The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. Since man is mortal, the only immortality possible for him is to leave something behind him that is immortal since it will always move. This is the artist’s way of scribbling “Kilroy was here” on the wall of the final and irrevocable oblivion through which he must someday pass.
[William Faulkner]
writeNOTHING
Writing and I have a love/hate relationship. And by that I mean hate/hate/love. But I’m gonna do it anyways… so you might as well come along for the ride
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