Northrop Frye (1912–1991) Canadian literary critic and literary theorist
Source: "Quotes", Notebooks and Lectures on the Bible and Other Religious Texts (2003), p. 27
“The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me”
— Jack Kerouac, book Big Sur
Source: Big Sur
Last update June 3, 2021. History
Help us to complete the source, original and additional information
Do you have more details about the quote "The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, an…" by Jack Kerouac?
Jack Kerouac266
American writer 1922–1969Related quotes
“The poem goes form the poet’s gibberish to
The gibberish of the vulgate and back again.”
Wallace Stevens (1879–1955) American poet
Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction (1942), It Must Change
“Meditation is just gently coming back again and again to what's right here.”
Pema Chödron (1936) American philosopher
How to Meditate: A Practical Guide to Making Friends with Your Mind (2008)
Jimmy Hoffa (1913–1982) American labor leader
Source: Hoffa The Real Story (1975), Chapter 1, I'll Be Back, p. 24
Ram Swarup (1920–1998) Indian historian
The World As Revelation: Names of Gods (1980)
“He'll come back," Simon said again. "For you.”
Cassandra Clare book City of Glass
Source: City of Glass
“O lost,
And by the wind grieved,
Ghost,
Come back again.”
Thomas Wolfe book Look Homeward, Angel
Source: Look Homeward, Angel (1929), p. 3
Context: A stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces. Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone? O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When? O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.