#prose

I really don't have a lot in common with the people who attend the Comic Con. It's like assuming that all people who write prose are the same. ↗

— Harvey Pekar

#attend #comic #common #con #i

The displacement of water is equal to the something of something. ↗

— William Faulkner

#prose #the-sound-and-the-fury #william-faulkner #equality

A man cannot impart the true feeling of things to others unless he himself has experienced what he is trying to tell of. ↗

— Jack Kerouac

#beat #early-stories-and-other-writings #experience-mistakes-wisdom #jack-kerouac #man

The supposedly eyewitness authority of the Pseudo-Turpin finds a parallel in another genre in which vernacular prose was pioneered: that of the historical memoir. There were twelfth-century verse histories narrated by authors who had personally participated in the events they describe, such as the Third Crusade. But the Fourth Crusade of 1202-4 saw a switch to prose. This shameful fiasco, in which the crusaders were induced to turn aside from the Holy Land and attack instead the Christian city of Constantinople, inspired two contrasting accounts. Robert de Clari--ignorant of higher-level strategy, but all agog at the splendours of Constantinople--gives a worm's eye view. Geoffroi de Villehardouin, by contrast, has a top diplomat's suave authority and a leader's eye for the aesthetics of war--the splendid sight of a fleet, or the noble heroism of a ruler. For both authors the medium of prose seems to convey the purported authenticity and transparency of lived experience. ↗

— Sarah Cay Terence Cave Malcolm Bowie

#prose-versus-verse #experience

I can't be expected to produce deathless prose in an atmosphere of gloom and eucalyptus. ↗

— Gerald Durrell

#eucalyptus #gloom #prose #family

Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale 'til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free. ↗

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

#create #inspiration #poetry #prose #write

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. ↗

— Jack Kerouac

#atop-an-underwood #beat #inspirational #jack-kerouac #locomotive

Days grow hotter and life grows shorter. Time is somehow running out. She flips her pillow so she won't have to sleep on her tears. ↗

— Toby Barlow

#life

In the street, he turned west and walked against a tide of blank-eyed, gum-chewing faces. A taxi went over a manhole cover, clink-clank. Steam was rising from an excavation at the corner. The world was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. What was the pont of all these drab buildings, this dirty sky? ↗

— Damon Knight

#onomatopoeia #prose-poetry #urban-life #life

She told me there was a place on my face she wanted to inhale. ↗

— Mikl Paul

#love-story #prose #prose-poetry #love