Glorious Exploits

by Ferdia Lennon

“You don’t rob a man of his suffering,” says Gelon quietly. “That’s his.”

tragedy without a tune is like a sun that doesn’t give off heat: dead, and nothing will grow from it. When men go to war, they do it to music. When they set sail for better shores and row into the vast blue, they do it to music. Even our hearts beat to some rhythm, and the director who neglects it neglects what makes us men.

Is the source of all love a lacking?

if meaning departs from reason, might there not be wisdom in a faith-filled lunacy?

Common sense is common, has no imagination, and only works by precedent. It leaves the man who follows it poorer, if not in pocket, then in his heart. Fuck common sense.

few is everything.”

there’s a big difference between might and will.

this is it, cold ground below, eternity winking above as we whisper our parts, and it seems to me a soft and delicate thing.

They talked around things rather than about them,

the world a wounded thing that can only be healed by story.