#writ

I first came to think about media and politics in the late 1960s, having observed some distortions up close, but since then I wouldn't say that my personal experience has remained an important motive for my writing about media. ↗

— Todd Gitlin

#came #close #distortions #experience #first

But I can only write what the muse allows me to write. I cannot choose, I can only do what I am given, and I feel pleased when I feel close to concrete poetry - still. ↗

— Ian Hamilton Finlay

#am #cannot #choose #close #concrete

Nature has no principles. She makes no distinction between good and evil. ↗

— Anatole France

#down #love #lovers #their #truly

Why can't you write a great pop song when you are 85? Maybe you can. ↗

— Tim Finn

#maybe #pop #pop song #song #why

Mbeki began to write a study of the workings of apartheid policy in the reserves - the areas set aside in law for African occupation - as early as 1959 and 1960. ↗

— Ruth First

#apartheid #areas #aside #began #early

I've been doing my big theater projects, which take years, and writing a song here and there. ↗

— David Friedman

#big #doing #here #i #projects

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. ↗

— Edward Fitzgerald

#cancel #finger #half #having #line

None of this was written to hurt anybody's feelings. ↗

— Ric Flair

#feelings #hurt #none #written

It seems inevitable that the magic of the written word will fade. ↗

— Hugh Mackay

#inevitable #magic #seems #will #word

On No Work of Words On no work of words now for three lean months in the bloody Belly of the rich year and the big purse of my body I bitterly take to task my poverty and craft: To take to give is all, return what is hungrily given Puffing the pounds of manna up through the dew to heaven, The lovely gift of the gab bangs back on a blind shaft. To lift to leave from the treasures of man is pleasing death That will rake at last all currencies of the marked breath And count the taken, forsaken mysteries in a bad dark. To surrender now is to pay the expensive ogre twice. Ancient woods of my blood, dash down to the nut of the seas If I take to burn or return this world which is each man's work. ↗

— Dylan Thomas

#poetry #reciprocity #writer-s-block #death