his hand in hers. Oh. Oh. They would not abandon her. Of course, they would not. How silly she had been. They were her friends—they had always been. Friends can go odd on you and do things you don’t like, but that doesn’t make them strangers. ↗

— Catherynne M. Valente

#friendship #friendship

He judged the instant and let go; he flung himself loose into the stars. ↗

— Annie Dillard

#fiction #inspirational #release #inspirational

God draws near to the brokenhearted. He leans toward those who are suffering. He knows what it feels like to be wounded and abandoned. ↗

— John D. Richardson

#broken #brokenhearted #christ #christianity #god

A Wish on the Sun" "I see the world beyond a tiny window that allows a glimpse of Heaven into my life. Those who dwell in that enviable light cannot hear me through the glass that muffles my cries. They do not appear to see my face pressed against this barrier. I watch them live, carefree and smiling. Even when our eyes lock - mine wide and weary - theirs squint beyond notice of me. They can't peer past the glass - the sunlight glaring off its surface. They don't see me. They won't see me. I make a wish on the sun, staring into its fiery brightness, imagining it blinding me to the beauty beyond my reach. Would my hell feel so awful then? The sun, this nearest star, absorbs my deepest wish for the thousandth time. 'Save me! Hold my hand! Pretend to care!' The light is blocked by a figure stepping past my window, and I feel the universe turn its cold shoulder on me. Despair smothers the hope that made my lips move in utterance of a desperate wish. It ebbs and weakens, but it does not die. The flicker of an ember remains, enough to ignite hope again - another time. All storms eventually cease, do they not? Once more, I press my face against the glass to view a glimpse of Heaven lived by the undeserving. I savor the sunlight, the only thing powerful enough to penetrate the window that bars me in hell. The warm rays touch me. I imagine God's fingers caressing my face - and the dying ember of hope suddenly inflames. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#alone #despair #hope #need #richelle