#most

About fifteen miles above New Orleans the river goes very slowly. It has broadened out there until it is almost a sea and the water is yellow with the mud of half a continent. Where the sun strikes it, it is golden. ↗

— Frank Yerby

#above #almost #broadened #continent #fifteen

Most of the confidence which I appear to feel, especially when influenced by noon wine, is only a pretense. ↗

— Tennessee Williams

#confidence #especially #feel #i #influenced

I try to just communicate what I want done as clearly and simply as possible. ↗

— Dick Wolf

#counterproductive #i #i think #most #people

That, for me, is a very important test of a young writer's commitment because most of them are going to have to continue doing that when they've finished the program. ↗

— Tobias Wolff

#commitment #continue #doing #finished #going

You know, I always when people ask me, like, what is my most favorite song, I quote Duke Ellington, when they would ask him, what's his favorite composition? And I say, I haven't written it yet. Because, you know, there are different songs for different occasions. ↗

— Stevie Wonder

#ask #because #composition #different #duke

I don't remember a time when I wasn't acting. I have taken time off to figure out if it's what I really want to do, and it is. The only other job I'd want is to be a psychologist, as I spend most of my time analyzing people and emotions. ↗

— Evan Rachel Wood

#analyzing #emotions #figure #i #job

It is terrible and unbearable to an artist,' he said, 'to be encouraged to do, to be applauded for doing his second best.' He said: 'Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost! ↗

— Isak Dinesen

#artists #doing-one-s-best #second-best #utmost #art

The most difficult and complicated part of the writing process is the beginning. ↗

— A. B. Yehoshua

#complicated #difficult #most #part #process

Democratic power is the only voice most citizens have. ↗

— Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero

#democratic #most #only #power #voice

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny they are small, and the fountain is in France where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. you used to write insane poems about ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you knew famous artists and most of them were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right, go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous because we’ never met. we got close once in New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never touched. so you went with the famous and wrote about the famous, and, of course, what you found out is that the famous are worried about their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed with them, who gives them that, and then awakens in the morning to write upper case poems about ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe it was the upper case. you were one of the best female poets and I told the publishers, editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide 3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you I would probably have been unfair to you or you to me. it was best like this. ↗

— Charles Bukowski

#beauty