“What shall I compare it to, this fantastic thing I call my Mind? To a waste-paper basket, to a sieve choked with sediment, or to a barrel full of floating froth and refuse? No, what it is really most like is a spider's web, insecurely hung on leaves and twigs, quivering in every wind, and sprinkled with dewdrops and dead flies. And at its centre, pondering forever the Problem of Existence, sits motionless the spider-like and uncanny Soul.” MindSoulProblemExistenceForeverWindWastePaperRefuseFantasticCompareHungCentreFloatingSpidersPonderingBasketsBarrelsUncannyTwigs Book:An Anthology Source: An Anthology
“We had stayed up all night, my friends and I, under hanging mosque lamps with domes of filigreed brass, domes starred like our spirits, shining like them with the prisoned radiance of electric hearts. For hours we had trampled our atavistic ennui into rich oriental rugs, arguing up to the last confines of logic and blackening many reams of paper with our frenzied scribbling.” WayWritingHeartSoulNightPaperMy FriendsLogicFinalsArguingElectricLampsFrontiersAll NightCrushedCeilingsBrillianceMosquesBrassDomesUp All NightLethargyDelirious Author:Filippo Tommaso Marinetti
“Dear Aspiring Author; Write with heart. Put that open, honest, bare soul on paper.” WritingHeartSoulHonestPaperDear Author:Victoria Laurie