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Quote by C. Madan

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The Poetic Refuge: An Anthology

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C. Madan

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“Writing sustains me. But wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that it sustains this kind of life? Which does not, of course, mean that my life is any better when I don’t write. On the contrary, at such times it is far worse, wholly unbearable, and inevitably ends in madness. This is, of course, only on the assumption that I am a writer even when I don’t write — which is indeed the case; and a non-writing writer is, in fact, a monster courting insanity.”

WritingWriters On WritingInspirational Writing
Author:Franz Kafka
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“At the absolute bottom, where the world forgets your name and even your own reflection feels like a stranger, there’s a rare kind of clarity. Rock bottom isn’t the end—it’s the place where truth has no disguise, where every word you write carries the weight of survival. From that depth, creation isn’t just expression—it’s resurrection.”

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Book:Sex, Drugs, and Schizophrenia
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“When I saw "Ulysses" on Georgie's bedside table and Tom Finch's name written on it in a scrawl so like my old man's, I felt that I wanted to read it as a preparation for what's about to happen to us all. I understand where the brawny part of my father and I come from - Bill. I'm not saying bill's not smart, but my old man is a pretty intelligent guy and that kind of intellect came from tome Finch. I want to turn the pages he turned. But honestly I'm actually finding it hard. I think that the whole world has lied and nobody has read the book completely. It's a conspiracy up there with Roswell.”

TomGorgeous ImageryThe Piper S SonLocation 1581
Author:Melina Marchetta
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“He strayed across the sun worn grounds among old lichened monoliths, touching and tracing the inscriptions. The pains taken with the lettering astonished him—the knowing hands of nameless artisans, themselves long buried, incising stone calligraphies in memory of strangers. The age of these granites, hewn from crusts heaved up into the sun by planetary fire from miles beneath the surface of the earth, stirred him and humbled him. In quest of eternity, the upright stones yearned toward the firmament, even as they too were gnawed minutely by the bloodless fungi and blind algae that worked with the wind and rain to obliterate man's scratchings.”

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Book:Shadow Country
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