Henry Miller
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
A book is a part of life, a manifestation of life, just as much as a tree or a horse or a star. It obeys its own rhythms, its own laws, whether it be a novel, a play, or a diary. The deep, hidden rhythm of life is always there- that of the pulse, the heart beat.
—Henry Miller, The Cosmological Eye
Posted on February 6, 2003 at 9:22 AM
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty ... What you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing.
—Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
Posted on March 23, 2001 at 11:12 PM
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
A man writes to throw off the poison which he has accumulated because of his false way of life. He is trying to recapture his innocence, yet all he succeeds in doing (by writing) is to inoculate the world with a virus of his disillusionment. No man would set a word down on paper if he had the courage to live out what he believed in.
—Henry Miller, Sexus
Posted on February 2, 2001 at 9:56 AM
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
The word which gives the key to the national vice is waste. And people who are wasteful are not wise, neither can they remain young and vigorous. In order to transmute energy to higher and more subtle levels one must first conserve it.
—Henry Miller, The Air-Conditioned Nightmare
Posted on February 9, 2001 at 8:14 AM
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
Confusion is a word we have invented for an order which is not understood.
—Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
Posted on April 17, 2001 at 9:37 AM
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
The word "civilization" to my mind is coupled with death. When I use the word, I see civilization as a crippling, thwarting thing, a stultifying thing. For me it was always so. I don't believe in the golden ages, you see. . . . Civilization is the arteriosclerosis of culture.
—Henry Miller, Interview in Writers at Work
Posted on April 5, 2001 at 6:28 AM
WORDS ABOUT WORDS
Until it is kindled by a spirit as flamingly alive as the one which gave it birth a book is dead to us. Words divested of their magic are but dead hieroglyphs.
—Henry Miller, The Books in My Life
Posted on March 21, 2002 at 1:36 PM
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