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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #prose
A poet is a blind optimist. The world is against him for many reasons. But the poet persists. He believes that he is on the right track, no matter what any of his fellow men say. In his eternal search for truth, the poet is alone. He tries to be timeless in a society built on time. ↗
#beat #early-stories-and-other-writings #jack-kerouac #optimist #prose-poetry
Säjer att jag rymt hit för din skull men ljuger förstås det låter vackrare då ville bara att du skulle ta bort nåldynan från badrummet ställa in kanske mjölk i kylen låtsas att vi lever lika mycket båda två stängde dörren för längesen om mej och du bänder loss brädorna men kommer inte in du förstår älskling jag har kilat fast alla öppningar med frusna tårar avbrutna morrhår död hud och blodiga kräkningar har byggt berg utanför av uppsprättade drömmar och klätt in hela trappuppgången i tomhet och du kommer aldrig igenom man kommer aldrig igenom men inimej kom inimej och där nånstans låt mej liksom leva bara ↗
The great error consists in supposing that poetry is an unnatural form of language. We should all like to speak poetry at the moment when we truly live, and if we do not speak it, it is because we have an impediment in our speech. It is not song that is the narrow or artificial thing, it is conversation that is a broken and stammering attempt at song. When we see men in a spiritual extravaganza, like Cyrano de Bergerac, speaking in rhyme, it is not our language disguised or distorted, but our language rounded and made whole. ↗
For me a page of good prose is where one hears the rain. A page of good prose is when one hears the noise of battle.... A page of good prose seems to me the most serious dialogue that well-informed and intelligent men and women carry on today in their endeavor to make sure that the fires of this planet burn peaceably. ↗
Time held no meaning as my mind darted in and out of memories. Past and present collided to create a full-sensory collage out of my life: playing hide-n-seek with my best friends Luke—who always cheated by walking through walls when he was about to be caught—and Lucy; Mr. Caldrin critiquing my sketches and offering ideas to make them more realistic; targets changing faces, blending into the same person, their thoughts rippling through my mind like waves. Through it all, a demon stalked me from the shadows of my memories, never quite showing its face, but crouching, waiting. And then I dreamed.... ↗
