Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
How can one better magnify the Almighty than by sniggering with him at his little jokes, particularly the poorer ones.
James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
Make sense who may. I switch off.
Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate and drift, through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me. A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought, a ton of worms, I believe it.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
My characters have nothing. I'm working with impotence, ignorance... that whole zone of being that has always been set aside by artists as something unusable - something by definition incompatible with art.
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.
« Last Edit: 12 Aug, 2005, 03:11:28 by spiros »
I can live everywhere in the world, but it must be near an airport -and a pharmacy, I would add.
Δεν είναι ο ύπνος της λογικής που γεννάει τέρατα, αλλά ο άγρυπνος ορθολογισμός που πάσχει από αϋπνίες.
