Henry Martin > Henry's Quotes

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  • #1
    Liam Howley
    “...we might be nothing more than the dreams of our ancestors, returning always to those horrors too great to resolve.”
    Liam Howley, The Absurd Demise of Poulnabrone

  • #2
    Charles Bukowski
    “The worst thing for a writer is to know another writer, and worse than that, to know a number of other writers. Like flies on the same turd.”
    Charles Bukowski, Women

  • #3
    Charles Bukowski
    “Pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire.... Pain arrives, BANG, and there it is, it sits on you. It's real. And to anybody watching, you look foolish. Like you've suddenly become an idiot. There's no cure for it unless you know somebody who understands how you feel, and knows how to help.”
    Charles Bukowski

  • #4
    Henry Miller
    “Tomorrow you may bring about the destruction of your world. Tomorrow you may sing in Paradise above the smoking ruins of your world-cities. But tonight I would like to think of one man, a lone individual, a man without name or country, a man whom I respect because he has absolutely nothing in common with you - MYSELF. Tonight I shall meditate upon that which I am.”
    Henry Miller, Black Spring

  • #5
    Karel Čapek
    “Everyone has the best of feelings towards mankind in general, but not towards the individual man. We'll kill men, but we want to save mankind. And that isn't right, your Reverence. The world will be an evil place as long as people don't believe in other people.”
    Karel Čapek, The Absolute at Large

  • #6
    Friedrich Nietzsche
    “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.”
    Friedrich Nietzsche

  • #7
    Albert Cossery
    “What drew him towards the outside was not the student, not the goat, not even the man in the down-at-heel shoes who joined them. Simply the street, like a blanched life-drained cadaver, fettered his whole attention. Never before had he seen it look so monstrously real, lit by the tired face of the moon, quiet and grave. There was about it, as it were, a sort of despairing dignity. You might have thought that the street had been killed by the weight of its suffering, that it had that moment died after long agony. It was old, the street, hobbling and twisted with age. Some of its houses were already crumbling in ruins. For years now it had sheltered the petty life of men. And now they had elected it to express the extent of their weariness. Naked beneath the prodigious brightness of the moon, it revealed all that men hid in the depths of their beings, the little hopes, the hates so huge. No longer could it hide anything; it cried out its despair from every corner.”
    Albert Cossery, Men God Forgot

  • #8
    Henry Martin
    “When I wake, the sun is just climbing above the clouds, beginning its daily journey. A never-ending journey, one that will continue long after humanity is extinct. For ages it has shone its light over wars and miseries, piercing through the deepest darkness, and yet never able to penetrate the human heart and fill it with its light.”
    Henry Martin, Escaping Barcelona

  • #9
    Henry Miller
    “Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.”
    Henry Miller

  • #10
    Albert Camus
    “Don’t walk in front of me… I may not follow
    Don’t walk behind me… I may not lead
    Walk beside me… just be my friend”
    Albert Camus

  • #11
    Albert Camus
    “Poverty is a fortress without drawbridges.”
    Albert Camus, The First Man

  • #12
    Albert Camus
    “There's always been war," said Veillard. "But people quickly get accustomed to peace. So they think it's normal. No, war is what's normal.”
    Albert Camus, The First Man

  • #13
    D.H. Lawrence
    “Whatever life may be, and whatever horror men have made of it, the world is a lovely place, a magic place, something to marvel over. The world is an amazing place.”
    D.H. Lawrence, The Lost Girl

  • #14
    Lorraine Hansberry
    “The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.”
    Lorraine Hansberry

  • #15
    Henry Miller
    “I detest all books which run chronologically, which commence at the cradle and end with the grave. Even life doesn't run that way, much as people think it does. Life only commences at the hour of spiritual birth - which may be at eighteen or at forty-seven. And death is never the goal - but life! more life!”
    Henry Miller, Aller Retour New York

  • #16
    Henry Martin
    “The train station—busy, swarming with people, luggage, porters, taxi drivers and limousine chauffeurs—a giant honeycomb, with worker bees flying in and out, carrying the trash, which covers the entire floor, in and out of the building. Only the honey has been consumed by the selected few, and nothing but the mucus remains. The line—a monstrous larva—the line stretches from the information window and extends almost out of the door. A human worm—hundreds of legs and hands, twisting and breathing disease. What was I thinking? This is just a city like any other, a city with its inhabitants, always busy, from the morning until the nighttime, always itching for a fight, always ready to chew me up and spit me out. A stripped and ragged bone, tossed aside when I can no longer feed its hungry belly. The belly of a beast—a human beast—merciless, yet placatory on the surface. I light a cigarette, spit on the floor, and walk towards the daylight.”
    Henry Martin, Eluding Reality

  • #17
    Henry Martin
    “An unexpected sight opens in front of my eyes, a sight I cannot ignore. Instead of the calm waters in front of the fortress, the rear side offers a view of a different sea—the sea of small, dark streets and alleys—like an intricate puzzle. The breathtaking scenery visible from the other side had been replaced by the panorama of poverty–stricken streets, crumbling house walls, and dilapidated facades that struggle to hide the building materials beneath them. It reminds me of the ghettos in Barcelona, the ghettos I came to know far too well. I take a deep breath and look for a sign of life—a life not affected by its surroundings. Nothing. Down, between the rows of dirty dwellings stretches a clothesline. Heavy with the freshly washed laundry it droops down, droplets of water trickling onto the soiled pavement from its burden. Around the corner, a group of filthy children plays with a semi–deflated soccer ball—it makes a funny sound as it bounces off the wall—plunk, plunk. A man sitting on a staircase puts out a cigarette; he coughs, spits phlegm on the sidewalk, and lights a new one. A mucky dog wanders to a house, lifts his leg, and pisses on it. His urine flows down the wall and onto the street, forming a puddle on the pavement. The children run about, stepping in the piss, unconcerned. An old woman watches from the window, her large breasts hanging over the windowsill for the world to see. Une vie ordinaire, a mundane life...life in its purest. These streets bring me back to all the places I had escaped when I sneaked onto the ferry. The same feeling of conformity within despair, conformity with their destiny, prearranged long before these people were born. Nothing ever changes, nothing ever disturbs the gloomy corners of the underworld. Tucked away from the bright lights, tucked away from the shiny pavers on the promenade, hidden from the eyes of the tourists, the misery thrives. I cannot help but think of myself—only a few weeks ago my life was not much different from the view in front of my eyes. Yet, there is a certain peace soaring from these streets, a peace embedded in each cobblestone, in each rotten wall. The peace of men, unconcerned with the rest of the world, disturbed neither by global issues, nor by the stock market prices. A peace so ancient that it can only be found in the few corners of the world that remain unchanged for centuries. This is one of the places. I miss the intricacy of the street, I miss the feeling of excitement and danger melted together into one exceptional, nonconforming emotion. There is the real—the street; and then there is all the other—the removed. I am now on the other side of reality, unable to reach out with my hand and touch the pure life. I miss the street.”
    Henry Martin, Finding Eivissa

  • #18
    Henry Martin
    “Perhaps, some day, humanity can start afresh, a new world, a tabula rasa, a world with a mind without prior experiences. No memories and no pain. A day when the ones with abundance do not look down at the poor and the needy, a day when we learn to care for the victims, the fallen souls of civilization and advancement, a day when the world will be pure. When all of humanity becomes a clean sheet of parchment, without knowledge and prejudice, simple, hungry for knowing, tasting, and feeling; hungry for life and ready to absorb the ink of experience.”
    Henry Martin, Escaping Barcelona

  • #19
    Benjamin Franklin
    “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.”
    Benjamin Franklin

  • #20
    Fyodor Dostoyevsky
    “I could not become anything; neither good nor bad; neither a scoundrel nor an honest man; neither a hero nor an insect. And now I am eking out my days in my corner, taunting myself with the bitter and entirely useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot seriously become anything, that only a fool can become something.”
    Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead

  • #21
    Henry Martin
    “I work on the wine. It tastes somewhat tart, but that could be because I normally drink white. However, today is a different kind of day. Sitting in the most pleasurable of settings, I may as well drink red and piss white; at least I’ll know that some of this land remained inside me. I look to my right, my eyes unfocused, absorbing the city as a whole. Show me your magic; I am ready. With a cigarette between my lips, I whisper my thoughts, my soul open to the maximum. Then I see it...clearly, without being able to visualize it in my eyes...my soul acting as the receiver—no past, no future, no nightmares, no struggle, a world without isms and schisms, a moment of pure joy, a split second when everything makes sense, a flash of life when one is ready to die. From Antibes emanates an ambience so wonderful that I wish to drink from Lethe and know no more than the present. If only for a brief moment, I desire this one luxury. While I press my lips together, ready to receive the kiss of Thanatos, I wonder if I can afford it. I wait for an answer...waiting, waiting, but it doesn’t arrive. The time is not yet mine; it seems fortune will pass me by today.”
    Henry Martin, Eluding Reality

  • #22
    Albert Camus
    “I like the night and the sky better than the gods of men.”
    Camus, Albert

  • #23
    Gabriel García Márquez
    “Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself.”
    Gabriel Garcia Marquez , Love in the Time of Cholera

  • #24
    Catherine Millet
    “It is said that the future narrows once we cease to believe it is eternal...”
    Catherine Millet, Jealousy: The Other Life of Catherine M.

  • #25
    Roger Zelazny
    “I like libraries. It makes me feel comfortable and secure to have walls of words, beautiful and wise, all around me. I always feel better when I can see that there is something to hold back the shadows.”
    Roger Zelazny, Nine Princes in Amber

  • #26
    John Morley
    “You have not converted a man because you have silenced him.”
    John Morley, On Compromise

  • #27
    Haruki Murakami
    “Listen up - there's no war that will end all wars.”
    Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

  • #28
    Neil Gaiman
    “If you make art, people will talk about it. Some of the things they say will be nice, some won’t. You’ll already have made that art, and when they’re talking about the last thing you did, you should already be making the next thing.


    If bad reviews (of whatever kind) upset you, just don’t read them. It’s not like you’ve signed an agreement with the person buying the book to exchange your book for their opinion.

    Do whatever you have to do to keep making art. I know people who love bad reviews, because it means they’ve made something happen and made people talk; I know people who have never read any of their reviews. It’s their call. You get on with making art.”
    Neil Gaiman

  • #29
    Henry Martin
    “Time plays no role in the life of one man—the subtle consciousness of it floating past me is more than enough. Years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds—what does it matter? Floating by, it rubs against my skin, face, and hair—wearing me down, yet polishing me all the while. Time is like fine grains of sand in a desert storm. At first, you don’t pay any attention to it, but the more it hits you in the face, the more aware of it you become, the more annoying it gets until, one day, you find yourself suffocating. The weight of it eventually bends your spine, until you are crawling on your hands and knees, unable to stand straight. Then comes the time to crawl back into the womb, crawl inside and wait for rebirth.”
    Henry Martin, Eluding Reality

  • #30
    Carl Sagan
    “A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called "leaves") imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time ― proof that humans can work magic.”
    Carl Sagan



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