Quotes
Quotes about Life
Life is sensation, which includes thought, and the sensation of having sensation, which ought to take care of all your stupid worries about identity.
You canât split life into diachronic segments
People always blame art literature drama for their own evil. Or other peopleâs. Art only imitates life.
I am near the end of the wine, but out there, the big wine is being poured â thin, slow, grey. Never more shall I taste the oncoming of this particular darkness. But I shall not be sorry to go. I am not seduced to this life by the dainty lusts, clothed in cold green and clean linen, of an English spring. If you plunge into that dark there, you will emerge at length into a raging sun and all the fabled islands of my East. And that is what I shall be doing tonight, off like a bird. Letâs dwell a space on the irony of a poetâs desperately winging out the last of his sweetness while the corrosives closed in.
The autobiographer can see himself as the only true historian in the sense that he is presenting the life of perennial humanity. In the narrower sense, he provides the raw material for the social historian, demonstrating what it was like to be imprisoned in a particular segment of time.
And this new start meant a new leaf, life, willingness to atone, a search for stability, a fresh persona.
'There has to be eternal chastisement. That means eternal life.' 'A bit one-sided, all stick, no sugar. Listen, we're all sent to one big bedroom. Hitler undivided from John the twenty-third, the innocent and guilty, raped and rapist, with no cup of tea or orange juice to wake us up'.
Real life, in shifting to a fictive groove, is seen as inferior to fiction
God made his mind up, right from the beginning, that some were damned, some saved, and strictly what you did with life, saintly by choice or sinning, mattered to God not one benighted jot. You prosper? That probably means you're winning. You're losing, lost - the sudden voices shout it. You're lost, and nothing can be done about it.
See the bees and butterflies, blessed creatures. Hear that blackbird, or perhaps it is a trush. We take what life we can.
The power of the poet pulsed blood through his body. The truth of life lay in the vatic messages words sent, meanings beyond what the world called meaning.
Dying, he knew the scream would not die with him, not yet. It lived for a time its own life.
Here is life. Let's live it.
Life's not easy, kid.
The conscious act of concentration frees other segments of the senses and the mind to record the current of exterior life
Life is a unity, and hence all aspects of life are relevant to each other
Life is death because it moves towards death from its very beginning
Life is circular and the beginning of a circle is also its end; life is not a rectilinear continuum. Thus the season of renewal is cruel because renewal entails the death of the old, and we may have committed ourselves to the old.
The poet's awareness of the circularity of life, in which things can be expressed in terms of their opposites, sometimes leads him to an aesthetic in which anything can be expressed as anything.
Then perhaps to die the death. An endless silence after a brief earth-sejourn. All the putative joys untasted. Circular speculation. A life wasted.
I've lived a life spurting with brave bravura
Life pays too much for art
Life's all telling lies nowadays. All cheating and being a stranger to the truth.
There's always two sides to life, and I ask everybody to remember that
Life is one big punishment, but, thank God, we don't have to bear more than we want.
