Tra My Hickin > Tra My's Quotes

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  • #1
    Leo Tolstoy
    “Respect was invented to cover the empty place where love should be.”
    Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

  • #2
    Joe Dunthorne
    “Exercise II.

    Write a diary, imagining that you are trying to make an old person jealous. I have written an example to get you started:

    Dear Diary,
    I spent the morning admiring my skin elasticity.
    God alive, I feel supple.”
    Joe Dunthorne, Submarine

  • #3
    Leo Tolstoy
    “it's much better to do good in a way that no one knows anything about it.”
    Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

  • #4
    Warsan Shire
    “My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #5
    Warsan Shire
    “You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #6
    Warsan Shire
    “give your daughters difficult names. give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. my name makes you want to tell me the truth. my name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #7
    Warsan Shire
    “You are terrifying and strange and beautiful, someone not everyone knows how to love.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #8
    Warsan Shire
    “you are a horse running alone
    and he tries to tame you
    compares you to an impossible highway
    to a burning house
    says you are blinding him
    that he could never leave you
    forget you
    want anything but you
    you dizzy him, you are unbearable
    every woman before or after you
    is doused in your name
    you fill his mouth
    his teeth ache with memory of taste
    his body just a long shadow seeking yours
    but you are always too intense
    frightening in the way you want him
    unashamed and sacrificial
    he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
    lives in your head
    and you tried to change didn't you?
    closed your mouth more
    tried to be softer
    prettier
    less volatile, less awake
    but even when sleeping you could feel
    him travelling away from you in his dreams
    so what did you want to do love
    split his head open?
    you can't make homes out of human beings
    someone should have already told you that
    and if he wants to leave
    then let him leave
    you are terrifying
    and strange and beautiful
    something not everyone knows how to love.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #9
    Warsan Shire
    “two people who were once very close can
    without blame
    or grand betrayal
    become strangers.
    perhaps this is the saddest thing in the world.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #10
    Franz Kafka
    “I am free and that is why I am lost.”
    Franz Kafka

  • #11
    Franz Kafka
    “I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”
    Franz Kafka

  • #12
    Franz Kafka
    “I am a cage, in search of a bird.”
    Franz Kafka

  • #13
    Warsan Shire
    “To my daughter I will say, when the men come, set yourself on fire.”
    Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth

  • #14
    Warsan Shire
    “I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and I’m not sad anymore. You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn't he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #15
    Warsan Shire
    “At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before.”
    Warsan Shire

  • #16
    Warsan Shire
    “I belong deeply to myself.”
    Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth

  • #17
    Napoléon Bonaparte
    “The hand that gives is among the hand that takes. Money has no fatherland, financiers are without patriotism and without decency, their sole object is gain.”
    Napoleon Bonaparte

  • #18
    Isaac Babel
    “Even at the time—twenty years old—I said to myself: better to go hungry, to go to prison, to be a tramp, than to sit at an office desk ten hours a day. There is no particular daring in this vow, but I have not broken it and shall not do so. The wisdom of my grandfathers sat in my head: we are born for the pleasure of work, fighting, love, we are born for that and nothing else. (Guy de Maupassant)”
    Isaac Babel, Red Cavalry and Other Stories

  • #19
    Isaac Babel
    “A well-thought-out story doesn’t need to resemble real life. Life itself tries with all its might to resemble a well-crafted story.”
    Isaac Babel

  • #20
    Sylvia Plath
    “Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all this is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always supposedly in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night...”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

  • #21
    Sylvia Plath
    “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

  • #22
    Zadie Smith
    “The greatest lie ever told about love is that it sets you free.”
    Zadie Smith, On Beauty

  • #23
    Virginia Woolf
    “What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #24
    Anton Chekhov
    “Perhaps man has a hundred senses, and when he dies only the five senses that we know perish with him, and the other ninety-five remain alive.”
    Anton Chekhov, The Cherry Orchard

  • #25
    Anaïs Nin
    “We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
    Anaïs Nin

  • #26
    Ocean Vuong
    “How insufficient the memory, to fail before death.
    how will hear these notes when the train slides
    into the yard, the lights turned out, and the song

    lingers with breaths rising from empty seats?
    I know I am too human to praise what is fading.
    But for now, I just want to listen as the train fills

    completely with warm water, and we are all
    swimming slowly toward the man with Mozart
    flowing from his hands. I want nothing

    but to put my fingers inside his mouth,
    let that prayer hum through my veins.
    I want crawl into the hole in his violin.

    I want to sleep there
    until my flesh
    becomes music.”
    Ocean Vuong

  • #27
    Ocean Vuong
    “And this is how we danced: with our mothers’
    white dresses spilling from our feet, late August

    turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
    a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingers

    sweeping though my hair—my hair a wildfire.
    We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turned

    into heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
    into a coffin. In the museum of the heart

    there are two headless people building a burning house.
    There was always the shotgun above the fireplace.

    Always another hour to kill—only to beg some god
    to give it back. If not the attic, the car. If not the car,

    the dream. If not the boy, his clothes. If not alive,
    put down the phone. Because the year is a distance

    we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say: this is how
    we danced: alone in sleeping bodies. Which is to say:

    This is how we loved: a knife on the tongue turning
    into a tongue.”
    Ocean Vuong



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