The written world

Literature

Writers, lines and narrative inventions that give private experience a public form.

246 entriesPage 10 of 11Context and sources

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27Drive
183Stillness
52Wonder
Q1227
StillnessLiterature

Angry people are not always wise.

This line comes from Pride and Prejudice. Austen's source context matters: the sentence is social comedy, using polished certainty to expose how marriage, money, and status are talked about. Jane Austen (1775–1817) was an English novelist celebrated for her wit and sharp social observation in novels like 'Pride and Prejudice'.

Q1230
StillnessLiterature

I would always rather be happy than dignified.

This comes from Jane Eyre. The source context is conscience and autonomy: feeling deeply does not mean surrendering the right to choose one's own life. Charlotte Brontë (1816–1855) was an English novelist, author of 'Jane Eyre' and the eldest of the three writing Brontë sisters.

Q1235
StillnessLiterature

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want.

Authentic Plath, from her journals (published complete in 2000): the passage mourns abundance — “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want.” It is not complaint but appetite: Plath's hunger to multiply herself through experience is the same force that powered the poems.

Q1236
StillnessLiterature

And by the way, everything in life is writable about.

Authentic Plath, from her journals; the full sentence keeps its sting — “everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” Written by a young writer coaching herself, it is craft advice and self-defence in one breath.

Q1241
DriveLiterature

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

For decades this was “Anaïs Nin's most famous line” — but it appears nowhere in her diaries or fiction. In 2013 the writer Elizabeth Appell showed she had written it in 1979 as the headline for a John F. Kennedy University class schedule. The image needed no famous name: staying closed has a price too, and one day it quietly exceeds the price of opening.

Q1267
DriveLiterature

For every dark night, there's a brighter day.

Widely attributed to Tupac Shakur (1971–1996), whose poetry collection The Rose That Grew from Concrete showed the same instinct for compressed hope; a precise source for this line has not been fixed. Its comfort is meteorological: darkness in a life, as in a sky, is weather — a phase with an end, not a verdict.

Q1268
WonderLiterature

The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.

Often attributed to Dorothy Parker (1893–1967), though never firmly located in her writing; it first surfaces in mid-20th-century quote columns. Whoever coined it built a perfect little machine: the first sentence solves a problem, the second proudly refuses to solve the one it creates. Curiosity, it admits, is incurable — and that is the compliment.

Q1493
StillnessLiterature

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.

Kafka wrote this to his friend Oskar Pollak on 27 January 1904, arguing that the only books worth reading are the ones that wound and shake us. A book, he said, should not merely please; it should hit us like a misfortune, or like losing someone we love — an axe for the frozen sea within us.

Q1547
WonderLiterature

In 1898 a struggling writer published a novel about the largest liner ever built — the Titan — striking an iceberg on an April night in the North Atlantic and going down with most aboard, for want of lifeboats. The Titanic sailed fourteen years later.

The parallels are hard to shake off: both ships were the largest afloat, both were called practically unsinkable, both carried far too few lifeboats, both were running fast through icy water on the northern route, and both names differ by four letters. Robertson was a former merchant sailor, and the likeliest explanation is expertise rather than prophecy — he knew the size ships were heading towards, knew the lifeboat regulations were inadequate, and knew the North Atlantic. He wrote the disaster the industry was building for itself. After 1912 the book was hurriedly reissued, and it has never quite been read as fiction since.

Q1553
WonderLiterature

In 1838 Edgar Allan Poe wrote a novel in which shipwrecked sailors draw lots and eat the cabin boy, Richard Parker. Forty-six years later a real crew was rescued having done exactly that — to a cabin boy called Richard Parker.

Poe's only novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket, contains the scene almost as a throwaway. In 1884 the yacht Mignonette sank in the South Atlantic and four survivors drifted for weeks; they killed and ate the seventeen-year-old cabin boy, whose name was Richard Parker. The case became R v Dudley and Stephens, the decision every English law student still reads on whether necessity can excuse murder. It is said a relative noticed the resemblance to Poe's book years later. The name resurfaced once more in Life of Pi, given to the tiger.

Q1636
DriveLiterature

John Milton lost his sight completely by 1652 and had backed the losing side of a civil war. Blind, politically disgraced and composing at night from memory, he dictated Paradise Lost to whoever would write it down.

He would hold long passages in his head overnight and wait, by his own account impatiently, to be 'milked' in the morning by a daughter, friend or paid amanuensis. The poem runs to more than ten thousand lines of blank verse and was published in 1667, after the Restoration had left him lucky to be alive at all. He sold the rights for £5, with a further £5 due on the second edition. He wrote in it that the mind is its own place, and can make a heaven of hell.

Q1647
StillnessLanguage

Tsundoku is the practice of acquiring books and letting them pile up unread. The word carries no reproach — it combines 'piling things up' with 'reading', and Japanese usage treats the pile as fairly harmless.

It appears in print as early as the 1870s, originally as a mild joke about scholars whose collections outran their reading. The affection in it is the point: a stack of unread books is a record of intentions, curiosity and optimism, not a moral failure. The writer Umberto Eco kept a library of tens of thousands of volumes and argued the unread ones were the valuable part — a private reminder of how much there is still to know. English borrowed the word only recently, which suggests the need was there all along.