Quote for Today: Charles Beaumont

horn-952994_960_720.jpg
The melody got lost, first off. Everything got lost, then, while that horn flew. It wasn’t only jazz; it was the heart of jazz, and the insides, pulled out with the roots and held up for everybody to see; it was blues that told the story of all the lonely cats and all the ugly whores who ever lived, blues that spoke up for the loser lamping sunshine out of iron-gray bars and every hop head hooked and gone, for the bindlestiffs and the city slicers, for the country boys in Georgia shacks and the High Yellow hipsters in Chicago slums and the bootblacks on the corners and the fruits in New Orleans, a blues that spoke for all the lonely, sad and anxious downers who could never speak themselves…
Charles Beaumont, “Black Country”

Quote for Today: Ray Bradbury

477169005_12bb3109e3_o.jpg
We’re going to meet a lot of lonely people in the next week and the next month and the next year. And when they ask us what we’re doing, you can say, We’re remembering. That’s where we’ll win out in the long run. And someday we’ll remember so much that we’ll build the biggest goddamn steamshovel in history and dig the biggest grave of all time and shove war in it and cover it up.
Ray BradburyFahrenheit 451
Image © Darin Marshall with CCLicense

Quote for Today: Mark Helprin

Public Domain Image by Pixabay

Public Domain Image via Pixabay

Lonely people have enthusiasms which cannot always be explained. When something strikes them as funny, the intensity and length of their laughter mirrors the depth of their loneliness, and they are capable of laughing like hyenas. When something touches their emotions, it runs through them like Paul Revere, awakening feelings that gather into great armies.

Mark HelprinWinter’s Tale

Quote for Today: Carla H. Krueger

© Maxwell Hamilton with CCLicense

© Maxwell Hamilton with CCLicense

To Katie, it was as lonely and secret as any building could be; its size and grandeur meant less to her. She didn’t know or care when the place had been built or by whom, but she sensed it was time-rich. She also sensed, in a part of her mind she still hadn’t made friends with, that it had been, at one time, far more peopled in some way. She sensed movements and changing coolnesses and whispers of histories there that were not from the present. Not ghosts – she didn’t believe in those – but gentle knowings even she didn’t appreciate yet. She sensed she was just one of many who had passed by its walls, across its lawns or through its shadows and lights, and, while that happened, she felt sure the house did more than just stand there. She wondered if it waited. It did not entertain as some did, did not speak as a person would and did not seek answers, yet she sometimes wondered if it had the occasional wish of its own.
Carla H. KruegerSleeping with the Sun