A Quote by Quentin Crisp

You fall out of your mother's womb, you crawl across open country under fire, and drop into your grave. — © Quentin Crisp
You fall out of your mother's womb, you crawl across open country under fire, and drop into your grave.
How do I know you'll keep your word?" asked Coraline. "I swear it," said the other mother. "I swear it on my own mother's grave." "Does she have a grave?" asked Coraline. "Oh yes," said the other mother. "I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back.
You can accomplish anything that you dedicate yourself to. Think how many people struggle across the world, across the country. I know anything is possible if you set your mind, your body, your soul, and your faith to it.
I do not suggest that you should not have an open mind ... but don't keep your mind so open that your brains fall out.
Whatever causes you to drop your plan forward and open to your vision, your own, deeply personal vision of what your life could be at its very best, that's what I call meeting your rhinoceros.
Writing a journal means that facing your ocean you are afraid to swim across it, so you attempt to drink it drop by drop.
In the beginning, in the time that was no time, nothing existed but the Womb. And the Womb was a limitless dark cauldron of all things in potential: a chaotic blood-soup of matter and energy, fluid as water yet mud-solid with salts of the earth; red-hot as fire yet restlessly churning and bubbling with all the winds. And the Womb was the Mother, before She took form and gave form to Existence. She was the Deep. . . .
I believe in an open mind, but not so open that your brains fall out.
It's much easier to get your material out to the public now than it was in 1988, when you basically had to get onto cable to have a joke heard across the country. Now all you need is an iPhone, and you can get your joke heard across the country.
At last, in the gray dawn of Civilization the fire in the Soul dies down. The dwindling powers rise to one more, half-successful, effort of creation, and produce the Classicism that is common to all dying Cultures. The soul thinks once again, and in Romanticism looks back piteously to its childhood; then finally, weary, reluctant, cold, it loses its desire to be, and, as in Imperial Rome, wishes itself out of the overlong daylight and back in the darkness of protomysticism in the womb of the mother in the grave.
Can you please crawl out your window? Use your arms and your legs, it won't ruin you
There is nothing in existence available without payment. If you want to know yourself, you will have to drop all false identities. They are your investments, they are your power, they are your prestige, they are your religion, they are your qualifications. It is difficult to drop them; it feels like death.
My mother is home. Your mother is your home. Everybody is a momma's boy or a momma's girl. That's where we came from, from a woman's womb.
If your fire begins to flame, don't spray water on it, which most people do. Instead, just close your dampers and the fire will go out because fire must have oxygen.
There's this thing called being so open-minded your brains drop out.
Drop Out--detach yourself from the external social drama which is as dehydrated and ersatz as TV. Turn On--find a sacrament which returns you to the temple of God, your own body. Go out of your mind. Get high. Tune In--be reborn. Drop back in to express it. Start a new sequence of behavior that reflects your vision.
You've got one life, live it. Follow your dreams, quit your job, drop out of school, tell your boyfriend that he's lousy and walk out the door. This is your time. This is your life. You know what? Dream as big as you want to, its the cheapest thing you'll ever do.
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