#la

I once saw a small child go to an electric light switch as say, "Mamma, can I open the light?" She was using the age-old language of exploration, the language of art. It was a sort of metaphor, but she was not using it as ornamentation. ↗

— Ezra Pound

#language #poetry #age

The first years of my life are of no imprtance. At the age of nine, I was packed off to a preparatory school in the South of England, and for the next four years led the usual life of a preparatory-school boy. I indulged in midnight feasts and was periodically beaten. ↗

— Ludovic Kennedy

#age

We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everyhwere. ↗

— Tim McGraw

#relationships #separation #life

Even if they've figured themselves gays at the age of five or fifty, there really isn't much of a difference in how society begins to accept them once they're out. ↗

— Teresa "Jew" Lariosa

#age

Shortly before school started, I moved into a studio apartment on a quiet street near the bustle of the downtown in one of the most self-conscious bends of the world. The “Gold Coast” was a neighborhood that stretched five blocks along the lake in a sliver of land just south of Lincoln Park and north of River North. The streets were like fine necklaces and strung together were the brownstone houses and tall condominiums and tiny mansions like pearls, and when the day broke and the sun faded away, their lights burned like jewels shining gaudily in the night. The world’s most elegant bazaar, Michigan Avenue, jutted out from its eastern tip near The Drake Hotel and the timeless blue-green waters of Lake Michigan pressed its shores. The fractious make-up of the people that inhabited it, the flat squareness of its parks and the hint of the lake at the ends of its tree-lined streets squeezed together a domesticated cesspool of age and wealth and standing. It was a place one could readily dress up for an expensive dinner at one of the fashionable restaurants or have a drink miles high in the lounge of the looming John Hancock Building and five minutes later be out walking on the beach with pants cuffed and feet in the cool water at the lake’s edge. ↗

— Daniel Amory

#city #contemporary-fiction #contemporary-literature #downtown #lake

They stand beside a grave. Hermann sprinkles upon it a powder, which falls in sparkles of light from his fingers. The earth begins to heave; and presently, as a volcano casts up its ashes, the grave empties itself. Slowly and slowly, like the rippling waves of a becalmed ocean, it rises to the surface, divides, and falls in crumbling heaps on either side. Then there ascends the venerable figure of an aged man, clothed in robes of purple and scarlet, the ensigns of senatorial dignity. At the same moment, the spectre arm, by wondrous motion of its own, tears itself aloft, and becomes a dimly gleaming torch; each livid finger sending forth pale red dusky flames, which fling a horrid glare upon the cadaverous features of the phantom. ("The Forsaken Of God") ↗

— William Mudford

#black-magick #grave #hand-of-glory #incantation #magick

Well, most of us think "The Merchant of Venice" is a porno script. On a more personal note, I’ve decided on pizza for dinner. ↗

— Jaye Frances

#ebooks #jaye-frances #kindle-ebook #novella #romance

He sat watching what went forward with the quiet outward glance of healthy old age. ↗

— George Eliot

#maturity #age

Ogling Douglas' wife, who looked trampily deep into bipolar meds & high-end anti-aging crêmes, Jerzy thought: Now that is a hot fuck. He wondered if Douglas got his C by being wayback viral throatstroked by papilloma.....seems like a person would have to go down on a boatload of broads to get HPV in the gullet (well, do the math), if the actor scarfed half as much pussy as dimpled dad kirk-King Leer, Kirk the lyin' King-then he just might have qualified. ↗

— Bruce Wagner

#michael-douglas #age

Into the breach, then. Against mobs of middle-aged moms and frightening harridans we shall prevail.” She nodded sharply, raising an invisible sword. “And damned be he—she—who cries, ‘Hold, enough!’” “Misquote Shakespeare in front of Samuel, I dare you,” I told her, and she laughed. ↗

— Patricia Briggs

#frost-burned #humor #jesse-hauptman #mercy-thompson #samuel-cornick