Sink Quotes

Wendy’s house, unlike many in Cape Breton, had three floors, along with a basement and attic. Aside from Wendy’s bedroom, there was a laundry room. The dirty water in the sink would rush from the washer hose, bubbling up, threatening to overflow, but it never did. Next-door was a motel with a neon sign that read in turquoise and pink, “We have the best rates in town!”, but the ‘E’ in ‘rates’ kept flickering on and off day and night so that every few seconds it would switch to, “We have the best rats in town!

Good literature is a lifeboat! Every time you feel you are sinking, jump on it!

Mehmet Murat ildan

He sank back into his black-and-white world, his immobile world of inanimate drawings that had been granted the secret of motion, his death-world with its hidden gift of life. But that life was a deeply ambiguous life, a conjurer's trick, a crafty illusion based on an accidental property of the retina, which retained an image for a fraction of a second after the image was no longer present. On this frail fact was erected the entire structure of the cinema, that colossal confidence game. The animated cartoon was a far more honest expression of the cinematic illusion than the so-called realistic film, because the cartoon reveled in its own illusory nature, exulted in the impossible--indeed it claimed the impossible as its own, exalted it as its own highest end, found in impossibility, in the negation of the actual, its profoundest reason for being. The animated cartoon was nothing but the poetry of the impossible--therein lay its exhilaration and its secret melancholy. For this willful violation of the actual, while it was an intoxicating release from the constriction of things, was at the same time nothing but a delusion, an attempt to outwit mortality. As such it was doomed to failure. And yet it was desperately important to smash through the constriction of the actual, to unhinge the universe and let the impossible stream in, because otherwise--well, otherwise the world was nothing but an editorial cartoon.

Steven Millhauser

I don’t know why we fight.It takes much too effort to stay mad at you.To dodge your skin in the hallwayand leave the kitchen without bringing you a treat.It takes much too effort to stare at the sinkso my eyes don’t smile at you in the mirror.It takes much too effort to look away as we undressand lie apart in the now bigger bed.It takes much too effort to stiffen my bodybecause sleepy limbs forget fightsand pride is always lost in dreams.It takes much too effort to awaken every hour to make sure we are islands with a gulf of white sheets separating us.I dread the light peeking through the parted curtainsand empathise with your groans —I didn’t get any sleep either.I really don’t know why we fight.It takes much too effort to stay mad at one anotherwhen it’s so easy for us to love.