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"كل ماعدا الكتابة باطل تمامًا،
أو على الأقل لا أهمية له."
"كيف أصطاد التجربة بالكتابة؟ يبدو أنني لم أعد أستطيع الكتابة عن أي شيء، عن تجربة شخصية خاصة، لأنني سوف أستغرق في تأمل الأشياء التي تتحول إلى ما هو أكبر مني."
حسن مطلك، من كتاب «أعراس الكرة الأرضية».
“Poetry is the language of a state of crisis.”“I have made a long enough descent into the void to speak with certainty. There is nothing but beauty-and beauty has only one perfect expression, Poetry. All the rest is a lie.”
Stephane Mallarme
All Days Are Painfully the SameYou commit a repeated suicide if the days you live are all painfully alike, or perhaps none of it matters at all, as long as you do not think too deeply about every detail that crosses your mind.
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind
“We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion.”
T.S. Eliot, Collected Poems: The Hollow Men.
Workers On Their Way Home - Edvard Munch.
