A Quote by Hudson Stuck

The writer's shortness of breath became more and more distressing as he rose. — © Hudson Stuck
The writer's shortness of breath became more and more distressing as he rose.
There is nothing more distressing or tiresome than a writer standing in front of an audience and reading his work.
A good writer must have more than vin rosé in his veins, use more than Chablis for ink.
Suppose you came across a woman lying on the street with an elephant sitting on her chest. You notice she is short of breath. Shortness of breath can be a symptom of heart problems. In her case, the much more likely cause is the elephant on her chest. For a long time, society put obstacles in the way of women who wanted to enter the sciences. That is the elephant. Until the playing field has veen leveled and lingering stereotypes are gone, you can't even ask the question.
As I'd travelled, I'd seen more and more people drinking rose. Given the amount of grapes we grow in Australia, I just said, 'Why wouldn't we be making rose?'
The new midlife is where you realize that even your failures make you more beautiful and are turned spiritually into success if you became a better person because of them. You became a more humble person. You became a more merciful and compassionate person.
When 'If God Was a Banker' became a success, it changed my entire perspective. I wanted to write more and wanted to be lot more successful as a writer.
The more distressing the memory, the more persistent it's presence.
This rose became a bandanna, which became a house, which became infused with all passion, which became a hideaway, which became yes I would like to have dinner, which became hands, which became lands, shores, beaches, natives on the stones, staring and wild beasts in the trees, chasing the hats of lost hunters, and all this deserves a tone.
My writing became more and more minimalist. In the end, I couldn't write at all. For seven or eight years, I hardly wrote. But then I had a revelation. What if I did the opposite? What if, when a sentence or a scene was bad, I expanded it, and poured in more and more? After I started to do that, I became free in my writing.
As we rose over the rooftops I caught my breath-well, if you can catch your breath underwater.
It's a book [Bink & Gollie] about shortness and tallness, so I think it's appropriate to discuss the virtues of shortness.
I'm persistent. In the early '60s, when I first started making the rounds in New York for theater work, I became more and more enraged every time I had an interview or audition that went nowhere, and became more determined. I haven't lost that.
I think it was Rose Macaulay who said, "A house unkept cannot be so distressing as a life unlived."
The more and more I got into writing, the harder and harder it became for me. I still love it, but it became much more problematic than I thought it would be.
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose - But were always a rose.
The more I wrote, the more I became a human being. The writing may have seemed monstrous (to some) for it was a violation, but I became a more human individual because of it. I was getting the poison out of my system.
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