Buck Plankchest > Buck's Quotes

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  • #1
    Thomas Bernhard
    “Instead of committing suicide, people go to work.”
    Thomas Bernhard, Correction

  • #2
    Thomas Pynchon
    “Yeah, actually, gamers in the house forever.”
    Thomas Pynchon, Bleeding Edge

  • #3
    Herman Melville
    “Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me, and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-labourers' hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally, as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill humour or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.”
    Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or, The Whale

  • #4
    Thomas Bernhard
    “Words ruin one's thoughts, paper makes them ridiculous, and even while one is still glad to get something ruined and something ridiculous down on paper, one's memory manages to lose hold of even this ruined and ridiculous something. Paper can turn an enormity into a triviality, an absurdity. If you look at it this way, then whatever appears in the world, by way of the spiritual world so to speak, is always a ruined thing, a ridiculous thing, which means that everything in this world is ridiculous and ruined. Words were made to demean thought, I would even go so far as to state that words exist in order to abolish thought, and one day they will succeed one hundred percent in so doing. In any case, words (are) bringing everything down. Depression derives from words, nothing else.”
    Thomas Bernhard

  • #5
    Marcel Proust
    “Let us leave pretty women to men with no imagination.”
    Marcel Proust, The Captive / The Fugitive



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