I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany´s.
Truman CapoteRead
Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on how intense heat reveals the hidden qualities and life of a city.
Truman Capote's quote poetically describes the transformative power of hot weather on a city, suggesting that elevated temperatures not only reveal the city's infrastructure but also its very essence and vitality. The imagery of a 'white brain' and 'heart of nerves' evokes a sense of the city as a living organism, animated by its inhabitants and environment, with a smell that transcends the ordinary and connects the reader to the raw, almost primal nature of urban life.
In practice
In a discussion about urban life and how it changes with the seasons.
I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany´s.
All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It's like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of art, provide it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.
No one will ever know what 'In Cold Blood' took out of me. It scraped me right down to the marrow of my bones. It nearly killed me. I think, in a way, it did kill me.
I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together.
The quietness of his tone italicized the malice of his reply.
My yardstick is how somebody treats me.
The fantasy that appeals most to people is the kind that's rooted thoroughly in somebody looking around a corner and thinking, 'What if I wandered into this writer's people here?' If you've done your job and made your people and your settings well enough, that adds an extra dimension that you can't buy.
But however measurable, there is much more life in music than mathematics or logic ever dreamed of.
I don't think writers choose the genre, the genre chooses us. I wrote out of the wish to create order out of disorder, the liking of a pattern.
Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel the mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day.
The sculptor, the painter the musician the dancer, or any artist, if he can first obtain celebrate in Paris, acquires very easily the esteem and eulogy of other countries.
I said Yo Jay, I can rap. And I spit this rap that said I'm killin' ya'll *****s on this lyrical sh*t, mayonnaise colored benz, I push miracle whips.
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