Quote

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.

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
Found
Rose
Great
Million
Men
Window
Peering
Like
York
Caged
Return
Remained
Millions
Windows
Impossible
Wave
Water
Horror

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One's life is peculiar to one's own when one has invented it.
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I've seen death and I didn't like it.
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We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.
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Love is the first lie wisdom the last.
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Certainty always produces questions, uncertainty statements. It is a balancing law of nature.
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Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
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New York is the meeting place of the peoples, the only city where you can hardly find a typical American.
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Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?
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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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I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.
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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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We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.
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Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
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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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Yes, we who are full to the gorge with misery should look well around, doubting everything seen, done, spoken, precisely because we have a word for it, and not its alchemy
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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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To think is to be sick.
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No man needs curing of his individual sickness his universal malady is what he should look to.
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When one wants to become cognizant of the color and the texture of the soil, one does not get a ladder one gets a shovel. When one wants to get into touch with the texture of the universal mind, one does not go to Boston one goes to the Bowery.
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