Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is...
Fiction is very, very important,” he said, his voice is rising. “Storytelling is...– Wickedly Charming, Kristine Grayson
Write what you don’t know about what you do know.– Grace Paley
We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole...– The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Aimee Bender
Sowing chances, picking choices
Do not say I am fickle For I am not so, Nor did I promise to stay I watered the seeds Of your chance-taking, Sunned my leaves And now flowers have bloomed. They were for you, you know. I chanced my questions then, Knowing of others who sought Bright petals, soft and open In that secret night-time hour. Would you take the blossoms, Nourish and care for them And pick them at their height? Or...
I hated the mountains and the hills, the rivers and the rain. I hated the...– Rochester, Wide Sargasso Sea, Jean Rhys
Anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.– “The Bloody Chamber”, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories, Angela Carter
A painting is more than the sum of the parts,” he would tell me, and then go on...– Flipped, Wendelin Van Draanen
Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.– The Fault in Our Stars, John Green
Style is a very simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you...– Letters 3:247, Virginia Woolf
His hands touched stone. Twig. Bone– Landed, Tim Pears
I know what you want. You want a story that won’t surprise you. That will...– Pi, Life of Pi, Yann Martel
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo. LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain...
My apartment is basically a couch, an armchair, and about four thousand books.– Henry, The Time Traveler’s Wife, Audrey Niffenegger
But he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she...– Mrs Ramsay, To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
I step firmly where I walk and I step lightly...
Fleetingly, I have flown From one flower to another, Dancing upon the grass In my bare, bare feet. I swing and sing And never cling. Merrily, I may linger, But cross your fingers— I will not stay. My wild nature can’t be bound By nights of conversation. What I mean to say is this: If you want me, You must catch me. Or else I am gone.
You must never feel badly about making mistakes,” explained Reason...– The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster
I am a student
I am a student, Surrounded by books and papers And the knowledge of not-knowing. I am a student, Dragging my weary sweatpants- Self to lecture. I am a student, Breathless, caught in words And expectations. I am a student, Stumbling on meanings, Tripping on grades. I am a student. Not superhuman. Still learning.
Spilled Ink Prose: Your car left a cloud of smoke
thegreatbigquestionmark: Your car left a cloud of smoke as you drove away because dad was on his way home and we didn’t want him to see you so you started up the engine real quick and sped off and you didn’t even realize that you’d forgotten your sky blue necktie all crumpled and knotted on my pillow and on that very night I knew that that was the last I would ever hear from you again because...
Poe would say the most powerful literary work would be poems or short stories...– Interview with Charles Baxter
The river was behind him. The wind was full of acid. In the slow float of light...– “Love and Honor and Pity and Pride and Compassion and Sacrifice,” Nam Le
And “Keep it, dearest,” said Eve. “Souvenir tendre,” and...– “Carnation,” Katherine Mansfield