"For about 150 days a year in Venice, the sun doesn't show through the mist until noon."
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"For about 150 days a year in Venice, the sun doesn't show through the mist until noon."
"I am madness maddened when it comes to books, writers, and the great granary silos where their wits are stored."
"We are living in a time when flowers are trying to live on flowers, instead of on good rain and black loam."
"It was only the other night everything was fine and the next thing I know Im drowning. How many times can a man go down and still be alive? I can't breathe"
"Not to write, for many of us, is to die. We must take ares each and every day, perhaps knowing that the battle cannot be entirely won, but fight we must, if only a gentle bout. The smallest effort to win means, at the end of each day, a sort of victory."
"I'm not trying to PREDICT the future. I'm just trying to PREVENT it."
"I’m really alive! he thought. I never knew it before, or if I did I don’t remember!"
"I wonder how many men, hiding their youngness, rise as I do, Saturday mornings, filled with the hope that Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam and Daffy Duck will be there waiting as our one true always and forever salvation?"
"The real fear isn't rejection, but that there won't be enough time in your life to write all the stories that you have in you."
"The stars are yours, if you have the head, the hands, and the heart for them."
"We should go to the moon and prepare a base to fire a rocket off to Mars and then go to Mars and colonize Mars. Then when we do that, we will live forever."
"It could reach up and grab the moon."
"Christ is one of the 'family' now. I often wonder if God recognizes his own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down? He's regular peppermint stick now, all sugar crystal and saccharine - when he isn't making veiled references to certain commercial products that ever worshiper absolutely needs."
"Kerosene," he said, because the silence had lengthened, "is nothing but perfume to me."
"I think the only way we can grow and get on in this world is to accept the fact we're not perfect and live accordingly."
"Who has more pockets than a magician? A boy. Whose pockets contain *more* than a magicians? A boy's."
"MOTHER: Why, just lying there, Jim, you run so fast. I never saw anyone move so much, just sleeping. Promise me, Jim. Wherever you go and come back, bring lots of kids. Let them run wild. Let me spoil them, some day. JIM: I'm never going to own anything that can hurt me."
"Through neglect, ignorance, or inability, the new intellectual Borgias cram hairballs down our throats and refuse us the convulsion that could make us well. They have forgotten, if they ever knew, the ancient knowledge that only by being truly sick can one regain health. Even beasts know when it is good and proper to throw up. Teach me how to be sick then, in the right time and place, so that I may again walk in the fields and with the wise and smiling dogs know enough to chew sweet grass."
"The world, like a great iris of an even more gigantic eye, which has also just opened and stretched out to encompass everything, stared back at him."
"And some day well remember so much that well build the biggest goddam steamshovel in history and dig the biggest grave of all time and shove war in and cover it up."