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Quote by David Mitchell

Work

Utopia Avenue

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Author

David Mitchell
David Mitchell

David Mitchell is a British novelist known for his unique narrative techniques and profound humanistic concerns. His works often blend humor, satire, and philosophical thinking, winning him a wide audience. more

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“The pieces of Cholly's life could become coherent only in the head of a musician. Only those who talk their talk through the gold of curved metal, or in the touch of black-and-white rectangles and taut skins and strings echoing from wooden corridors, could give true form to his life. Only they would know how to connect the heart of a red watermelon to the asafetida bag to the muscadine to the flashlight on his behind to the fists of money to the lemonade in a Mason jar to a man called Blue and come up with what all of that meant in joy, in pain, in anger, in love, and give it its final and pervading ache of freedom. Only a musician would sense, know, without even knowing that he knew that Cholly was free. Dangerously free. Free to feel whatever he felt--fear, guilt, shame, love, grief, pity. Free to be tender or violent, to whistle or weep.”

“The Dead Rock Star's Bar by Stewart Stafford I went for a drink in The Dead Rock Star's Bar, Phil Lynott was drinking whiskey in the jar, Jimi Hendrix was rocking the place, Elvis Presley was stuffing his face, Sid Vicious was grumpy and gruff, Freddie Mercury strutted his stuff, Marvin Gaye had plenty of soul, Lennon and Cobain compared bullet holes, Jim Morrison declared he was The Lizard King Buddy Holly sported an aeroplane wing, Such an array of talent leaves one's mouth agape, But they're all still alive on CD and tape, Wherever you live, you don't have to travel far, To have a damn good time at The Dead Rock Star's Bar. © Stewart Stafford, 1996. All rights reserved.”

“Words touch him in ways, this air, this water, this earth haven't been able to. They touch him in ways only something like love or heartache can do. Something miniscule in the air erupts into something too large for his vision to comprehend. On the surface of his skin, goosebumps sprout, while he watches them rising in wonder. Unable to bear the lightness with which that music carries dense spirits of something as intangible as time, he glides away from the rock and flees from the song.”

“If a child says, "I don't care about anything", that is not a sign of a wise child but of a troubled and depressed one. Similarly, adults who withdraw from the world soon get bored. Even lovers, if they retreat to their private love nest for too long, lose interest in each other. We do not thrive in safety and rest. Human existence means "transcendence", or going beyond, not "immanence", or reposing passively inside oneself. It means constant action until the day one runs out of thing to do - a day that is unlikely to come as long as you have breath.”