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Ambition is a Dead Sea fruit, and the greatest peril to the soul is that one is likely to get precisely what he is seeking.
Edward Dahlberg
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Edward Dahlberg
Age: 76 †
Born: 1900
Born: July 22
Died: 1977
Died: February 27
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Fruit
Ambition
Sea
Ocean
Dead
Peril
Greatest
Precisely
Soul
Likely
Work
Seeking
More quotes by Edward Dahlberg
Perhaps Samuel Johnson was a great man he was certainly a drumbling one.
Edward Dahlberg
There are men that are birds, and their raiment is trembling feathers, for they show their souls to everyone and everything that is ungentle or untutored or evil or mockery is as a rude stone cast at them, and they suffer all day long, or as Paul remarks they are slain every moment.
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The earnings of a poet could be reckoned by a metaphysician rather than a bookkeeper.
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Man pines to live but cannot endure the days of his life.
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I have no confidence in a man whose faults you cannot see.
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We are uneasy with an affectionate man, for we are positive he wants something of us, particularly our love.
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Every decision you make is a mistake.
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What is most appalling in an F. Scott Fitzgerald book is that it is peopleless fiction: Fitzgerald writes about spectral, muscledsuits dresses, hats, and sleeves which have some sort of vague, libidinous throb. These are plainly the product of sickness.
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A strong foe is better than a weak friend.
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What has a writer to be bombastic about? Whatever good a man may write is the consequence of accident, luck, or surprise, and nobody is more surprised than an honest writer when he makes a good phrase or says something truthful.
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The bad poet is a toady mimicking nature.
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We are always talking about being together, and yet whatever we invent destroys the family, and makes us wild, touchless beasts feeding on technicolor prairies and rivers.
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Genius, like truth, has a shabby and neglected mien.
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Look at this poet William Carlos Williams: he is primitive and native, and his roots are in raw forest and violent places he is word-sick and place-crazy. He admires strength, but for what? Violence! This is the cult of the frontier mind.
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Man hoards himself when he has nothing to give away.
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Intellectual sodomy, which comes from the refusal to be simple about plain matters, is as gross and abundant today as sexual perversion and they are nowise different from one another.
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A painter can hang his pictures, but a writer can only hang himself.
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The newspaper has debauched the American until he is a slavish, simpering, and angerless citizen it has taught him to be a lump mass-man toward fraud, simony, murder, and lunacies more vile than those of Commodus or Caracalla.
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We are a most solitary people, and we live, repelled by one another, in the gray, outcast cities of Cain.
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We are ruled by chance but never have enough patience to accept its despotism.
Edward Dahlberg