Posts tagged Prose
“ The gross and net result of it is that people who spent most of their natural lives riding iron bicycles over the rocky roadsteads of this parish get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bicycle as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who are nearly half people and half bicycles…when a man lets things go so far that he is more than half a bicycle, you will not see him so much because he spends a lot of his time leaning with one elbow on walls or standing propped by one foot at kerbstones.”
“ I fellowed sleep who kissed me in the brain,”
Let fall the tear of time; the sleeper’s eye,
Shifting to light, turned on me like a moon.
So, planning-heeled, I flew along my man
And dropped on dreaming and the upward sky.
- I fellowed sleep, Dylan Thomas.
“”This queer phrase was at first taken to mean cubes of solid edible matter which, however, was not food. Several obscure experiments were made on this basis before it was discovered that the grand old man had been studying the pernicious effects of alcohol on the nation’s health and was anxious to produce the opposite of this liquid, thinking that its effects would be bound to be proportionately beneficial. Now the Institute has perfected a beverage which is expected to revolutionise human society. It is a pink liquid and after a glass of it you feel rather seedy. A second glass and you are depressed. A third and an appalling pathological morbidity has descended on you. A fourth and you are vainly seeking the loan of a razor from the barman so that you can quietly open your throat in the back snug. A fifth and you are in a condition that does not bear description.
But assuming you get home to bed, what a difference the next morning! The whole house resounds with your thunderous operatic arias, windows are thrown up, backs slapped and your joy at being alive roars in great gusts through the lives of the whole startled community. People stop to watch you in the street in envy and astonishment. The curious effect the liquid has the next morning is called a hangunder.
“ Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes’ chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression. I reflected on the subject of my spare-time literary activities. One Beginning and one ending for a book was a thing I did not agree with. A good book may have three openings entirely dissimilar and inter-related only in the prescience of the author, or for that matter one hundred times as many endings.”
