Sublime
An inspiration engine for ideas
The weird hopelessness at the heart of lust.
David Foster Wallace • Infinite Jest
Funeral blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic ... See more
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic ... See more
Funeral Blues, by W.H. Auden
“Time in his forward flood shall grow ever more dignified,”
Frederick Brown • For the Soul of France
Wallace Stevens wrote in “Sunday Morning”:
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams
And our desires.
–M.N.
John Keats’s poem “This Living Hand”:
D. T. Max • Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace
The public for which masterpieces are intended is not on this earth.
Thornton Wilder • The Bridge of San Luis Rey: A Novel (Perennial Classics)
let ’em go
Charles Bukowski • You Get So Alone at Times
Flourishing seemed wrong in a man so disheartened as he was.
Marilynne Robinson • Jack (Oprah's Book Club): A Novel
