She loves an entrance, your muse.
— Simon Kinberg, Anthony Peckham, Michael Robert Johnson, Dr. John Watson, Jude Law, imdb.com
She loves an entrance, your muse.
— Simon Kinberg, Anthony Peckham, Michael Robert Johnson, Dr. John Watson, Jude Law, imdb.com
All that poetry and all those songs... about something that lasts no time at all.
She was shocked. Jeanette had no idea. She said she had seen Dexys on TV but wasn’t sure it was me singing.
Experience the best museums from London to Seoul in the comfort of your own home.
I don't know what I should give or what I'm to sing. All I can do is give you this and let my heart play. I know your face; let this song whisper your name.
There are many things we only see clearly in retrospect.
So it was not just that orgasm might heighten creativity in women; maybe creativity also heightened orgasm.
You're my inspiration, girl you take me places.
nightfall, n.: We greet this with a celebration of stillness, a revelry of reflection.
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
You bring out the best in me. I don’t mean better manners, or a sense of maturity, or whatever else this tired world expects of me. I mean you make me want to climb roofs, run wild and act inappropriately, take risks and pursue my dreams with passion and integrity. Around you, I start living.
You know, I think that book that I wrote, in a way, was like building something. So that I wouldn't forget the... details of the time that we spent together. You know, like just a reminder that... that once we really did meet! You know, that this was real! That this happened!
I learned to produce whether I wanted to or not. It would be easy to say oh, I have writer’s block, oh, I have to wait for my muse. I don’t. Chain that muse to your desk and get the job done.
What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks ‘the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.’ And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll come.’
You are right, in one sense, when you speak of honesty. An effort, anyway, with the usual human or feminine retractions. To retreat is not feminine, male, or trickery. It is a terror before utter destruction. What we analyze inexorably, will it die? Will June die? Will our love die, suddenly, instan…
For the sake of my human weakness, the spirit of the depths gave me this word. Yet this word is also superfluous, since I do not speak it freely, but because I must. I speak because the spirit robs me of joy and life if I do not speak. I am the serf who brings it and does not know what he carries in…