“I began to understand that all of life is practice: writing, driving, hiking, brushing teeth, packing lunch boxes, making beds, cooking dinner, making love, walking dogs, even sleeping. We are always practicing. Only practicing.” —Dani Shapiro

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Raymond ‘Red’ Reddington:

…on a sailboat, surrounded by sea with no land in sight, without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come? To stand at the helm of your destiny. I want that, one more time. I want to be in the Piazza del Campo in Siena. To feel the surge as 10 racehorses go thundering by. I want another meal in Paris, at L’Ambroisie, at the Place des Vosges. I want another bottle of wine. And then another. I want the warmth of a woman and a cool set of sheets. One more night of jazz at the Vanguard. I want to stand on the summits and smoke Cubans and feel the sun on my face for as long as I can. Walk on the Wall again. Climb the Tower. Ride the River. Stare at the Frescos. I want to sit in the garden and read one more good book. Most of all I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that, just one time. That’s why I won’t allow that punk out there to get the best of me, let alone the last of me.

though I cannot promise to take you home,” said North Wind, as she sank nearer and nearer to the tops of the houses, “I can promise you it will be all right in the end. You will get home somehow.”

― George MacDonald, At the Back of the North Wind

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“The very first step towards action is the death warrant of doubt.”

George MacDonald

“When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.’ Lewis Carroll

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So she got up, and held out her hand. ‘Good-bye, till we meet again!’ she said as cheerfully as she could.

‘I shouldn’t know you again if we did meet,’ Humpty Dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake; ‘you’re so exactly like other people.’

‘The face is what one goes by, generally,’ Alice remarked in a thoughtful tone.

‘That’s just what I complain of,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘Your face is the same as everybody has — the two eyes, so —’ (marking their places in the air with this thumb) ‘nose in the middle, mouth under. It’s always the same. Now if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose, for instance — or the mouth at the top — that would be some help.’

‘It wouldn’t look nice,’ Alice objected. But Humpty Dumpty only shut his eyes and said ‘Wait till you’ve tried.’

Who am I finally? I am the instigator of crime I am ruin and sorrow I am shame I am dishonour I am death I am Absinthe”

Marie Corelli, 1855 – 1924

The following are all excerpts from the book “Wormwood; A Drama of Paris” (1890).

I am the green fairy

“I am the green Fairy
My robe is the color of despair
I have nothing in common with the fairies of the past
What I need is blood, red and hot,
The palpitating flesh of my victims
Alone, I will kill France, the present is dead,
Vive the future…
But me, I kill the future and in family I destroy
The love of country, courage, honor,
I am the purveyor of hell, penitentiaries, hospitals.
Who am I finally?
I am the instigator of crime
I am ruin and sorrow
I am shame
I am dishonor
I am death
I am Absinthe”

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Antonin Artaud, 1896 – 1948

In the early 1920’s Antonin Artaud was very much influenced by the great French poets Verlaine, Mallarmé and Rimbaud. The poem Verlaine Boit was published in 1921. Between 1926-1928 Artaud also ran the Alfred Jarry theatre where he directed plays by, among others, August Strindberg. Below are both the original poem in French and an English translation.

Verlaine Boit

“Il y aura toujours des grues au coin des rues,
Coquillages perdus sue les grèves stellaires
Du soir bleu qui n’est pas d’ici ni de la terre,
Où roulent des cabs aux élytres éperdues.

Et roulent moins que dans ma tête confondue
La pierre verte de l’absinthe au fond du verre,
Où je bois la perdition et les tonnerres
A venir du Seigneur pour calciner mon âme nue.

Ah! Qu’ils tournent les fuseaux mêles des rues
Et filent l’entrelacs des hommes et des femmes
Ainsi qu’une araignée qui tisserait sa trame
Avec les filaments des âmes reconnues.”

Verlaine Drinks (English translation of Verlaine Boit)

“There will always be whores on street corners,
Lost shells stranded on the stellar shores
Of a blue dusk which belongs neither here nor on earth
Where taxis roll by like bewildered beetles.

But they roll less than in my whirling head
The green gem of absinthe deep in the glass
Where I drink perdition and the thunder
Of the Lord’s judgement to roast my naked soul.

Ah! How the tangled spindles of the streets
Turn and spin the fabric of men and women,
As if a spider were weaving her web.
With the filaments of uncovered souls.”

Family names are like flowers, they blossom in clusters.

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“Helda’s been trying to impress me with the embroidery on the sheets. One more minute and I thought I might use them to hang myself.”
“My mother did the embroidery,” Bittterblue said.
Katsa clapped her mouth shut and glared at Helda. “Thank you, Helda, for mentioning that detail.”

― Kristin Cashore, Bitterblue

“Nothing, however, bemused the Indians more than the European habit of blowing their noses into a fine handkerchief, folding it carefully, and placing it back in their pockets as if it were a treasured memento.” ― Bill Bryson, At Home: A Short History of Private Life

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HANDKERCHIEF, n. A small square of silk or linen, used in various ignoble offices about the face and especially serviceable at funerals to conceal the lack of tears. The handkerchief is of recent invention our ancestors knew nothing of it and intrusted.

(Ambrose Bierce)

You may make a bag out of an elephant’s hide, but what are you going to find to put in it ?

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My bag with me like shadow
Comes without a word
Hanging on my back
Bearing burden inside

Wherever I go
Behind me
What I put into it
Never got angry

When I have a rest
Keeping aside it
Until the destination
It has no rest

Strength, shape and beauty
Dwindles and fades gradually
Heartfelt mate and buddy
I cannot throw it away

Carried out past of me
Dug up memories of me
Never told secrets of me
It is a witness of me

Being a part of my identity
Stayed with an inseparable life
Many time I felt so pity
This is the way of insistent life


Udaya R. Tennakoon

“Twinkle, twinkle little bat How I wonder what you’re at! Up above the world you fly, Like a tea-tray in the sky” Lewis Carroll quotes (English Logician, Mathematician, Photographer and Novelist, especially remembered for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 1832-1898) Similar Quotes. Add to Chapter… I Like this quote I dislike this quote“Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.” Tennessee Williams

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Time rushes toward us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.


Tennessee Williams