“The afternoon moved like lava.”

— John Fante , book The Road to Los Angeles

Source: The 'Arturo Bandini' novels, The Road to Los Angeles (written 1935; published in 1985), Ch.20 - p.371

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John Fante 113

1909–1983; American novelist, short story writer and screen… 1909–1983

Kerry Jackson

Radio From Hell (July 12, 2007)

“The wounds were burning like suns
at five in the afternoon,
and the crowd broke the windows
At five in the afternoon.
Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon!
It was five by all the clocks!
It was five in the shade of the afternoon!”

Federico García Lorca Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías

Las heridas quemaban como soles
a las cinco de la tarde,
y el gentío rompía las ventanas
a las cinco de la tarde.
A las cinco de la tarde.
¡Ay qué terribles cinco de la tarde!
¡Eran las cinco en todos los relojes!
¡Eran las cinco en sombra de la tarde!
Llanto por Ignacio Sanchez Mejias (1935)

“Does rocks float on lava?”

Gavin Free (1988) English filmmaker

Rooster Teeth Podcast #256 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4WrYoNduq0. youtube.com. February 4, 2014. Retrieved June 10, 2014.

“I sat at the computer at work, debugging. I was bored. It was afternoon. I was twenty-two. It was June. Along the front range of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, thunderheads move in almost every afternoon between May and early July. They materialize, darken the day, spit a few drops, open the sky with lightning, then disappear like so many dreams.”

Derrick Jensen book A Language Older Than Words

A Language Older Than Words (2000)

“It carried the same name. It was similar in appearance. It also ended at a lava brink.”

Charles Lindbergh (1902–1974) American aviator, author, inventor, explorer, and social activist

Autobiography of Values (1978)
Context: I know myself as mortal, but this raises the question: "What is I?" Am I an individual, or am I an evolving life stream composed of countless selves? … As one identity, I was born in AD 1902. But as AD twentieth-century man, I am billions of years old. The life I consider as myself has existed though past eons with unbroken continuity. Individuals are custodians of the life stream — temporal manifestations of far greater being, forming from and returning to their essence like so many dreams. … I recall standing on the edge of a deep valley in the Hawaiian island of Maui, thinking that the life stream is like a mountain river — springing from hidden sources, born out of the earth, touched by stars, merging, blending, evolving in the shape momentarily seen. It is molecules probing through time, found smooth-flowing, adjusted to shaped and shaping banks, roiled by rocks and tree trunks — composed again. Now it ends, apparently, at a lava brink, a precipitous fall.
Near the fall's brink, I saw death as death cannot be seen. I stared at the very end of life, and at life that forms beyond, at the fact of immortality. Dark water bent, broke, disintegrated, transformed to apparition — a tall, stately ghost soul emerged from body, and the finite individuality of the whole becomes the infinite individuality of particles. Mist drifted, disappeared in air, a vanishing of spirit. Far below in the valley, I saw another river, reincarnated from the first, its particles reorganized to form a second body. It carried the same name. It was similar in appearance. It also ended at a lava brink. Flow followed fall, and fall followed flow as I descended the mountainside. The river was mortal and immortal as life, as becoming.

“There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.”

Emily Dickinson (1830–1886) American poet

“A normal chap, a man who likes creating things. A good worker in the morning, and a man who likes enjoying himself in the afternoon.”

Ferruccio Lamborghini (1916–1993) Italian industrialist

In response to the question, "So, Mr. Lamborghini, in short what type of man are you?" asked by a television reporter, broadcast on RAI. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YLcUtwN38U&feature=player_embedded

“In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.”

Alfred, Lord Tennyson The Lotos-Eaters

St. 1
The Lotos-Eaters (1832)

“Friday. Five o'clock in the afternoon. Maybe the hardest time to move unobserved through a city. Or, maybe the easiest. Because at five o'clock on a Friday nobody pays attention to anything. Except the road ahead.”

Lee Child book One Shot

One Shot, Ch. 1 (2005).

“Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.”

Pat Conroy (1945–2016) American novelist

“The afternoon moved like lava.”

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John Fante 113

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