Quotations from *Cup of Gold*, 9 of 11
John Steinbeck
1902-1968 American
“And I have heard your words so often and so often in Paris and Cordova. I am tired of these words that never change. Is there some book with which aspiring lovers instruct themselves? The Spanish men say the same things, but their gestures are more practiced, and so a little more convincing. You have much to learn.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
“When I heard of you and your blustering up and down the ocean, I thought of you, somehow, as the one realist on an earth of vacillation. I dreamed that you would come to me one day, armed with a transcendent, silent lust, and force my body with brutality. I craved a wordless, reasonless brutality....
“I wanted blind force—blind, unreasoning force—and love not for my soul or for some imagined beauty of my mind, but for the white fetish of my body. I do not want softness. I am soft. My husband uses scented lotions on his hands before he touches me, and his fingers are like thick, damp snails. I want the crush of hard muscles, the delicious pain of little hurts.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
“I love you,” he said miserably.
“You speak as though it were some new, tremendous thing. Many men have loved me; hundreds have said they did.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
Henry released her and stepped away, wiping his bloody face with the back of his hand. Ysobel laughed at him. A man may beat—may subject to every violation—a woman who cries and runs away, but he is helpless before one who stands her ground and only laughs.
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
“It is a legend that dying men think of their deeds done. No— No— I think of what I have not done—of what I might have done in the years that are dying with me. I think of the lips of women I have never seen—of the wine that is sleeping in a grape seed—of the quick, warm caress of my mother in Goaves. But mostly I think that I shall never walk about again—never, never stroll in the sunshine nor smell the rich essences the full moon conjures up out of the earth— Sir, why did you do it?”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Six-Word Memoir
Georgene Nunn
Born in the desert, still thirsty.
Posted by Radigan Neuhalfen at 15:25 0 comments
Labels: *Stories, *stories - memoir, *stories - six-word, Georgene Nunn
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Six-Word Story
Gregory Maguire
1954- American
Finally, he had no more words.
Posted by Radigan Neuhalfen at 15:09 0 comments
Labels: *Stories, *stories - philosophical, *stories - six-word, Gregory Maguire
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Quotations from *Cup of Gold*, 10 of 11
John Steinbeck
1902-1968 American
“I was told that you killed your friend. Is it that which burdens you?”
“I killed him.”
“And do you mourn for him?”
“Perhaps. I do not know. I think I mourn for some other thing which is dead. He might have been a vital half of me, which, dying, leaves me half a man. Today I have been like a bound slave on a white slab of marble with the gathered vivisectors about me. I was supposed to be a healthy slave, but the scalpels found me sick with a disease called mediocrity.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
“I think I am sorry because of your lost light; because the brave, brutal child in you is dead—the boastful child who mocked and thought his mockery shook the throne of God; the confident child who graciously permitted the world to accompany him through space. This child is dead, and I am sorry.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
“I find I am tired of all this bloodshed and struggle for things that will not lie still, for articles that will not retain their value in my hands. It is horrible,” he cried. “I do not want anything any more. I have no lusts, and my desires are dry and rattling. I have only a vague wish for peace and the time to ponder imponderable matters.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
“But I suppose your sins are great. All men who break the bars of mediocrity commit frightful sins.”
—John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold
Posted by Radigan Neuhalfen at 06:15 0 comments
Labels: *Quotations, *quotations - death, *quotations - fiction, John Steinbeck
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Six-Word Story
Orson Scott Card
1951- American
The baby’s blood type? Human, mostly.
Posted by Radigan Neuhalfen at 15:03 0 comments
Labels: *Stories, *stories - six-word, Orson Scott Card
Monday, November 3, 2008
Six-Word Story
David Brin
1950- American
Mind of its own. Damn lawnmower.
Posted by Radigan Neuhalfen at 18:44 0 comments
Labels: *Stories, *stories - horror, *stories - humor, *stories - six-word, David Brin