We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.
J. B. PriestleyRead
A novelist who writes nothing for 10 years finds his reputation rising. Because I keep on producing books they say there must be something wrong with this fellow.
Interpretation
Reputation can be paradoxical; inactivity might enhance it, while consistent output may lead to scrutiny.
This quote highlights the irony of how public perception works in the literary world. J. B. Priestley suggests that a novelist's lack of productivity can create an air of mystery and intrigue, leading to a rising reputation, whereas an active writer may face doubts about the quality or merit of their work. It reflects on society's tendency to value scarcity and the perception of uniqueness over consistent creation.
In practice
In a discussion about artistic integrity, this quote could illustrate how society values mystery over constant output.
We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.
But some of us are beginning to pull well away, in our irritation, from...the exquisite tasters, the vintage snobs, the three-star Michelin gourmets. There is, we feel, a decent area somewhere between boiled carrots and Beluga caviare, sour plonk and Chateau Lafitte, where we can take care of our gullets and bellies without worshipping them.
Much of writing might be described as mental pregnancy with successive difficult deliveries.
There is romance, the genuine glinting stuff, in typewriters, and not merely in their development from clumsy giants into agile dwarfs, but in the history of their manufacture, which is filled with raids, battles, lonely pioneers, great gambles, hope, fear, despair, triumph. If some of our novels could be written by the typewriters instead of on them, how much better they would be.
We plan, we toil, we suffer - in the hope of what? A camel-load of idol's eyes? The title deeds of Radio City? The empire of Asia? A trip to the moon? No, no, no, no. Simply to wake just in time to smell coffee and bacon and eggs.
No matter how piercing and appalling his insights, the desolation_x000D_ creeping over his outer world, the lurid lights and shadows of his inner_x000D_ world, the writer must live with hope, work in faith
As the eldest son of an Alabama sharecropper family, I was constantly troubled by a collage of North American southern behaviors and notions in reference to the inhumanity of people. There were questions that I did not know how to ask but could, in my young, unsophisticated way, articulate a series of answers.
Race doesn't really exist for you because it has never been a barrier. Black folks don't have that choice.
We anticipate a time when the love of truth shall have come up to our love of liberty, and men shall be cordially tolerant and earnest believers both at once.
I mean, I think it's a two-way relationship: I think you should not have too much faith in your own rationality. You should not have too much faith in the rationality of, you know, anybody else either. We all learn together about the way the world is, and I think it's a sort of antidote to wishful thinking of all kinds.
Could it think, the heart would stop beating.
Heaven but the vision of fulfilled desire, and Hell the shadow from a soul on fire.
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