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All my life, as down an abyss without a bottom. I have been pouring van loads of information into that vacancy of oblivion I call my mind.

Logan Pearsall Smith

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Logan Pearsall Smith
Age: 80 †
Born: 1865
Born: October 18
Died: 1946
Died: March 2
Author
Literary Critic
Writer
Millville
New Jersey
Lloyd Logan Pearsall Smith
Mind
Oblivion
Life
Abyss
Load
Bottom
Information
Vacancy
Literature
Loads
Call
Vans
Without
Pouring

More quotes by Logan Pearsall Smith

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Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.
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If you want to be thought a liar, always tell the truth
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Money and sex are forces too unruly for our reason they can only be controlled by taboos with which we tamper at our peril.
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The emergence of a new term to describe a certain phenomenon, of a new adjective to designate a certain quality, is always of interest, both linguistically and from the point of view of the history of human thought.
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What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.
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Eat with the rich, but go to the play with the poor, who are capable of joy.
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If it's to be, it's up to me.
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He who goes against the fashion is himself its slave
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You cannot be both fashionable and first-rate
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We need new friends some of us are cannibals who have eaten their old friends up others must have ever-renewed audiences before whom to re-enact the ideal version of their lives.
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The ladies who try to keep their beauty are the ladies who lose it.
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If we shake hands with icy fingers, it is because we have burnt them so horribly before.
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This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication.
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So, I never lose a sense of the whimsical and perilous charm of daily life, with its meetings and words and accidents.
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A best-seller is the gilded tomb of a mediocre talent
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Don't tell friends their social faults they will cure the fault and never forgive you.
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An echo of music, a face in the street, the wafer of the new moon, a wanton thought - only in the iridescence of things the vagabond soul is happy.
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There is more felicity on the far side of baldness than young men can possibly imagine.
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What joy can the years bring half so sweet as the unhappiness they've taken away?
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When they come downstairs from their Ivory Towers, idealists are very apt to walk straight into the gutter.
Logan Pearsall Smith