A collective archive of words that move us. From African literature to global cinema, captured by the community.
Are you not so knee deep in the murky dark waters that sometimes your thirst for destruction makes you yearn for the silent epidemic?
That’s the messed up thing about you. You dare misfortune to strike you, in your defiance against being a victim, you carry yourself to the centre of catastrophe just so you can say it was your choice to be destroyed. And isn’t it just your luck that misfortune is afraid of you? Because you’re a tornado of destruction yourself.
We experience life as a continuity, and only after it falls away, after it becomes the past, do we see its discontinuities. The past, if there is such a thing, is mostly empty space, great expanses of nothing, in which significant persons and events float.
peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
Art is History’s nostalgia, it prefers a thatched roof to a concrete factory, and the huge church above a bleached village.
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted w
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.
For isn’t it odd that the only language I have in which to speak of this crime is the language of the criminal who committed the crime?
By that time, I had already started to think of myself as rebellious, so of course I completely identified with Lucifer.
You know, Norman Mailer would put himself in his books, and no one made it seem that he was doing something less.
Wordsworth would have been very upset to know that his wonderful poems were being used as a weapon of empire.
Love is like the rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you’re not careful it will drown you.
Because it’s a problem we have thinking that one person can make a revolution, whether it’s now or in the past.
I no longer feel that I am an alien in the United States.
Somewhere, if not now, then maybe years in the future, a future that we may have yet to dream of, someone may risk his or her life to read us.
My host joked that the guns would encourage the Europanes to start more wars which would result in more prisoners offered up as slaves.
Truth is, both of us was desperate to be anything other than what we was.
I take your riding crop, fold it, lash your chest. ‘Take that!’ I hiss. ‘How dare you humour me. Who’s the boss now?
Ageing is nothing to be ashamed of especially when the entire human race is in it together.
We prefer self-government with danger to servitude in tranquility.
You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies, you may trod me in the very dirt but still, like dust, I’ll rise.