Quotes About Waiting

there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting

Somebody at one of these places asked me: What do you do? How do you write, create? You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like it's looks, you make a pet out of it.

Generally, I decided, it was better to wait, if you had any feeling for the individual. If you hated her right off, it was better to fuck her right off; if you didn't, it was better to wait, then fuck her and hate her later on.

That moment - to this ... may be years in the way they measure, but it's only one sentence back in my mind - there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails. I pass the hotel at 8 and at 5; there are cats in the alleys and bottles and bums, and I look up at the window and think, I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.

I was feeling unfulfilled and, frankly, rather crappy about everything. I wasn't going anywhere and neither was the rest of the world. We were all just hanging around waiting to die and meanwhile doing little things to fill the space. Some of us weren't even doing little things.

I never pump up my vulgarity. I wait for it to arrive in its own terms.

there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.

soon I'll finish this 5th of Puerto Rican rum. in the morning I'll vomit and shower, drive back in, have a sandwich by 1 p.m., be back in my room by 2, stretched on the bed, waiting for the phone to ring, not answering, my holiday is an evasion, mt reasoning is not.

She could talk. If she was a sphinx she could have talked, if she was a stone she could have talked. I wondered when she'd get tired and leave. Even after I stopped listening it was like being battered with tiny pingpong balls.

for a man of 55 who didn't get laid until he was 23 and not very often until he was 50 I think that I should stay listed via Pacific Telephone until I get as much as the average man has had

I HAVE DIED TOO MANY TIMES BELIEVING AND WAITING, WAITING IN A ROOM STARING AT A CRACKED CEILING WAITING FOR THE PHONE, A LETTER, A KNOCK, A SOUND… GOING WILD INSIDE WHILE SHE DANCED WITH STRANGERS IN NIGHTCLUBS… OUT OF THE ARMS OF ONE LOVE AND INTO THE ARMS OF ANOTHER

there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails.

waiting in a life full of little stories for a death to come

I walked up the driveway. The cats were sprawled about, pooped. In my next life I want to be a cat. To sleep 20 hours a day and wait to be fed. To sit around licking my ass. Humans are too miserable and angry and single-minded.

When can I see you again?" "In 2 hours or tomorrow." I walked to the door. You walk like a poem," she said. "See you in 2 hours," I told her.

That was the trouble with being a writer, that was the main trouble—leisure time, excessive leisure time. You had to wait around for the buildup until you could write and while you were waiting you went crazy, and while you were going crazy you drank and the more you drank the crazier you got.

I walk out of the dark and into the dark and sit down and wait.

it never happened but it seemed like there were times when rot stopped waited like a streetcar at a signal.

I waited. Nothing. I waited for God. I waited and waited. I believe I slept.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else.

then I was a young man a thousand years old, and now I am an old man waiting to be born.

I never pump up my vulgarity. I wait for it to arrive on its own terms.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.

Creation is like anything else good: You have to wait on it; ambition has killed more Artists than indolence.