Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
From Samuel Beckett
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
I can't go on. I'll go on.
To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
3 perspectives
2 perspectives
1 perspectives