A Quote by Anne Carson
Could you visit me in dreams? That would cheer me. Sweet to see friends in the night, however short the time.
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I've got a lot of dreams I want to achieve, and I hope someone can cheer me on as I'll cheer them on in their dreams.
A short story I have written long ago would barge into my house in the middle of the night, shake me awake and shout, 'Hey,this is no time for sleeping! You can't forget me, there's still more to write!' Impelled by that voice, I would find myself writing a novel. In this sense, too, my short stories and novels connect inside me in a very natural, organic way.
I want to find someone who's really into something like I'm really into something, so that I can support them and we can both cheer each other on. I've got a lot of dreams I want to achieve, and I hope someone can cheer me on as I'll cheer them on in their dreams.
I do have a family, and I do have friends, and so-called friends, and acquaintances, and many other people I see only around Christmas time. Maybe they could vouch for me. Maybe they could testify to my existence and save a part of me that thinks I'm no better than a bag of potato chips.
I thought a time would come when people would rout me out of Ars with sticks, when the Bishop would suspend me, and I should end my days in prison. I see, however, that I am not worthy of such a grace.
The first person who showed me that I could be a maker of music was one of my best friends. It's like, you can't see yourself doing something until you see somebody else doing it. Other people were encouraging me singing, but this was the first time that I could see myself writing songs and playing guitar.
Look,
Here are we
On this starry night staring into space.
And I must say
I feel as small as dust
Lying down here.
What point could there be troubling?
Head down wondering what will
Become of me,
Why concern we cannot see
But no reason to abandon it.
Time is short but that's all right,
Maybe I'll go in the middle of the night.
Take your hands from your eyes, my love,
Everything must end some time,
Don't burn the day away.
We fitted together like the two halves of an oyster-shell. I was Narcissus, embracing the pond in which I was about to drown. However much we had to hide our love, however guarded we had to be about our pleasure, I could not long be miserable about a thing so very sweet. Nor, in my gladness, could I quite believe that anybody would be anything but happy for me if only they knew.
When I was little, my mom told me that if I lied, the devil would visit me in my sleep. To this day, if I tell even the smallest lie, I have bad dreams. Plus, I'm no good at it.
One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka. I went back to the pension where I was staying and began to read The Metamorphosis. The first line almost knocked me off the bed. I was so surprised. The first line reads, “As Gregor Samsa awoke that morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. . . .” When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that. If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago. So I immediately started writing short stories.
I meet you. I remember you. Who are you? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. How could I know this city was tailor-made for love? How could I know you fit my body like a glove? I like you. How unlikely. I like you. How slow all of a sudden. How sweet. You cannot know. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. I have time. Please, devour me. Deform me to the point of ugliness. Why not you? Why not you in this city and in this night, so like other cities and other nights you can hardly tell the difference? I beg of you.
The Duke of Buckingham gave me once a short but severe character of the two brothers. It was the more severe, because it was true: the King (he said) could see things if he would, and the Duke would see things if he could.
I would love to visit Brazil. It's one place I have not been. One of my dreams is to dance with the Carnival girls. I would love to experience a whole night of partying with them.
The bird That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet complainings.
Ever since I could remember anything, flowers have been like dear friends to me, comforters, inspirers, powers to uplift and to cheer.
Anxiety is secretive. He does not trust anyone, not even his friends, Worry, Terror, Doubt and Panic ... He likes to visit me late at night when I am alone and exhausted. I have never slept with him, but he kissed me on the forehead once, and I had a headache for two years.
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