Quotes from John Geddes

If I ever got sloppy and maudlin, it would be for the streets of my childhood—but no self- respecting writer should ever eulogize a slum...

yes I understand your spells—your sex magic—at least, I know this: all lights dim when you walk in...

the house is on fire, but go ahead - finish painting the verandah...

the making of stories is only one part of my craft -mainly, I'm a heart whisperer...

some say Twitter seems trite and lacks weightiness - but in actuality, it lends itself to poetry - it can be very compressed and intense...

if it weren't for you, mornings wouldn't be so comforting - slippers wouldn't scrape through the rooms of my heart...

how are you sacred to me? your lines are golden threads - your patter, my patten - I explore the liturgy of your words...

bow to genius, but to the authority of that genius - not the display of talent...

people quote proverbs without realizing they're really in awe of the authority of their truth and the power of their expression...

if you're an artist, you've submitted to authority...

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable...

who would have known the dark eyes staring into mine would become our children's eyes...?

freedom of conscience does not mean being uncontrolled - we have to control ourselves and at times submit to others...

we see this tendency to throw off restraints in life, in art - it's an inglorious gesture of thumbing the nose - it makes me laugh...

I think our 'changes' are not as radical as we suppose - in some way we persist as us...

don't tell me I should only talk to people with a high influence score, or I'll Klout you...

I guess you're right - I am a priest - I offer sacrifices - so take this line, I want you to have something of mine...

I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been...

maybe I am just your priest - or a churl - perhaps you mistrust me the way the medievals mistrusted monks...

you know I wanted a Madonna, not a whore - I made you sacred offering you my words...

all my life I prayed to a star – Later discovered it was Venus – I was praying to Aphrodite and wondering why she was sending me you -sad...

you can't rationalize suffering - it's indeterminate - the real unknowable variable God substitutes in...

all this time I've been worshiping you - when other men wanted to kiss you, I've been offering the praise of my lips...

some of the best love poems have been written by monks and nuns...