#ghosts

His claim to his home is deep, but there are too many ghosts. He must absorb without being absorbed. ↗

— Willie Morris

#being #claim #deep #ghosts #his

Largely this is a class thing - writers tend to be cosseted little middle-class kiddies who think that the world owes them a royalty cheque. But just doing it - being in your room for years on end, locked in your head, alone with invented ghosts - it weakens and softens the body. And I know I can't just live in my head. ↗

— Tony Parsons

#being #body #cheque #class #doing

It is with true love as it is with ghosts; everyone talks about it, but few have seen it. ↗

— Francois de La Rochefoucauld

#everyone #few #ghosts #love #seen

Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us. ↗

— Jim Carroll

#conscience #death #ghosts #poetry #death

Before she knew it, she was just another set of eyes in a dusty attic, waiting for the stairs to creak. ↗

— Kelly Moran

#death #ghosts #poetry-quotes #death

He knows different now. It's the living that chase the dead. The long bones and skulls are tumbled from their shrouds, and words like stones thrust into their rattling mouths: we edit their writings, we rewrite their lives. Thomas More had spread the rumor that Little Bilney, chained to the stake, had recanted as the fire was set. It wasn't enough for him to take Bilney's life away; he had to take his death too. ↗

— Hilary Mantel

#ghosts #history #thomas-cromwell #thomas-more #death

One warm morning in July, a ghost came to our breakfast table. ↗

— Holly Thompson

#ghosts #japan #teens #friendship

She had golden blazing sun kissed hair, which hung down in loose, lazy spirals, a heart shaped pouted mouth, which was pink tinged with violet blushing, wide, spangled blue eyes that glimmered sparks to flicker and ember in the vivid intelligence of the moon’s love, and a yielding body, that seem to tangle in loose rhythm as I walked near to her. (If you are interested in reading more, this book is available on Amazon. FREE for KDP Members) ↗

— Keira D. Skye

#fishing #ghost #ghosts #halloween #killing

The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. You’d never know it was here. Or any of the other places down the avenue. I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted—to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost. ↗

— Eugene O'Neill

#fog #ghost #ghosts #ocean #sea

The story of my own childhood is a complicated sentence that I am always trying to finish, to finish and put behind me. It resists finishing, and partly this is because words are not enough; my early world was synaesthesic, and I am haunted by the ghosts of my own sense impressions, which re-emerge when I try to write, and shiver between the lines. ↗

— Hilary Mantel

#consciousness #ghosts #life #past #life