List of John Berryman Quotes

Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not Say So. After All, The Sky Flashes, The Great Sea Yearns, We Ourselves Flash And Yearn

Literature Bores Me, Especially Great Literature

I Cry. Evil Dissolves, & Love, Like Foam; That Love. Prattle Of Children Powers Me Home, My Heart Claps Like The Swan's Under A Frenzy Of Who Love Me & Who Shine.

Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not Say So.

I Think That What Happens In My Poetic Work In The Future Will Depend On My Being Knocked In The Face, And Thrown Flat, And Given Cancer, And All Kinds Of Other Things Short Of Senile Dementia.

Wishin' Was Dyin' But I Gotta Make It All This Way To That Bed On These Feet.

Them Lady Poets Must Not Marry, Pal.

There Is No Such Thing As Freedom (though It Is The Most Important Condition Of Human Life, After Humility, -which Does Not Exist Either). There Is Only Slavery (walls Around One) And Absence-of-slavery (ability To Walk In Any Direction, Or To Remain Still).

We Have Reason To Be Afraid. This Is A Terrible Place.

I Didn't Want To Be Like Yeats; I Wanted To Be Yeats.

Offering Dragons Quarter Is No Good, They Regrow All Their Parts And Come On Again. They Have To Be Killed.

I Conclude Now I Have No Inner Resources, Because I Am Heavy Bored. Peoples Bore Me, Literature Bores Me, Especially Great Literature.

Something Has Been Said For Sobriety But Very Little.

We Are Using Our Own Skins For Wallpaper And We Cannot Win.

Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not Say So. After All, The Sky Flashes, The Great Sea Yearns, We Ourselves Flash And Yearn, And Moreover My Mother Told Me As A Boy (repeatedly) 'ever To Confess You're Bored Means You Have No Inner Resources.' I Conclude Now I Have No Inner Resources, Because I Am Heavy Bored.

These Songs Are Not Meant To Be Understood, You Understand. They Are Only Meant To Terrify & Comfort.

One Must Be Ruthless With One's Own Writing Or Someone Else Will Be.

That Is Our ‘pointed Task. Love & Die.

I Am So Wise I Had My Mouth Sewn Shut.

I Can Offer You Only: This World Like A Knife

Praise Will Lead You To Vanity, And Blame Will Lead You To Self-pity, And Both Are Bad For Writers.

Ever To Confess You're Bored Means You Have No Inner Resources.

This World Is Gradually Becoming A Place Where I Do Not Care To Be Any More.

I Do Strongly Feel That Among The Greatest Pieces Of Luck For High Achievement Is Ordeal. Certain Great Artists Can Make Out Without It, Titian And Others, But Mostly You Need Ordeal. My Idea Is This: The Artist Is Extremely Lucky Who Is Presented With The Worst Possible Ordeal Which Will Not Actually Kill Him. At That Point, He's In Business: Beethoven's Deafness, Goya's Deafness, Milton's Blindness, That Kind Of Thing.