#liter

The moon had been lighted and was hung in a treetop. ↗

— Stephen Crane

#courage

Witness also that when we talk about literature, we do so in the present tense. When we speak of the dead, we are not so kind. ↗

— John Green

#literature #past #present #tense #time

...He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die. ↗

— Cormac McCarthy

#haunting #literature #death

Forget it. Never explain; never apologize. You can either write posthumously or you can't. ↗

— Christopher Hitchens

#literature #nadine-gordimer #writing #death

Since the Renaissance, Shakespeare, Rembrandt, Mozart, and a host of others have shown that this religious dimension can be experienced and communicated apart from any religious context. But that is no reason for closing my heart to Job's cry, or to Jeremiah's, or to the Second Isaiah. I do not read them as mere literature; rather, I read Sophocles and Shakespeare with all my being, too. ↗

— Walter Kaufmann

#religious #communication

I grew up in a very literate, very independent household where people spoke their ideas and were very supportive of helping each other find their own way. ↗

— Lucinda Williams

#find #grew #helping #household #i

But since Catt was more realist than fabulist, she understood her actual death at the hands of her killer would be something much slower. It would be a classical feminine death, like a marriage…Raised by meek working-class parents, she despised petty groveling and had no talent for making shit up. She wanted to be a “real” intellectual moving with dizzying freedom between high and low points in the culture. And to a certain extent, she’d succeeded. Catt’s semi-name attracted a following among Asberger’s boys, girls who’d been hospitalized for mental illness, sex workers, Ivy alumnae on meth, and always, the cutters. With her small self-made fortune, Catt saw herself as Moll Flanders, out-sourcing her visiting professorships and writing commissions to younger artists whose work she believed in. But she’d reached a point lately where the same young people she’d helped were blogging against her, exposing the ‘cottage industry’ she ran out of her Los Angeles compound facing the Hollywood sign … the same compound these bloggers had lived in rent-free after arriving from Iowa City, Alberta, New Zealand. Loathing all institutions, Catt had become one herself. Even her dentist asked her for money. ↗

— Chris Kraus

#death

Inspirasi tak mengenal kata mati There is no death for inspiration. ↗

— Skylashtar Maryam

#literary #death

How stark everything became, at the end, all the wishes for one's children distilled by the world's swift cruelty into the desperate hope that death would take them fast. ↗

— Justin Cronin

#literary #poetic #death

Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days. ↗

— Lewis Carroll

#fantasy-literature #humor #dreams