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We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.
Djuna Barnes
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Djuna Barnes
Age: 90 †
Born: 1892
Born: June 12
Died: 1982
Died: June 18
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Cornwall on Hudson
New York
Lydia Steptoe
Clenched
Mortality
Muscles
Skin
Skins
Wind
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Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
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The truth is how you say it, and to be 'one's self' is the most shocking custom of all.
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After all, it is not where one washes one's neck that counts but where one moistens one's throat.
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We are adhering to life now with our last muscle - the heart.
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And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?
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What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
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Man is the only thing that has no further use after something goes amiss.
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Madness to us means reversion to such people as Una and Lena it meant progression. Now their uncle had entered into a land beyond them, the land of fancy. For fifty years he had been as they were, silent, hard-working, unimaginative. Then all of a sudden, like a scholar passing his degree, he had gone up into another form.
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I've seen death and I didn't like it.
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I have a narrative, but you will be put to it to find it.
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An image is a stop the mind makes between uncertainties.
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A man's sorrow runs uphill true it is difficult for him to bear, but it is also difficult for him to keep.
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I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.
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I talk too much because I have been made so miserable by what you are keeping hushed.
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The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.
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Certainty always produces questions, uncertainty statements. It is a balancing law of nature.
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New York rose out of the water like a great wave that found it impossible to return again and so remained there in horror, peering out of the million windows man had caged it with.
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Love is the first lie wisdom the last.
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