#he

May your sleep be your death, and your wakefulness be your heaven. ↗

— Anthony Liccione

#attention #awareness #carefulness #caution #consciousness

Ah, that we lack the courage of our romantic convictions; and thereby miss the wine of life, forgoing the very thing that makes living worthwhile. ↗

— Hunter S. Thompson

#courage

Good art can come out of thieves, bootleggers, or horse swipes. People really are afraid to find out just how much hardship and poverty they can stand. They are afraid to find out how tough they are. Nothing can destroy the good writer. The only thing that can alter the good writer is death. Good ones don't have time to bother with success or getting rich. Success is feminine and like a woman; if you cringe before her, she will override you. So the way to treat her is to show her the back of your hand. Then maybe she will do the crawling. ↗

— William Faulkner

#hardship #the-art-of-the-novel #writing #art

I’d once again see that bob of blonde hair back on my pillow, that pink hot smile beaming toward me as I heroically win her heart in some kind of Count of Monte Cristo or Great Gatsby-esque gesture… you know minus the long imprisonment or swimming pool death! ↗

— Tom Conrad

#apocalypse #end-of-the-world #gatsby #heroes #heroic

I spit upon your God! ↗

— William Golding

#pincher-martin #death

—Most distinguished voyager, what was your eon like? —Comic. Terror is forgotten. Only the ridiculous is remembered by posterity. Death from a wound, from a noose, from starvation Is one death, but folly is uncounted and new every year. ↗

— Czesław Miłosz

#death

Jim had spent most of his life alone. The solitary nature of his disability and the constant moving had made it difficult for him to make friends. With his mother’s death, his last connection to a person was severed. He existed in Broughton like a ghost, doing his odd jobs, too silent for anyone to notice. ↗

— Bonnie Dee

#bonnie-dee #jim #death

Your boss takes a dim view of SEX? ↗

— Vincent H. O'Neil

#directing #girlfriend #love #murder #mystery

They loved the sea. They taught themselves to sail, to navigate and read the weather. Without their mother's knowledge and long before she thought them old enough to sail outside the harbor, they were piloting their catboat all the way to the Isles of Shoals. They were on the return leg of one such excursion when the fickle weather of early spring took an abrupt turn and the sky darkened and the sun vanished and the wind came squalling off the open sea. They were a half mile from the harbor when the storm overtook them. The rain struck in a slashing torrent and the swells hove them so high they felt they might be sent flying--then dropped them into troughs so deep they could see nothing but walls of water the color of iron. They feared the sail would be ripped away. Samuel Thomas wrestled the tiller and John Roger bailed in a frenzy and both were wide-eyed with euphoric terror as time and again they were nearly capsized before at last making the harbor. When they got home and Mary Margaret saw their sodden state she scolded them for dunces and wondered aloud how they could do so well in their schooling when they didn't have sense enough to get out of the rain. ↗

— James Carlos Blake

#sailing #sea #home

I pretended to be a Cheyenne guide. I pretended to be a prairie woman. I pretended Henry was my old-timey husband taking me to our new homestead. I leaned down and patted Trouble’s neck. “Good boy,” I said. “Trusty steed. ↗

— Laura Anderson Kurk

#glass-girl #henry-whitmire #horseback-riding #horses #laura-anderson-kurk