Sublime
An inspiration engine for ideas
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
T.S. Eliot • The Essential T.S. Eliot
David Mamet Memo to "The Unit" Writing Staff
Year’s End - Richard Wilbur
Now winter downs the dying of the year,
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.
I’ve known the wind by water banks to shake
The late leaves down, which frozen
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David Foster Wallace • Deciderization 2007—a Special Report
Do you know what a poem is, Esther?'
'No, what?' I would say. '
A piece of dust.'
Then, just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, 'So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you're curing. They're dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.'
A
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