literatura norteamericana ~ facultad de humanidades y ciencias de la educación ~ unlp
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Retratos. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Retratos. Mostrar todas las entradas
Retratos (18): Ray Bradbury
Anything you dream is fiction, and anything you accomplish is science, the whole history of mankind is nothing but science fiction.
Retratos (16): Ursula K. Le Guin
Fiction writers, at least in their braver moments, do desire the truth: to know it, speak it, serve it. But they go about it in a peculiar and devious way, which consists in inventing persons, places, and events which never did and never will exist or occur, and telling about these fictions in detail and at length and with a great deal of emotion, and then when they are done writing down this pack of lies, they say, There! That's the truth!
Retratos (15): J. D. Salinger
He was a skinny little weak-looking guy, with wrists about as big as pencils. Finally, what he did, instead of taking back what he said, he jumped out the window. I was in the shower and all, and even I could hear him land outside. But I just thought something fell out the window, a radio or a desk or something, not a boy or anything. Then I heard everybody running through the corridor and down the stairs, so I put on my bathrobe and I ran downstairs too, and there was old James Castle laying right on the stone steps and all. He was dead, and his teeth, and blood, were all over the place, and nobody would even go near him. He had on this turtleneck sweater I'd lent him. All they did with the guys that were in the room with him was expel them. They didn't even go to jail.
Retratos (14): Philip K. Dick
Philip K. DickOne day a girl college student in Canada asked me to define reality for her, for a paper she was writing for her philosophy class. She wanted a one-sentence answer. I thought about it and finally said, "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." That's all I could come up with. That was back in 1972. Since then I haven't been able to define reality any more lucidly.
Retratos (13): Allen Ginsberg
Allen GinsbergAmerica I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
Retratos (12): Isaac Asimov
A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.
A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.
Retratos (11): Mark Twain
Samuel Langhorne ClemensThe difference between the right word and the almost right word is really a large matter — it's the difference between a lightning bug and the lightning.
Retratos (10): Aurora Levins Morales
Nothing divides the suffering. One bird full of bullets and roses,
one bird with its wounded pinions,
one heart that if it breaks is broken. I know there are two bloody
wings,
but it is one bird trying to lift itself into the air,
one bird turning in circles on the ground, because
two wings rising and falling together,
is the forgotten principle of flight. Two wings
torn by tempestuous weather.
One bird struggling into the light.
one bird with its wounded pinions,
one heart that if it breaks is broken. I know there are two bloody
wings,
but it is one bird trying to lift itself into the air,
one bird turning in circles on the ground, because
two wings rising and falling together,
is the forgotten principle of flight. Two wings
torn by tempestuous weather.
One bird struggling into the light.
Retratos (9): Stephen King
Stephen KingPeople want to know why I do this, why I write such gross stuff. I like to tell them I have the heart of a small boy... and I keep it in a jar on my desk.
Retratos (8): Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan PoeIt is my design to render it manifest that no one point in its composition is referable either to accident or intuition—that the work proceeded, step by step, to its completion with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem.
Retratos (6): Toni Morrison
Toni MorrisonAll water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place.
Retratos (5): Walt Whitman
I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
Retratos (4): Raymond Chandler
When in doubt, have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand.
Retratos (3): Harriet Beecher Stowe
Harriet Beecher StoweSo much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn't somebody wake up to the beauty of old women
Retratos (2): John Cheever
John CheeverAll literary men are Red Sox fans - to be a Yankee fan in a literate society is to endanger your life.
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