Quote

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.

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
Love
Affection
Mice
Couldn
Bridge
Wouldn
Gaps
Came
Hole
Ever
Bridges
Even
Holes
Boil
Never
Fill
Shortcomings
Would
Heat
Potatoes

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And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?
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Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
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Well, isn't Bohemia a place where everyone is as good as everyone else - and must not a waiter be a little less than a waiter to be a good Bohemian?
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Only the impossible lasts forever.
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Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?
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I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.
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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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One's life is peculiar to one's own when one has invented it.
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Man is the only thing that has no further use after something goes amiss.
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Youth is cause, effect is age so with the thickening of the neck we get data.
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Life is painful, nasty and short.. in my case it has only been painful and nasty.
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To think is to be sick.
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The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the other's bed, where the rival perfects the lover's imperfections.
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I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.
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One must not look inward too much, while the inside is yet tender. I do not wish to frighten myself until I can stand it.
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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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My war brought me many things let yours bring you as much. Life is not to be told, call it as loud as you like, it will not tell itself. No one will be much or little except in someone else's mind, so be careful of the minds you get into, and remember Lady Macbeth, who had her mind in her hand. We can't all be as safe as that.
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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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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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The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
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