Read through the most famous quotes by topic #prose
I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man "with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact," not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why. ↗
#atop-an-underwood #beat #inspirational #jack-kerouac #locomotive
He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it. ↗
He left the next morning, searching for a city with light that reminded him of me. He would mail me empty envelopes and boxes, I would take them into my closet, shut the door, and quickly open them. A flash of foreign light would fill the room, but only for a moment. I would whisper ‘this is what we’re like, this is what we’re like.’… ↗
Säjer att jag rymt hit för din skull men ljuger förstås det låter vackrare då ville bara att du skulle ta bort nåldynan från badrummet ställa in kanske mjölk i kylen låtsas att vi lever lika mycket båda två stängde dörren för längesen om mej och du bänder loss brädorna men kommer inte in du förstår älskling jag har kilat fast alla öppningar med frusna tårar avbrutna morrhår död hud och blodiga kräkningar har byggt berg utanför av uppsprättade drömmar och klätt in hela trappuppgången i tomhet och du kommer aldrig igenom man kommer aldrig igenom men inimej kom inimej och där nånstans låt mej liksom leva bara ↗
The great error consists in supposing that poetry is an unnatural form of language. We should all like to speak poetry at the moment when we truly live, and if we do not speak it, it is because we have an impediment in our speech. It is not song that is the narrow or artificial thing, it is conversation that is a broken and stammering attempt at song. When we see men in a spiritual extravaganza, like Cyrano de Bergerac, speaking in rhyme, it is not our language disguised or distorted, but our language rounded and made whole. ↗
For me a page of good prose is where one hears the rain. A page of good prose is when one hears the noise of battle.... A page of good prose seems to me the most serious dialogue that well-informed and intelligent men and women carry on today in their endeavor to make sure that the fires of this planet burn peaceably. ↗
