We find what we expect to find. We do not see the world as it is but as we are.
It ought to be a criminal offence for women to dye their hair. Especially red. What the devil do women do that sort of thing for?
I always advise people never to give advice.
Always get to the dialogue as soon as possible. I always feel the thing to go for is speed. Nothing puts the reader off more than a big slab of prose at the start.
I always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.
A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.
Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.
Courage is the discovery that you may not win, and trying when you know you can lose.
It's time to stop building the shopping malls, the prisons, the stadiums and other tributes to all of our collective failures. It is time that we start building living monuments to hope and possibility.
I didn't get over 1300 walks without knowing the strike zone.
There is nothing “still” in the remarkably visceral poems of Alexander Long's third collection, Still Life, and nothing is at rest in these restless and edgy poems. Conversational and kinetic, these poems chart the traces left by the shifting overlays of the templates of literature, rock-and-roll, and contemporary culture. As each poem in Still Life attempts to fix a focus upon a scene or subject, the protean natures under view draw the poet into the eddies and complexities of reflection. This is a powerful and moving collection of poems.