It is my own language, limited as it is. I will have to learn to work with it. There was a kind of poetry I was seeking in my prose, word to be laid against word in just a certain way, a kind of word color, a march of words and sentences, the color to be squeezed out of simple words, simple sentence construction.
Sherwood AndersonIt might be that women who have been
nurses should not marry physicians. They have too much respect for physicians, are taught
to have too much respect
All good New Orleanians go to look at the Mississippi at least once a day. At night it is like creeping into a dark bedroom to look at a sleeping child--something of that sort--gives you the same warm nice feeling, I mean.
Sherwood AndersonTag: new-orleans
It was a cold day but the sun was out and the trees were like great bonfires against gray distant fields and hills.
Sherwood AndersonPeople keep on getting married. Evidently hope is eternal in the human breast.
Sherwood AndersonTag: marriage
...she thought that something unexpressed in herself came forth and became a part of an unexpressed something in them.
Sherwood AndersonYou must try to forget all you have learned,' said the old man. 'You must begin to dream. From this time on you must shut your ears to the roaring of the voices.
Sherwood AndersonIn the beginning when the world was young there were a great many thoughts but no such thing as a truth. Man made the truths himself and each truth was a composite of a great many vague thoughts.
It was the truths that made the people grotesques. The moment one of the people took one of the truths to himself, called it his truth, and tried to live his life by it, he became a grotesque and the truth he embraced became a falsehood.
حياة الناس أشبه بشجيرات في غابة، تخنقها أشجار متسلقة. و ليست الأشجار المتسلقة سوى أفكار و عقائد عتيقة غرسها الموتى
Sherwood AndersonOn the trees are only a few gnarled apples that the pickers have rejected. They look like the knuckles of Doctor Reefy's hands. One nibbles at them and they are delicious. Into a little round place at the side of the apple has been gathered all its sweetness. One runs from tree to tree over the frosted ground picking the gnarled, twisted apples and filling his pockets with them. Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.
Sherwood AndersonTag: apples
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