Favorite Quotes

Favorite Quotes ... no rhyme, no reason

The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.

Dostoyevsky

It matters not how strait the gait, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. 

William Ernest Henley

“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

Anton Chekhov

"All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

Ernest Hemingway

“In truth, I never consider the audience for whom I’m writing. I just write what I want to write.” ”
—J.K. Rowling

‎"If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing."
—Benjamin Franklin

"The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense."

—Tom Clancy

"You can't wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club."

—Jack London

"It is impossible to discourage the real writers—they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write." —Sinclair Lewis

"Cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to shortchange the Muse. It cannot be done. You can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal."

—William S. Burroughs

This story is about what it would be like if everything you knew was stripped away.  Producer on The Walking Dead  

THAT’S WHAT HORROR SHOULD BE. 

Ann Swann

On the highway cars and trucks breathed in and out shifting gears as they went.   

Ann Swann


(You may have heard this in the movie, Four Weddings & a Funeral)
Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.