On His Writing Quotes

Dear lady, ... dear gentleman, reader, [it's] not right ... to put down this writer on his writing ... And I'll tell you why, too: it hurts, that's why.... People try to understand why writers commit suicide by jumping off boats or by alcoholism or by being heroic continuously or by rope or gun or drug or knife or water, and ... I can tell you straight out, ... it is reading slurring remarks about their writing that drives writers to the grave. Dirty remarks passed by ... dirty but damned nicely educated and very highly-paid ladies and gentlemen have the effect of killing writers. Yes, that's right. Dirty words ... in slick paper magazines read by smart people do assassinate writers. ... And boy let me tell you I am all for it, even when by some ... misunderstanding the dirty words are directed to me rather than to the party really deserving them. Accidents happen, dear clever reviewer or critic, and let it not be said that William Saroyan is one not to see a situation from the point of view of the other party, ... and I shall be the first to defend your right to be critical and even sarcastic, knowing full well that it is not about me and my writing, although my name is by mistake taken in vain by you. ... But go on, go on, do your good clever writing, every one of you, I am home, your are home, and we are each of us not yet on Variety's Necrology list, so if we can't take it, who can? ~ William Saroyan

I especially love watching Marcus Aurelius fighting his perfectionism in order to get back to work on his writing, regardless of the results. "Get a move on," he writes to himself, "and don't worry whether anyone will give you credit for it. And don't go expecting Plato's 'Republic;' be satisfied with even the smallest progress, and treat the outcome of it all as unimportant." Please tell me I'm not the only one who finds it endearing and encouraging that a legendary Roman philosopher had to reassure himself that it's okay not to be Plato. Really, Marcus, it's okay! Just keep working. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert

Obviously as a writer you have to reflect on why your work is provoking such hostility, because all you want to do is write your stories as best you can. You're forced to reflect on, why is my work so upsetting for people? The agenda behind it is clear. They don't want to see these people in literature. These areas of human experience [I write about] should not appear in public; we don't want to know. We know that people are in the street, that they have no money and are maybe begging, but we don't want to see them in literature. They should be swept under the carpet. ~ James Kelman

In the American Grain"
"Ninth grade, and bicycling the Jersey highways:
I am a writer. I was half-wasp already,
I changed my shirt and trousers twice a day.
My poems came back ... often rejected, though never
forgotten in New York, this Jewish state
with insomniac minorities.
I am sick of the enlightenment:
what Wall Street prints, the mafia distributes;
when talent starves in a garret, they buy the garret.
Bill Williams made less than Band-Aids on his writing,
he could never write the King's English of The New Yorker.
I am not William Carlos Williams. He
knew the germ on every flower, and saw
the snake is a petty, rather pathetic creature. ~ Robert Lowell

I'm going to sleep now," she said in a strangled voice. "Alone," she added, and his face whitened as if she had slapped him.
During his entire adult life Ian had relied almost as much on his intuition as on his intellect, and at that moment he didn't want to believe in the explanation they were both offering. His wife did not want him in her bed; she recoiled from his touch; she had been away for two consecutive nights; and-more alarming than any of that-guilt and fear were written all over her pale face.
"Do you know what a man thinks," he said in a calm voice that belied the pain streaking through him, "when his wife stays away at night and doesn't want him in her bed when she does return?"
Elizabeth shook her head.
"He thinks," Ian said dispassionately, "that perhaps someone else has been taking his place in it."
Fury sent bright flags of color to her pale cheeks.
"You're blushing, my dear," Ian said in an awful voice.
"I am furious!" she countered, momentarily forgetting that she was confronting a madman.
His stunned look was replaced almost instantly by an expression of relief and then bafflement. "I apologize, Elizabeth."
"Would you p-lease get out of here!" Elizabeth burst out in a final explosion of strength. "Just go away and let me rest. I told you I was tired. And I don't see what right you have to be so upset! We had a bargain before we married-I was to be allowed to live my life without interference, and quizzing me l ~ Judith McNaught

Do you trust me, Pidge?"
"Yeah, why?"
"C'mere," he said, pulling me against him. I stiffened for a second or two before resting my head on his chest. Whatever was going on with him, he needed me near him, and I couldn't have objected even if I'd wanted to. It felt right lying next to him. ~ Jamie McGuire

Betelgeuse. Sirius. Orion. Antares. The sky is very large, and you are very small. Let the words wash
through him, the voice and its memories pass over him, shivering his skin like the touch of a ghost,
vanishing into darkness.
The Pleiades. Cassiopeia. Taurus. Heaven is wide, and you are very small. Dead, but none the less
powerful for being dead. He spread his hands wide, gripping the fence - those were powerful, too.
Enough to beat a man to death, enough to choke out a life. But even death was not enough to loose the
bands of rage.
With great effort, he let go. Turned his hands palm upward, in gesture of surrender. He reached
beyond the stars, searching. The words formed themselves quietly in his mind, by habit, so quietly he
was not aware of them until he found them echoed in a whisper on his lips. ~ Diana Gabaldon

The history of the apple is too absurd. Whether the apple fell or not, how can any one believe that such a discovery could in that way be accelerated or retarded? Undoubtedly, the occurrence was something of this sort. There comes to Newton a stupid, importunate man, who asks him how he hit upon his great discovery. When Newton had convinced himself what a noodle he had to do with, and wanted to get rid of the man, he told him that an apple fell on his nose; and this made the matter quite clear to the man, and he went away satisfied. ~ Carl Friedrich Gauß

If an arm-less, leg-less woman on a skateboard could find a man, surely Sophie was doing something very, very wrong? How did this woman meet him? Pull on his trouser leg as she rolled by him in a nightclub?) Now ~ Liane Moriarty

His style as a writer places him in the category of the immortals, and his courage as a critic outlives the bitter battles in which he engaged. As a result, we use the word 'Orwellian' in two senses: The first describes a nightmare state, a dystopia of untrammelled power; the second describes the human qualities that are always ranged in resistance to such regimes, and that may be more potent and durable than we sometimes dare to think. ~ Christopher Hitchens

Hate Sits on a Stool
Hate sits on a 3-legged stool of
suspicion, jealousy and fear.
Kick away any one of these legs
and the hater will fall flat on his ass. ~ Beryl Dov

There was no back home any more, not in the essential way, and that was part of Paris too. Why we couldn't stop drinking or talking or kissing the wrong people no matter what it ruined. Some of us had looked into the faces of the dead and tried not to remember anything in particular. Ernest was one of these. He often said he'd died in the war, just for a moment; that his soul had left his body like a silk handkerchief, slipping out and levitating over his chest. It had returned without being called back, and I often wondered if writing for him was a way of knowing his soul was there after all, back in its place. Of saying to himself, if not to anyone else, that he had seen what he'd seen and felt those terrible things and lived anyway. That he had died but wasn't dead any more. ~ Paula McLain

In 1988, William Manchester began writing The Last Lion: Defender of the Realm, the third and final volume of his biography of Winston Churchill. ~ William Manchester

I'm investigating Lady Celia's potential suitors."
"Oh," she said in a small voice.
He glanced at her, surprised to find her looking stricken. "What's wrong?"
"I didn't know she had suitors."
"Of course she has suitors." Not any he could approve of, but he wasn't about to mention that to his aunt. "I'm sure you read about her grandmother's ultimatum in those reports you transcribed. She has to marry, and soon, too."
"I know. But I was rather hoping...I mean, with you there so often and her being an unconventional sort..." When he cast her a quizzical look, she went on more forcefully, "There's no reason you couldn't offer for her."
He nearly choked on his bread. "Are you out of your mind?"
"She needs a husband. You need a wife. Why not her?"
"Because marquess's daughters don't marry bastards, for one thing."
The coarse word made her flinch. "You're still from a perfectly respectable family, no matter the circumstances of your birth." She eyed him with a sudden gleam in her eye. "And I notice you didn't say you weren't interested."
Hell. He stopped up from gravy with his bread. "I'm not interested."
"I'm not saying you have to be in love with her. That would perhaps be asking too much at this point, but if you courted her, in time-"
"I would fall in love? With Lady Celia? That isn't possible."
"Why not?"
Because what he felt for Celia Sharpe was lust, pure and simple. He didn't even know if he wanted to fall ~ Sabrina Jeffries

It is the witness still of excellency to put a strange face on his own perfection. ~ William Shakespeare

There was something warming, Ronan thought, about all of them burying a body on his behalf. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

The cool thing about taking Jesus up on His offer is that whatever controls you doesn't anymore. People who used to be obsessed about becoming famous no longer care whether anybody knows their name. People who used to want power are willing to serve. People who used to chase money freely give it away. People who used to beg others for acceptance are now strong enough to give love. When we get our security from Christ, we no longer have to look for it in the world, and that's a pretty good trade. ~ Bob Goff

The God of the Bible is a holy and righteous God. Which is another way of saying that to relate to Him on His own terms, or to receive His blessing, requires perfection. God articulates this perfection in His Law ("Thou shalt" and "Though shalt not"). The problem is that we are anything but perfect! We are only human, as the saying goes. And the divine standard makes it painfully clear just how significant our limitations are. The person who takes the Law seriously is immediately humbled, if not demolished completely. ~ Tullian Tchividjian

Fresh proof of the risks you run in writing about players, and of the advisability of not standing to leeward of their self-esteem when one has had the misfortune to wound it in the slightest degree. When you criticize a singer, you do not have his colleagues up in arms against you. Indeed, they generally feel that you have not been severe enough. But the virtuoso instrumentalist who belongs to a well-known musical organization always claims that in criticizing him you are 'insulting' the whole institution, and though the contention is absurd he sometimes succeeds in making the other players believe it. ~ Hector Berlioz

Kisa.." he whispered, rolling my name on his tongue and i froze, praying he would say something else.. I know you, i remember you. You're the girl i was designed to love, my God-given match, my solnyshko. But he didn't. Instead he inhealed a deep breath and said, "why do i feel like I've known you all my life?" And at that moment i knew... ~ Tillie Cole

Her raised his face to the weeping sky, closed his dark eyes, and sighed deeply, a smile playing on his sensuous lips. The bloody hour is come. ~ Rick Yancey

Alexander the Great, who said on his wedding night, It's only a nickname. Never got a dinner! ~ Red Buttons

Men may perish, but the world will neither celebrate nor mourn. It will go on.' His smile thinned. 'Would you like to know how?'
'No.'
'Animals will swell to fill the void left by men," he told her. 'And over-swell it, perhaps. There will be other extinctions and other recoveries. The sky will clear, but those who see it will not marvel at its many colors. Those ruins will collapse, burying treasures like this-' He waved at the walls. '-and this-' He picked up the spoon from her coffee tray and tossed it down again with a clatter. '-forever, but the world will go on. Years become centuries so easily when no one is there to count them. Centuries become millennia. The forests will reclaim the lands that Men have razed. Rivers will carve canyons across the scars left by this fallen cities. Mountains will rise up, trapping seas to dry under and uncaring sun and leaving the bones of whales to bleach in the newborn deserts for no one to find, no one to be inspired by thoughts of giants and dragons. And still the worlds will go on, and I will go on with it through ages that can only be measured by the coming and going of glaciers. The stars themselves will shift in the heavens and no one will be there to invent names for their new alignments or remember the stories of the old ones, no one but me. In time, the sun itself will begin to cool. Here on Earth, the world goes on and on as its remaining life passes through its last changes and dies away. It will be quiet. And lone ~ R. Lee Smith

If Magnus could make everyone else laugh, surely he would feel like laughing himself. If he was enough fun to be around, he would never be on his own, and if he pretended he was all right, sure that would become the truth. ~ Cassandra Clare

Just as a man carrying on his head a load of wood that has caught fire would go rushing to a pond to quench the flames, even so will the seeker of truth, scorched by the fires of life - birth, death, self-deluding futility - go rushing to a teacher wise to the ways of the things that matter most. ~ Huston Smith

Mmmmmnobaconeggsgottagostore…" She slowly ran her hand down his forearm and gave him a sleepy smile as she sat up. Her eyes remained closed as she rested her hand on his shoulder and before he could realize her intention or even remember his manners and stop her, her mouth was on his in a kiss that was so soft and sweet Alessandro could do nothing but fall into it with her. ~ E. Jamie

It simply dazzled her how he went from goofy bear, rolling on his back and playing with his toes, and right into sexy-beyond-belief Jersey grizzly who'd worked her body like a love god. ~ Shelly Laurenston

A man is his tallest when he is down on his knees in prayer. ~ Beth Moore

Minho looked at Thomas, a serious expression on his face. "If I don't see you on the other side," he said in a sappy voice, "remember that I love you. ~ James Dashner

I was having a drink with Hugh Laurie, with whom I'd worked on his series House, and I told him I wanted to write a breakup letter from King George to the colonies. Without blinking, he improv'd at me, "Awwww, you'll be back," wagging his finger. I laughed and filed it away. Thanks, Hugh Laurie. ~ Lin-Manuel Miranda

While you were leaping headlong into an ambush you should have foreseen, she might have been attacked. She might have been killed or worse.'
Rupert came to a halt. 'What could be worse than her being killed, do you think?'
'I thought I had communicated to you Mr. Salt's opinions and wishes in the matter of Mr. Archdale's disappearance,' Beechey said. 'I thought I used easily comprehended terms.'
'You did,' Rupert said. 'I told Mrs. Pembroke about it in much the same way.'
'You told -' After a pause, Beechey went on, his voice strained, 'You cannot have revealed our suspicions about the - ahem - places of dubious repute. This is one of your jokes, I daresay. Ha ha.'
'She said her brother was not in a brothel or opium den and I was on no account to go to such places looking for him,' Rupert said. 'I obeyed, as I was obliged to do. You did tell me I wasn't to upset her, did you not?'
There followed the kind of furious silence with which Rupert was more than familiar. ~ Loretta Chase

An unsuccessful manager blames failure on his obligations; the effective manager turns them to his own advantage. A speech is a chance to lobby ... a visit to an important customer a chance to extract trade information. ~ Henry Mintzberg

When I come home from school, I take my Doc Martens off and put on fake satin mules with the marabou trim, slip into my dressing gown and my movie, and I feel serene. I hold a glass of Coke to my cheek and pretend it is a glass of bourbon and I am in New Orleans. My bedroom door is the doorway onto the street and at night I can't sleep because of the heat and the commotion in this town. So I go down to the river and dance as a man with scars on his face plays an accordion. People clap along and wolf-whistle and I whip my skirt around my thighs, which are long and lean because I barely get a chance to eat, what with all my bourbon and afternoon baths. I dance until my mules get muddy, then I tiptoe home, followed by sailors and men who have hundreds and thousands of dollars playing stud poker. Steve McQueen might be there. I can't remember. I get confused at this point. Too much drink. I'm sure Karl Malden is lurking in the background, gazing at me longingly. I am kind to him because his mother is dying. ~ Emma Forrest

Every great or even every very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications. ~ Raymond Carver

He didn't say anything. Then he leaned closer, so that his arm touched my shoulder. A jolt ran down my body. Everyone in our little group watched, waiting for a response. "I would be honored to escort you, Katrina."
"Oh. Okay." I pulled the bathrobe collar as high as it would go to hide my flaming cheeks.
Malcolm slapped his hand on his knee, then turned to the man sitting next to us and said,way too loudly, "I'm taking Katrina to the Solstice Festival."
"Good for you kid. ~ Suzanne Selfors

I spot a small cleft on his chin that should be awarded with a whole new set of definitions and adjectives. ~ A.A. Gupte

All the pride and pleasure of the world, mirrored in the dull consciousness of a fool, are poor indeed compared with the imagination of Cervantes writing his Don Quixote in a miserable prison. ~ Arthur Schopenhauer

If a composer has a nice wife and some nice children, how can he let the children starve on his dissonances? ~ Charles Ives

Riley pulled on his jeans and she almost moaned. Focus, Mercy.

"I'll check," he said, zipping up those damn jeans as she slid on her own. "But we might get lucky with an insomniac."

When he turned, she saw the marks on his back were almost healed. Fast, even for a changeling. Which meant Riley was more powerful than she'd guessed, more than he let on.

There was nothing flashy about him. Just
- "What the - " His hands were on her waist and his mouth on hers before she could do more than gasp. Lightning. Bright. Sizzling. Perfect. This time she did moan, wrapping her arms around him and luxuriating in his strength, in the sheer speed with which he'd come at her. With both of them only wearing jeans, her breasts were pressed against the exquisite roughness of the hairs on his chest. She rubbed against him, giving in to the leopard's innate sensuality.

He tore away his lips but they remained less than a millimeter apart. "This is your fault."

"Hell, no." She sucked on his neck, biting him a little too hard for emphasis. "You jumped my bones." Tugging back her head with a hand fisted in her hair, he glared down at her.

"You were all but licking me the way you were looking."

"Looking's not the same as touching." Her mouth watered at the idea of licking him. They'd been in too much of a rush last night. Even the second and third time. As if they'd both been hungry so long, they'd needed to gorg ~ Nalini Singh

You two have a lot to learn about being subs."

"Maybe, but I can't believe how turned on I am," Rory whispered.

Jack smiled at her. "I can." He sat on his knees and his gaze traveled over her body to the neat pink Lycra V between her legs. "You've soaked your bottoms already." The grin on his face was wicked. "Take them off. ~ Alyssa Turner

Mesmerized, Noah looked back at his mask, and then at Ethan's blue eyes, which were scanning Noah's shocked face. Ethan's cunning eyes were saying what he had planned for the night. Noah fell on his shoulder and immediately Ethan took a hold of him, "Babes, are you alright?" and spreading his arms around his naked shoulder. ~ Pierce Smith

[Mulder] slowed as he approached the front walk, slipping his left hand into his pocket to wrap around his gun. Front or back? Wait for Scully, or do the stupid thing and go in on his own?
He had no realistic alternative. ~ Charles Grant

Then where is home, Johannes?" He looks at the maps on his wall. "I don't know," He says. "Where comfort is. And that is hard to find. ~ Jessie Burton

When I left SNL, I gave Seth a badge of courage, like Dorothy give to the Cowardly Lion ... He kept it in his pocket during "Update" until he didn't need it anymore. Now it sits in a box on his desk at Late Night. ~ Amy Poehler

Are you going to put on your old cheer uniform?"
Ryan was a little too excited by the thought of me in a costume, so I squashed that idea, and fast.
"In your dreams."
"Not exactly." Ryan grinned wickedly. "In my dreams you're usually dressed like Wonder Woman."
Ugh. I wondered how long it would take for him to start in on the superhero crap. Obviously, not long. I was not amused, but Ryan seemed to think
himself hilarious. I could also tell by the look on his face that he was quite confident he'd have me in costume one day. "Never gonna happen," I
assured him. "Ever."
And of course he responded with that classic, cocky smile. "Just like you were never gonna be my girlfriend, right? ~ Kelly Oram

The craft of writing – whether novels, screenplays, essays or whatever – held a special fascination for Trumbo. And his work always showed great technical proficiency. ~ Bruce Cook

The last time I saw Collin was in 1917, at the foot of Mort-Homme.

Before the great slaughter, Collin'd been an avid angler. On that day, he was standing at the hole, watching maggots swarm among blow flies on two boys that we couldn't retrieve for burial without putting our own lives at risk.

And there, at the loop hole, he thought of his bamboo rods, his flies and the new reel he hadn't even tried out yet.

Collin was imaging himself on the riverbank, wine cooling in the current his stash of worms in a little metal box and a maggot on his hook, writhing like… Holy shit. Were the corpses getting to him?

Collin. The poor guy didn't even have time to sort out his thoughts.

In that split second, he was turned into a slab of bloody meat. A white hot hook drilled right through him and churned through his guts, which spilled out of a hole in his belly.

He was cleared out of the first aid station. The major did triage. Stomach wounds weren't worth the trouble. There were all going to die anyway, and besides, he wasn't equipped to deal with them.

Behind the aid station, next to a pile of wood crosses, there was a heap of body parts and shapeless, oozing human debris laid out on stretchers, stirred only be passing rats and clusters of large white maggots.

But on their last run, the stretcher bearers carried him out after all… Old Collin was still alive.

From the aid station to the ambu ~ Jacques Tardi

An architect requires a great many men to erect his building. But he does not ask them to vote on his design. ~ Ayn Rand

That evening he plays with the children, cleans the hamster's cage with them, gets them into their pyjamas, and reads to them three times over, once together, then to Jake on his own, then to Naomi. It is at times like these that his life makes sense. How soothing it is, the scent of clean bedlinen and minty toothpaste breath, and his children's eagerness to hear the adventures of imaginary beings, and how touching, to watch the children's eyes grow heavy as they struggle to hang on to the priceless last minutes of their day, and finally fail. ~ Ian McEwan

Our dog just wanders around the house with a concerned look on his face. Dogs are just people who can't find their phone. ~ Dana Gould

He who has a living faith in God will not do evil deeds with name of God on his lips. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

He could not endure a prolonged contact with another body. It smacked of danger. It made him frantic. He must be away, free, on his own legs, touching no living thing. ~ Jack London

You should go home and get some sleep," Harper said drowsily, letting the pain medication help take her under.
Trent stood up, lowered the head of the gurney, and lifted Harper's head to fluff the pillow before gently lowering her back down.
"I'll see you in the morning," Harper said, refusing to acknowledge the fear she suddenly felt at being left alone. The light went off in the room and Harper's heart started to race. She needed the light on.
The mattress sagged as Trent sat down on the side of the bed. She felt him lean forward and heard him kick off his shoes. He pulled his legs up onto the single gurney and lay down on his side, carefully putting his arm around her. The warmth of his breath behind her ear, the sweetness of his lips against her skin eased the pressure she'd felt building inside.
"Yeah, you will, darlin'. I'll be right here. ~ Scarlett Cole