It wasn’t my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it.– Charles Bukowski, Pulp (via larmoyante)
The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get...– Stephen King (via metaphoricheart)
I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your...– Charles Bukowski (via seabois)
the eyepool: Philip K Dick on loss and grief →
eyepool: “It’s better not to love so that never happens to you. Even a pet, a dog or a cat. As you pointed out — you love them and they perish. If the death of a rabbit is bad — ” He had, then, a glimpse of horror: the crushed bones and hair of a girl, held and leaking blood, in the jaws of a dimly-seen…
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And...– Louis de Bernières (via pavorst)
She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful.– Neil Gaiman (via gaws)
I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again...– John Keats (via vanished)
It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to...– Frederic Chopin (via amethyst-skeleton)
So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if...– John Green, Looking for Alaska (via antarctics)
If it’s bad I’ll hate it because I hate bad writing - if it’s good I’ll be...– Ernest Hemingway, “Midnight in Paris” (via oh-brittania)
Best Author-on-Author Insults in History
Virginia Woolf on James Joyce: [Ulysses is] the work of a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples.
Harold Bloom on J.K. Rowling: How to read ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’? Why, very quickly, to begin with, and perhaps also to make an end. Why read it? Presumably, if you cannot be persuaded to read anything better, Rowling will have to do.
H. G. Wells on George Bernard Shaw: An idiot child screaming in a hospital.
Ralph Waldo Emerson on Jane Austen: Miss Austen’s novels . . . seem to me vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in the wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world.
William Faulkner on Ernest Hemingway: He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.
Ernest Hemingway on William Faulkner: Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?
W. H. Auden on Robert Browning: I don’t think Robert Browning was very good in bed. His wife probably didn’t care for him very much. He snored and had fantasies about twelve-year-old girls.
Mark Twain on Jane Austen: Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone.
I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday...– Jack Kerouac (via misswallflower)