Quotes About Digression

Half an hour later, as I was deeply immersed in the story of The Man of the Hill, that curious, lengthy digression which seems to have nothing to do with the main narrative but is in fact its cornerstone..

Digression is the soul of wit. Take the philosophic asides away from Dante, Milton or Hamlet's father's ghost and what stays is dry bones.

For, let's face it, digression is the soul of wit. Take philosophic asides away from Dante, Milton or Hamlet's father's ghost and what stays is dry bones.

Nothing is more to the point than a good digression.

Digression is the soul of wit. Take the philosophic asides away from Dante, Milton or Hamlet's father's ghost and what stays is dry bones.

Digression is my passion. I'm not kidding. I love telling the main stories, but in some ways, what I love most is using those narratives as a way of stringing together the interesting stories that people have kind of forgotten and that are kind of surprising.

Digression is the soul of wit. Take the philosophic asides away from Dante, Milton or Hamlet's father's ghost and what stays is dry bones.

Tenía una fuerte tendencia a disertar y a discursear y a la digresión

All of which is a digression, but it is common sense and perhaps may one day save you from needless terror or from needless cruelty to an innocent animal.

And there begins a lang digression about the lords o' the creation.

An' there began a lang digressionAbout the lords o' the creation.

And now, excuse me while I interrupt myself.

Moj život je neprekidna digresija, od kolevke pa do moga groba.

In prose, you have a lot more room for digression, for very meaty kinds of dialogues. In graphic novels, you're writing haiku-length dialogue. Your job is to be efficient, to get out of the way of the art.

It seemed that digression was the true principle of the universe, that the only real subject was the way the subject kept changing.

Instead of always worrying about being efficient, I wanted to spend time on exploration, experimentation, digression, and failed attempts that didn't always look productive.

There was a crime. But there were also the lovers. Lovers and their happy ends have been on my mind all night long. As into the sunset we sail. An unhappy inversion. It occurs to me that I have not travelled so far after all, since I wrote my little play. Or rather, I've made a huge digression and doubled back to my starting place. It is only in my last version that my lovers end well, standing side by side on a South London pavement as I walk away.

Marvellous apparatuses, like miracle cures, are beset with unpredictable side-effects. In the twentieth century, new means of setting down human thought may precipitate an avalanche of worthless digression.

If I have any fault, it is digression

Excessive speed and quantity are, like chattiness and digression, besetting sins of cyber-assisted authorship.

The reader will pardon us another little digression; foreign to the object of this book but characteristic and useful . . . .

Such ordeals always strike one with their strangeness, their digression from the normal flow of events, and often provoke a universal protest: "Why me?" Be sure that this is not a question but an outcry. The person who screams it has been instilled with an astonishing suspicion that he, in fact, has been the perfect subject for a very specific "weird," a tailor-made fate, and that a prior engagement, in all its weirdness, was fulfilled at the appointed time and place.

But, soft! methinks I do digress too much

I have digressed, which is also the kind of writer I would become.