Quotes from Stephen Vincent Bent

Outcasts of war, misfits, rebellious souls, Seekers of some vague kingdom in the stars They hide out in the hills and stir up trouble, Call themselves prophets, too, and prophesy That something new is coming to the world, The Lord knows what! Well, it's a long time coming, And, meanwhile, we're the wheat between the stones.

The time is time. The place is anywhere. The voices speak to you across the air To say that once again a child is born. A child is born.

I knew then that they had been men, neither gods nor demons. It is a great knowledge, hard to tell and believe. They were men they went a dark road, but they were men. I have been in the Place of the Gods and seen it! Now slay me, if it is the law but still I know they were men.

I went north I did not try to hide myself. When a god or a demon saw me, then I would die, but meanwhile I was no longer afraid. My hunger for knowledge burned in me there was so much that I could not understand.

Never have I been so much alone I tried to think of my knowledge, but it was a squirrel's heap of winter nuts. There was no strength in my knowledge any more and I felt small and naked as a new-hatched bird alone upon the great river, the servant of the gods.

If the hunters think we do all things by chants and spells, they may believe so it does not hurt them. I was taught how to read in the old books and how to make the old writings that was hard and took a long time. My knowledge made me happy it was like a fire in my heart. Most of all, I liked to hear of the Old Days and the stories of the gods.

You will have money and all that money can buy.

A soul. A soul is nothing. Can you see it, smell it, touch it? No.

He knew that once you bested anybody like Mr. Scratch in fair fight, his power on you was gone. And he could see that Mr. Scratch knew it too.

Perhaps 'tis not strictly in accordance with the evidence ... but even the damned may salute the eloquence of Mr. Webster.

A man with a mouth like a mastiff, a brow like a mountain and eyes like burning anthracite that was Dan'l Webster in his prime. And the biggest case he argued never got written down in the books, for he argued it against the devil, nip and tuck and no holds barred. And this is the way I used to hear it told.

We heard the shots in the night But nobody knew next day what the trouble was And a man must go to his work. So I didn't see him For three days, then, and me near out of my mind And all the patrols on the streets with their dirty guns And when he came back, he looked drunk, and the blood was on him.

For those denounced by their smug, horrible children For a peppermint-star and the praise of the Perfect State, For all those strangled, gelded or merely starved To make perfect states; for the priest hanged in his cassock, The Jew with his chest crushed in and his eyes dying, The revolutionist lynched by the private guards To make perfect states, in the names of the perfect states.

For those who planned and were leaders and were beaten And for those, humble and stupid, who had no plan But were denounced, but were angry, but told a joke, But could not explain, but were sent away to the camp, But had their bodies shipped back in the sealed coffins, "Died of pneumonia." "Died trying to escape."

For all those beaten, for the broken heads, The fosterless, the simple, the oppressed, The ghosts in the burning city of our time

On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place, In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath. Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings, Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!

The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar, Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.

For ever... well... it droops the mouth. Till I Look up. There's one blue patch no smoke dares touch. Sky, clear, ineffable, alive with light, Always the same... Before, I never knew Rest and green peace.

Eternally the choking steam goes up From the black pools of seething oil...