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Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?

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
Past
Remember
Think
Thinking
Paris
Courses
Course
Else

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To think is to be sick.
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To love without criticism is to be betrayed.
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The priceless galaxy of misinformation called the mind.
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Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
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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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If Helen of Troy could have been seen eating peppermints out of a paper bag, it is highly probable that her admirers would have been an entirely different class.It is the thing you are found doing while the horde looks on that you shall be loved for - or ignored.
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I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.
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And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?
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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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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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Man is the only thing that has no further use after something goes amiss.
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I have a narrative, but you will be put to it to find it.
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We are adhering to life now with our last muscle - the heart.
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No one will be much or little except in someone else's mind, so be careful of the minds you get into.
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I couldn't ever boil potatoes over the heat of your affection. Your love would never bridge a gap it wouldn't even fill up the hole that the mice came through.
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Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
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Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.
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There's something evil in me that loves evil and degradation--purity's black backside! That loves honesty with a horrid love or why have I always gone seeking it at the liar's door?
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We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.
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Suffering for love is how I have learned practically everything I know, love of grandmother up and on.
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