Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by John Darnielle

Quote by John Darnielle

“That's what it is. That's what my morning was like: all these real physical heavy positive vibrations, the soul of this tape. The fuzzy groove. The meaning of it all, if it has one: All love, all the time. Peace and happiness in every day. Peace and happiness with cow blood dripping from your hands, bright blood staining your fingerprints because you didn't glove up since you don't normally do prep work. Peace and happiness when you're making a list of everything that's wrong with the world and squinting your eyes tight trying to imagine your way out of it. Peace, peace, peace, happiness, happiness, happiness.”

Quote by John Darnielle

Book:Master of Reality
Create image

Work

Master of Reality

Browse quotes and source details for this work. more

Author

John Darnielle
John Darnielle

John Darnielle, born on March 16, 1967, is a talented musician renowned for his unique songwriting and musical style in the indie music scene. more

You May Also Like

“Pjesnik čiji nas stihovi ushićuju možda je bio tužan usamljenik a glazbenik neki sjetan sanjar, ali i tada njegovo djelo dijeli vedrinu bogova i zvijezda. Ono što nam umjetnik daje, to više nije njegov mrak, njegova patnja ili tjeskoba, to je kaplja čišste svjetlosti, vječite vedrine. Kad i cijeli narodi i jezici pokušavaju doprijeti do dubine svijeta, u mitovima, kozmologiji i raznim religijama, ono posljednje i najviše što mogu dostići, to je ta vedrina. Sjećas li se starih Indijaca, naš je stari waldzellski učitelj jednom o njima pričao: svijt patnje, razmišljanja, pokore, askeze; ali posljednja velika otkrića njegova duha bila su svijetla i vedra, vedar je smješak onih koji su preboljeli svijet i smješak Buddhe, vedri su likovi njegove dubokoumne mitologije.”

InspirationalPhilosophyCatharsis
Book:The Glass Bead Game
Create image

“You think the things you can touch and feel are the things that are real, but they are not. Over time, they all get old and decline. The people, the houses, the rocks and the mountains: one day they will all crumble. This is because they are not as real as the things that last forever. It is another one of the lessons we come to teach.”

ForeverDeclineUnrealThingsMaterialCrumble
Book:Jack McAfghan: Return from Rainbow Bridge: A Dog's Afterlife Story of Loss, Love and Renewal
Create image

“Gaiman provides some additional insights via these comments in his script for chapter 5: “What I want to do here, without destroying the story as an adventure yarn, is grab the subtext and make it text, grab the metaphor and make it text; allow that we’re spinning a metafiction and see how far we can push that fact before it collapses in on itself. Which is going to be hard; good fantasy is as delicate as butterfly wings, and just as liable to crumble if improperly handled, leaving you with something that can no longer fly.”

FantasyFlyNeil GaimanButterfly WingsCrumbleGood Fantasy
Book:The Sandman Companion
Create image

“And the crumble today is rhubarb-apple." She then turned to me. "I'll give you a minute to decide," she smiled, walking off to the kitchen. I lingered at the table, eyeing the golden brown topping of the crumble, clattering tea cups and intimate conversations dancing in the background. It was similar to Make My Cake's cobbler in that it was a giant dish of oozing fruit concealed by bits of topping- exactly what I had come for. Yet it was unmistakably French. While it was indeed messier than the gâteaux I had fallen for elsewhere around Paris, Les Deux Abeilles's crumble, presented in a round white porcelain dish, was still more refined. It looked thick and sweet and crunchy. I could practically taste the buttery bits and jammy fruit converging in a chaotic mix of flavors and textures in my mouth. But now that pear-praline clafoutis was waving to me from heaven. And the tall, airy wisps on the lemon meringue were tempting me, as well as the towering cheesecake, fluffier than the versions back home, with more finesse. Molten chocolate cake is never the wrong choice, I was rationalizing to myself, when Valeria returned. "Alors, what will it be?" I gazed up at her comforting presence. "I'll take the crumble, please." After my laborious decision, I was relieved to discover I had been right to stick with my original intentions. Five minutes later, a generous slice of rhubarb-apple crumble arrived, warmed in the small kitchen and served with a side of fresh cream, whipped staunchly into a thick, puffy cloud. I sat for a minute, contemplating the crumble's imperfect bumps and dull brown color. The pale pink and sometimes green slices of rhubarb poked out of the sides and lumps of rouge topping decorated my plate. Where the crumble had baked against the dish, a sticky crust of caramelized fruit juice and sugar had formed. It looked like a tarte that had done a somersault in its pastry box and arrived bruised and battered. There was nothing perfect about it. Except its bright flavors. Except its comforting warmth. Except that it was exactly what I wanted and needed. I savored each juicy-crunchy bite. It was wonderful.”

ImperfectionMessyFrenchDessertsTemptationsCrumbleFruity
Book:Paris, My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light
Create image