The artist must bow to the monster of his own imagination.
From Richard Wright
Men simply copied the realities of their hearts when they built prisons.
I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.
I'd like to see the bay cleaned up before I die.
Don't leave inferences to be drawn when evidence can be presented.
The impulse to dream was slowly beaten out of me by experience. Now it surged up again and I hungered for books, new ways of looking and seeing.
Men can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread.
It's becoming very much like 1979 again.
2 perspectives
1 perspectives