Scars are not injuries, Tanner Sack. A scar is a healing. After injury, a scar is what makes you whole.
China Miéville, ‘The Scar’
It is remarkable how a man cannot summarize his thoughts in even the most general sort of way without betraying himself completely, without putting his whole self into it, quite unawares, presenting as if in allegory the basic themes and problems of his life.
Thomas Mann, ‘The Magic Mountain’
But the ominous thing in the crow’s flight, the bare-faced, bandit thing, the tattered beggarly gipsy thing, the caressing and shaping yet slightly clumsy gesture of the down-stroke, as if the wings were both too heavy and too powerful, and the headlong sort of merriment, the macabre pantomime ghoulishness and the undertaker sleekness – you could go on for a very long time with phrases of that sort and still have completely missed your instant, glimpse knowledge of the world of the crow’s wingbeat.
Ted Hughes, ‘Poetry In The Making’
“It’s nothing to do with eternity,” said Shevek, grinning, a thin shaggy man of silver and shadow. “All you have to do to see life as a whole is to see it as mortal. I’ll die, you’ll die; how could we love each other otherwise? The sun’s going to burn out, what else keeps it shining?”
Ursula Le Guin, ‘The Dispossessed’
They were careless people, Tom and Daisy – they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.
F Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Great Gatsby’
Oh prisoners, harken unto me! I deliver you from your science, your formulas, your laws, from that bondage of the spirit, from that determinism which is more obdurate than fate. I am the cleft in the armour-plating. I am the loophole in the prison. I am the error in the calculation. I am life.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, ‘Southern Mail’
She is a conjuring trick. A reptile. A fallen angel. A griffon from the pages of an illuminated bestiary. Something bright and distant, like gold falling through water.
Helen Macdonald, ‘H Is For Hawk’
When the time came to sign their one-off single deal AR Kane went to Birkett’s house in south London where he had punks living in teepees in the garden. Birkett took them up to his bedroom (“a fucking shithole”) and told them: “I’ve got two bands and one of you is going to be really successful.” He then pulled out a picture of what appeared to be a six-year-old girl holding a frog. “And that was the first time I saw Björk,” Tambala says.