Steve > Steve's Quotes

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  • #1
    “If you march your Winter Journeys you will have your reward, so long as all you want is a penguin's egg.”
    Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World


  • #2
    “Polar exploration is at once the cleanest and most isolated way of having a bad time which has been devised.”
    Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World


  • #3
    Steven Pinker
    “Fiction is empathy technology.”
    Steven Pinker


  • #4
    William James
    “A great nation is not saved by wars, it is saved by acts without external picturesqueness; by speaking, writing, voting reasonably; by smiting corruption swiftly; by good temper between parties; by the people knowing true men when they see them, and preferring them as leaders to rabid partisans and empty quacks.”
    William James


  • #5
    W.H. Auden
    “Follow, poet, follow right
    To the bottom of the night,
    With your unconstraining voice
    Still persuade us to rejoice;

    With the farming of a verse
    Make a vineyard of the curse,
    Sing of human unsuccess
    In a rapture of distress;

    In the deserts of the heart
    Let the healing fountain start,
    In the prison of his days
    Teach the free man how to praise.”
    W.H. Auden


  • #6
    Wallace Stevens
    “Thought tends to collect in pools.”
    Wallace Stevens, Opus Posthumous: Poems, Plays, Prose


  • #7
    Wallace Stevens
    “God and the imagination are one.”
    Wallace Stevens


  • #8
    Willa Cather
    “The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one’s own.”
    Willa Cather


  • #9
    Martin Luther King Jr.
    “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”
    Martin Luther King Jr.


  • #10
    Dennis Lehane
    “The foundation of your life is luck. Hard work and talent make up the difference.”
    Dennis Lehane, Live by Night


  • #11
    Vladimir Nabokov
    “My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.”
    Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita




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