A Quote by Mick Farren

We think literature is immortal, but even that decays and ultimately turns to dust. — © Mick Farren
We think literature is immortal, but even that decays and ultimately turns to dust.
I don't think the soul is immortal, or at least not immortal in individuals, but it may be immortal as an aspect of the human personality because when I talk about what literature nourishes, it would be silly of me or reductionist to say that it nourishes the brain.
I drive a car till it turns to dust, then I sweep up the dust and ride on the dust.
The arc of the celebrity phenomenon ultimately is: everything turns to dust and everything does go away.
What joy have I in June's return? My feet are parched-my eyeballs burn, I scent no flowery gust; But faint the flagging zephyr springs, With dry Macadam on its wings, And turns me 'dust to dust.'
When urbanity decays, civilization suffers and decays with it.
Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.
I was realizing, for the first time, that everything goes on, turns gray, is ruined in the living. That there is no end to our story until death comes and the body decays.
If a nation's literature declines, the nation atrophies and decays.
Cheat me not with time, with the dull ache of flesh, for all flesh turns, even the loveliest ankle and frail thigh, to bitterest dust.
There is a tradition that sees journalism as the dark side of literature, with book writing at its zenith. I don't agree. I think that all written work constitutes literature, even graffiti.
Of course, literature is the only spiritual and humane career. Even painting tends to dumness, and music turns people erotic, whereas the more you write the nicer you become.
To be immortal is commonplace; except for man, all creatures are immortal, for they are ignorant of death; what is divine, terrible, incomprehensible, is to know that one is immortal.
I'm not a person who wants to die with my shoes on. I do not think I can be immortal. Maybe my deeds will be immortal. Not me.
Im not a person who wants to die with my shoes on. I do not think I can be immortal. Maybe my deeds will be immortal. Not me.
Nothing can be plainer, than that the motions, changes, decays, and dissolutions, which we hourly see befall natural bodies (and which is what we mean by the course of nature), cannot possibly affect an active, simple, uncompounded substance: such a being therefore is indissoluble by the force of nature, that is to say, the soul of man is naturally immortal.
Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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