Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Karl Kristian Flores

Quote by Karl Kristian Flores

“From my understanding, this is a matter of value?” asked Andrei. “Like other men have had her leg, so her leg doesn’t mean anything to you anymore?” “No... no, that’s not even it. It’s that you can’t pretend to give someone your leg. Even if it’s just a photo. Legs can’t pretend. You can, but legs can’t. And when someone gets your leg, it’s given. And you multiply that by a hundred, but she has only two. Two little legs. And it’s as if her legs know. The body is not meant to be mass distributed, Andrei. We’re not large gods in Olympus—we need assistance climbing up the stairs and eventually porcelain teeth to chew our food. Thousands of strangers have every part of my girlfriend’s body, down to the ears. But the one thing they don’t have is a woman in the other room sending herself away. They don’t have that,” cried Raphael. “I have that.”

Quote by Karl Kristian Flores

Book:A Happy Ghost
Create image

Work

A Happy Ghost

Browse quotes and source details for this work. more

Author

Karl Kristian Flores

Browse famous quotes and profile details for Karl Kristian Flores. more

You May Also Like

“Every artist loved their art for the same reason, and this caused no suspicion to the world. They regularly say: 'My field captures the human experience.' 'And what is the human experience to you exactly?' questions O’Hare. 'I want to be a storyteller who inspires and expresses their imagination.' 'But how does your chosen art differ from other mediums?' questions O’Hare. 'I am a quiet observer who innately loves philosophy.' But here you are screaming this in a room, cries Dr. O’Hare. 'I am beyond grateful for the people I’ve worked with who made this the greatest collaboration I could have ever asked for.' 'But how did you collaborate—with thought and rehearsal?—or did you just perform some damn thing and sign both your names on it?' asked O’Hare.”

ArtLyingHumanityActorsLanguageWorkSadnessSocietyWritersArtists
Book:A Happy Ghost
Create image

“He frowned with difficulty at everyone’s quick transition. He felt something crack in the room. It was like the feeling an artist got when he closed up his gallery, walked upstairs to his living quarters, and stared at the window to watch his former crowd rush to party next door and forget his exhibition one martini at a time. It was like goodbye. There was an unsaid, incomprehensive quality of unfairness to endings. They lacked a transition. The guitarist’s identity, for example, was in her strumming ten seconds ago, not when she finished and looked up at the seduced crowd as “her” again. The singer’s heart was housed in his lyrics, not in his thick-accented voice that rooms never understood.”

LifeArtSadnessLonelinessSingersGoodbyeArtistsEndingsGoodbyesMusicians
Book:A Happy Ghost
Create image

“XXXI (Pokojnik) S ranom u tom srcu, tamnu i duboku, s tajnom u tom trudnu i prokletu biću, sa zvijezdom na čelu, sa iskrom u oku gazi stazom varke, mrtvi Ujeviću; Smrt je tvoja ljubav pri svakome kroku, smrt je u tvom iću, u tvojemu piću, smrt je u tvom dahu, i u tvojem boku, smrt, i smrt, i smrt u Nadi i Otkriću. Što ti vrijedi polet u vlastitu čudu, što ti vrijedi volja i voljenje slijepo? Srce bije, pluće diše uzaludu; gle, bez hvajde ljubiš sve dobro i lijepo; kao sveli miris u razbitu sudu pogiba u tebi pjev što si ga tepo.”

SadnessDepressionLost SoulLifelong SorrowLiving After Significant Lost
Book:Kolajna
Create image

“My Mother They are killing her again. She said she did it One year in every ten, But they do it annually, or weekly, Some even do it daily, Carrying her death around in their heads And practicing it. She saves them The trouble of their own; They can die through her Without ever making The decision. My buried mother Is up-dug for repeat performances. Now they want to make a film For anyone lacking the ability To imagine the body, head in oven, Orphaning children. Then It can be rewound So they can watch her die Right from the beginning again. The peanut eaters, entertained At my mother’s death, will go home, Each carrying their memory of her, Lifeless – a souvenir. Maybe they’ll buy the video. Watching someone on TV Means all they have to do Is press ‘pause’ If they want to boil a kettle, While my mother holds her breath on screen To finish dying after tea. The filmmakers have collected The body parts, They want me to see. They require dressings to cover the joins And disguise the prosthetics In their remake of my mother; They want to use her poetry As stitching and sutures To give it credibility. They think I should love it – Having her back again, they think I should give them my mother’s words To fill the mouth of their monster, Their Sylvia Suicide Doll, Who will walk and talk And die at will, And die, and die And forever be dying.”

SadnessDepressionSuicideMental HealthMemoirDepression RecoverySylvia PlathFrieda Hughes
Book:The Book of Mirrors
Create image