” It is interesting how keen people are for you to do something they would never dream of doing themselves, how enthusiastically they drive you to your own destructions. […] Perhaps he said, we are all like animals in the zoo, and once we see that one of us has got out of the enclosure we shout at him to run like mad, even though it will only result in him being lost.”
© 2014 Rachel Cusk, Outline.
“Writers need to hide in bourgeois life like ticks need to hide in animal’s fur: the deeper they’re buried the better.”
© 2014 Rachel Cusk, Outline.
“His words reminded me of oxygen masks , which had not, of course, put in an appearance over the past few hours. It was kind of a mutual cynicism, I said, that had resulted in the oxygen masks being provided, on the tacit understanding that they would never be needed. My neighbour said he had found that to be true of many aspects of life, but that all the same the law of averages was not something it paid to base your personal expectations on.”
© 2014 Rachel Cusk, Outline.
“But otherwise this was a story in which I sensed the truth was being sacrificed to the narrator’s desire to win.”
© 2014 Rachel Cusk, Outline.
“Withouth noticing I slip into a light yet lingering malaise. Not a depression, more like a fascination for melancholia, which I turn in my hand as if it were a small planet, streaked in shadow, impossibly blue.”
© 2015 Patti Smith, M-Train.
“Occasionally I write directly in my small laptop, sheepishly glancing over to the shelf where my typewriter with its antiquated ribbon sits next to an obsolete Brother word processor. A nagging allegiance prevents me from scrapping either of them. Then there are scores of notebooks, their contents calling – confession, revelation, endless variations of the same paragraph – and piles of napkins scrawled with incomprehensible rants. Dried-out ink bottles, encrusted nibs, cartridges for pens long gone, mechanical pencils emptied of lead. Writer’s debris.”
© 2015 Patti Smith, M-Train.
Writer's Debris 