Friday, October 27, 2006
Laughter is an Instant Vacation
A good, real, unrestrained, hearty laugh is a sort of glorified internal massage, performed rapidly and automatically. It manipulates and revitalizes corners and unexplored crannies of the system that are unresponsive to most other exercise methods.
If the doctor told me, I had six minutes to live, I'd type a little faster
A writer always remembers that words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, could become potent for good and evil in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.
Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living. The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which writes before him.
Breathings from the Heart
Imagine getting over the idea that only children should spend their time in study. You are a student so long as you still have something to learn, and this will mean all your life. Learning is a never ending story and so is teaching.
Deliberate teaching through the medium of words involves writing. Writing involves nothing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. Not all writing is the same. Because not all writers are the same.
A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket. I would hurl words into darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to learn, to teach, to create a sense of hunger for knowledge that gnaws in us all.
We all write. But to a writer, writing becomes a process of discovery; one who cannot wait to get to work in the morning and fill the paper with breathings from the heart.
Deliberate teaching through the medium of words involves writing. Writing involves nothing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. Not all writing is the same. Because not all writers are the same.
A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket. I would hurl words into darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to learn, to teach, to create a sense of hunger for knowledge that gnaws in us all.
We all write. But to a writer, writing becomes a process of discovery; one who cannot wait to get to work in the morning and fill the paper with breathings from the heart.
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