#tho

You see, unlike most writers today, I do not use a computer. I write the old-fashioned way: on the walls of caves. ↗

— Cuthbert Soup

#caves #computer #funny #old-fashioned #writer

I called the police to report my missing mustache, but they didn’t take me seriously. I’ll bet if I had a mustache, they’d take me seriously. #catch22
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#cops #funny #humor #mustache #police

As a former Catholic, and as someone who even today is not opposed to being called a Christian, I felt I had every right to use the symbols of the Church and resented being told not to. ↗

— Andres Serrano

#called #catholic #christian #church #even

Every part I've done has been for one reason or another-money, or the part, or the director, or the location. I'd like to get one thing that's all of those combined. ↗

— Joan Severance

#combined #director #done #every #get

But there is a higher law than the Constitution, which regulates our authority over the domain, and devotes it to the same noble purposes. ↗

— William H. Seward

#constitution #devotes #domain #higher #law

We live, all of us, in sprung rhythm. Even in cities, folk stir without knowing it to the surge in the blood that is the surge and urgency of season. In being born, we have taken seisin of the natural world, and as ever, it is the land which owns us, not we, the land. Even in the countryside, we dwell suspended between the rhythms of earth and season, weather and sky, and those imposed by metropolitan clocks, at home and abroad. When does the year begin? No; ask rather, When does it not? For us – all of us – as much as for Mr Eliot, midwinter spring is its own season; for all of us, if we but see it, our world is as full of time-coulisses as was Thomas Mann’s. Countrymen know this, with the instinct they share with their beasts. Writers want to know it also, and to articulate what the countryman knows and cannot, perhaps, express to those who sense but do not know, immured in sad conurbations, rootless amidst Betjeman’s frightful vision of soot and stone, worker’s flats and communal canteens, where it is the boast of pride that a man doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet. As both countryman and writer, I have a curious relationship to time. ↗

— G.M.W. Wemyss

#country-life #countryside #sir-john-betjeman #time #village-life

While America will always, I think, feel foreign to me, New York City is my home. This is where I can construct my own identity freely and reject labels imposed on me. ↗

— Raquel Cepeda

#foreign #freedom #freedom-of-choice #freedom-of-thought #home

I want to write the Boston Marathon of run-on sentences. And since it'll be so long, I'll replace all the commas with the word Gatorade, to help push people through it. ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#boston-marathon #commas #funny #gatorade #humor

I have peanut M&M's up there." "Not my style" "Raisinets." "Feh." "Sam Adams." Thor narrowed his eyes. "Cold?" "Downright icy." Thor crossed his arms over his chest and told him self he was not pouting like a five-year-old. "I want Milk Duds. ↗

— J.R. Ward

#lassiter #thor #humor

Because nobody but a reader ever became a writer. ↗

— Richard Peck

#inspirational #inspirational