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"The best job that was ever offered to me was to become a landlord in a brothel. In my opinion it's the perfect milieu for an artist to work in."
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Exlpore more Creativity quotes
"We are all artists, painting the world with our thoughts while coloring the universe with our deeds."
"My pond life with hydra is over, now I'm into the ocean world of poetry to dive deeper.."
"What may be myth in one world may always be fact in some other."
"Mankind is not a circle with a single center but an ellipse with two focal points of which facts are one and ideas the other."
"You would be amazed by how I can torture the English language. I am an abusive lover."
"Poets do not go mad; but chess-players do. Mathematicians go mad, and cashiers; but creative artists very seldom. I am not, as will be seen, in any sense attacking logic: I only say that this danger does lie in logic, not in imagination."
"The greatest book is one written by your pen, but not exactly from your mind."
Explore more quotes by William Faulkner
"When it's a matter of not-do, I reckon a man can trust himself for advice. But when it comes to a matter of doing, I reckon a fellow had better listen to all the advice he can get."
"Women know more about words than men ever will. And they know how little they can ever possibly mean."
"He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear."
"Quentin had grown up with that; the mere names were interchangeable and almost myriad. His childhood was full of them; his very body was an empty hall echoing with sonorous defeated names; he was not a being, an entity, he was a commonwealth. He was a barracks filled with stubborn back-looking ghosts still recovering, even forty-three years afterward, from the fever which had cured the disease, waking from the fever without even knowing that it had been the fever itself which they had fought against and not the sickness, looking with stubborn recalcitrance backward beyond the fever and into the disease with actual regret, weak from the fever yet free of the disease and not even aware that the freedom was that of impotence."
"So long as the deceit ran along quiet and monotonous, all of us let ourselves be deceived, abetting it unawares or maybe through cowardice..."
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