Scotmum - Feed Quotations Book Search <![CDATA[Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it's the answer to everything. To Why am I here? To uselessness. It's the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it's a cactus.]]> <![CDATA[A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.]]> <![CDATA[A professional writer is an amateur who didn't quit.]]> <![CDATA[Writers must fortify themselves with pride and egotism as best they can. The process is analogous to using sandbags and loose timbers to protect a house against flood. Writers are vulnerable creatures like anyone else. For what do they have in reality? Not sandbags, not timbers. Just a flimsy reputation and a name.]]> <![CDATA[I dare say I am compelled, unconsciously compelled, now to write volume after volume, as in past years I was compelled to go to sea, voyage after voyage. Leaves must follow upon each other as leagues used to follow in the days gone by, on and on to the appointed end, which, being truth itself, is one -- one for all men and for all occupations.]]> <![CDATA[Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, it provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?]]> <![CDATA[My books are water; those of the great geniuses are wine -- everybody drinks water.]]> <![CDATA[Whenever books are burned men also in the end are burned.]]> <![CDATA[A book that is shut is but a block.]]> <![CDATA[A room without books is like a body without a soul.]]> <![CDATA[Books, books, books had found the secret of a garret-room piled high with cases in my father's name; Piled high, packed large, --where, creeping in and out among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, the first book first. And how I felt it beat under my pillow, in the morning's dark. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books!]]> <![CDATA[Some books leave us free and some books make us free.]]> <![CDATA[Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.]]> <![CDATA[Men never remember, but women never forget.]]> <![CDATA[Humor is emotional chaos remembered in tranquility.]]> <![CDATA[We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.]]> <![CDATA[So, as you go into battle, remember your ancestors and remember your descendants.]]> <![CDATA[We don't remember days; we remember moments.]]>