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

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What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
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And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?
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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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I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.
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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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The priceless galaxy of misinformation called the mind.
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God, children know something they can't tell they like Red Riding Hood and the wolf in bed!
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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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Youth is cause, effect is age so with the thickening of the neck we get data.
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I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.
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For most people, life is nasty, brutish, and short for me, it has simply been nasty and brutish.
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When autumn shadows throw their patterns across the land, they are not the images of fragile, dying leaves, not the bared arms of lofty elms, not shadows of a fading summer but swinging shapes as of books upon a strap, of round and square boxes held under an arm, of hurrying little people heading towards the nearest school.
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Love is the first lie wisdom the last.
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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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Suffering for love is how I have learned practically everything I know, love of grandmother up and on.
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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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No man needs curing of his individual sickness his universal malady is what he should look to.
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