Noy Holland famous quotes
50 minutes ago
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I look to everyday magic in art to remember how to live: how to estrange and vivify ordinary objects and beings. So little, really, is ordinary, but to remember this I need the brain chemical of painting and film and reading I had a thrummy doomed oracular feeling when I wrote blackened baby teeth into my little blind boy story: I saw teeth and in an instant they were becoming something else. They were buckshot. They were food. They were tiny flightless corvids.
-- Noy Holland -
Character starts with the alphabet. Letters: words: sentences Character is a function of language—a collection of errors and deviations that resonate with certain behaviors. As with every other element in fiction, it is a record of a writer’s decisions.
-- Noy Holland -
The stories of The End of Free Love mark a great beginning. They are seductive and migratory, tapped into our earliest sense of the world. Steinberg inhabits our first bewilderments, the terrors and the tenderness that shape our lives. To read her is to fall out of the daily into a fresh elation.
-- Noy Holland
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If you want something to play with go find yourself a toy, baby, my time is too expensive and I'm not a little boy.
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Blaire, This was my grandmother’s. My father’s mother. She came to visit me before she passed away. I have fond memories of her visits and when she passed on she left this ring to me. In her will I was told to give it to the woman who completes me. She said it was given to her by my grandfather who passed away when my dad was just a baby but that she’d never loved another the way she’d loved him. He was her heart. You are mine. This is your something old. I love you, Rush
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I look at my kid, and one part of me wants to keep her as my little baby. But, y'know, the bottom line is she's 18!
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It's late at night and I can't sleep. Missing you just runs too deep. Oh I can't breathe, thinking of your smile. Every kiss I can't forget, this aching heart ain't broken yet. Oh God I wish I could make you see Cause I know this flame isn't dying So nothing can stop me from trying Baby you know that Maybe it's time for miracles Cause I ain't giving up on love You know that maybe it's time for miracles Cause I ain't giving up on love No I ain't giving up on us
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I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son; she is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.
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Just shred baby, shred.
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Poems very seldom consist of poetry and nothing else; and pleasure can be derived also from their other ingredients. I am convinced that most readers, when they think they are admiring poetry, are deceived by inability to analyse their sensations, and that they are really admiring, not the poetry of the passage before them, but something else in it, which they like better than poetry.
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Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.
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We look at the world and see what we have learned to believe is there. We have been conditioned to expect... but, as photographers, we must learn to relax our beliefs.
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Leafing through Forbes or Fortune [magazine]s is like reading the operating manual of a strangely sanctimonious pirate ship
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