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Quote by Wendo Musaly

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WMTv17

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Wendo Musaly

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“Still onto This Day, I Dawdle to Be Plagued With The Same Unfortunate Reoccurring Nightmare. In My Horrifying Dream, there is an Attractive Women With Piercing Blue Eyes And Light Brownish Hair, Sporting A Lengthy Red Dress With Extended Dark Black Heals Who Kills Me On Christmas Day. In My Dream I am Listening to A Christmas Song… “Jingle Bells” While Rambling Down a Dark Corridor Inside A Home. I am Shot in The Back of The Head And The Music Box Lingers Playing The Same Tune. I Can See Nothing but The Bottom of Her Mends, And Then All Becomes Ample Dark.”

“Bad Goodreads reviews are cyberbullying: attacking someone with an undeserved 1 star review and cruel insults. Goodreads bullies trash the author's hard work, just for fun. Simply to inflict pain on a random stranger. The bully feels strong because the author is defenseless and can't fight back, while a part of them is being publicly dragged through the mud.”

“Al finalizar, cada uno de los asistentes deja en la sepultura de Tom un ramo de flores, al igual que yo. ¿Por qué flores? Me comienzo a preguntar mientras camino de vuelta a la calle, tal vez sea por la razón de que nos recuerdan como es la vida: hermosa y a la vez efímera.”

“Let us accept the possibility that there is, at death, not an abrupt cessation of energy, rather a dispersal. This seems more than reasonable to me. Mind you, I've owned a series of old cars, and I"m used to turning off the motor only to experience a series of rumblings and explosions that would shame many a volcano. This is the sort of thing I'm conceptualizing, a kind of clunky running-on. And just as some cars are more susceptible to this behavior, so people vary in the length of time, and the force with which, their energy sputters and gasps. . . My example is overly dramatic, but it is not wholly unreasonable, and it serves to make this genetic mutation a player at the evolutionary table. You see what I'm getting at: a biologically and evolutionally sound model for the soul. (I didn't say I'd achieved it.) Let's conceive of the soul as an aura that human beings wear on their backs, cumberson as a tortoise's carapace. Some are larger than others.”

“I've always thought of being in love as being willing to do anything for the other person--starve to buy them bread and not mind living in Siberia with them--and I've always thought that every minute away from them would be hell--so looking at it that way, I guess I'm not in love with you. [Letter to suitor, R. Beverley Corbin, Jr. 20 January 1947]”