#w

In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art. ↗

— Dylan Thomas

#age

. . .the world as we see it is only the published version. The subterranean realms, whether churches or hospital rooms or smoke-filled basements, are part of what hold up the rest. ↗

— Gail Caldwell

#friendship

I never felt hard done by and never wanted for anything, but I grew up in a wealthy area where I saw people being handed things on a plate. So it made me want to earn some money and be able to buy things for myself. ↗

— Holly Valance

#anything #area #being #buy #done

She buys "mixed salad greens" for seven dollars a bag, triple-washed with who knows what. And to get this stuff home, which is only two blocks away from the grocery store, Jennica throws all of it into plastic bags. There is a husk on her corn, corn that Jennica's store sells in April.. there is a rind on her grapefruit, grapefruit that gets flown in from Florida... but still, Jennica puts the corn and the citrus into plastic bags. Her supposedly organic red peppers, which cost six dollars a pound, come in a foam tray under shrink-wrap, but she puts them in a plastic bag. And then the checkout girl puts all of Jennica's little plastic parcels into two or three more big white plastic bags, and then Jennica walks the two blocks home, where she unpacks all the bags and then trows them in the same trash bin where her corn husks and citrus rinds go. ↗

— Rudolph Delson

#plastic #what-is-wrong-with-the-world #home

You belong with us, the lost of the lost, the tribe without a home, a tribe of orphans living our abandoned lives amid toys and trinkets, stuffed monkeys and bears. You’re one of us now—the Tribe of the Teddy Bear.” From Tribe of the Teddy Bear ↗

— J. Joseph Wright

#magic #mg #middle-grade #supernatural #teddy-bear

Well the press and things like that are pretty hard core, but I don't pay too much attention to that. ↗

— Holly Valance

#core #hard #i #like #much

Since this war began our sympathy has gone out to all the suffering people who have been dragged into it. Further hundreds of millions have become involved since I spoke at Limerick fortnight ago. ↗

— Eamon de Valera

#become #been #began #dragged #fortnight

They say it is a wide road that leads to war and only a narrow path that leads home again. ↗

— Bob Massie

#proverbs #war #home

Aryami Bose's home had been closed up for years, inhabited only by books and paintings, but the spectre of thousands of memories imprisoned between its walls still permeated the house. ↗

— Carlos Ruiz Zafón

#home #house #imprisoned #memories #paintings

The ideal art, the noblest of art: working with the complexities of life, refusing to simplify, to "overcome" doubt. ↗

— Joyce Carol Oates

#art #complexity #writing #art