Tropic Of Cancer Quotes

“For the moment I can think of nothing— except that I am a sentient being stabbed by the miracle of these waters that reflect a forgotten world.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“The world is a cancer eating itself away... I am think that when the great silence descends upon all and everywhere music will at last triumph. When into the womb of time everything is again withdrawn chaos will be restored and chaos is the score upon which reality is written.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Se sou inumano é porque meu mundo transbordou de suas fronteiras humanas, porque ser humano parece uma coisa pobre, triste, miserável, limitada pelos sentidos, restringida pelas moralidades e pelos códigos, definida pelos lugares-comuns e 'ismos'."
(Trópico de Câncer)”
― Henry Miller

“No quiero ser razonable ni lógico. ¡Los detesto! Quiero reventar de risa, quiero divertirme. Quiero hacer algo. Quiero sentarme en un café y pasarme el día hablando. Dios, nosotros tenemos nuestros defectos...pero tenemos entusiasmo. Es mejor cometer errores que no hacer nada.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Visata susitraukė, liko tik miesto kvartalo dydžio, joje nebėra žvaigždžių, nebėra medžių, nebėra upių. Žmonės, kurie čia gyvena, yra mirę. Jie dirba kėdes, ant kurių kiti žmonės sėdi sapnuose.”
― Henry Miller

“Te quiero…te adoro –dice–. Iré adonde digas: Estambul, Singapur, Honolulú. Pero ahora tengo que irme…se está haciendo tarde.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“‎Se houvesse um homem que ousase dizer tudo quanto pensa deste mundo,
não lhe restaria um palmo quadrado de terra onde ficar.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Naktis kybojo virš žemės, aštri kaip durklas, girta kaip pamišėlė.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“«Tienes que ser vida para mí hasta el final», según escribe. «Esa es la única forma de sostener mi idea de ti. Porque, como puedes ver, has quedado ligado a mí con algo tan vital, que no creo que pueda desembarazarme de ti. Ni tampoco lo deseo. Quiero que vivas cada día más vivamente, puesto que yo estoy muerto. Por eso es por lo que, cuando hablo de ti con otros, me siento un poco avergonzado. Es difícil hablar de un mismo tan íntimamente. »”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“And inevitably there always crept into our discussions the figure of Whitman, that one lone figure which America has produced in the course of her brief life. In Whitman the whole American scene comes to life, her past and her future, her birth and her death. Whatever there is of value in America Whitman has expressed, and there is nothing more to be said.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“I love everything that flows,’ said the great blind Milton of our times. I was thinking of him this morning when I awoke with a great bloody shout of joy: I was thinking of his rivers and trees and all that world of night which he is exploring. Yes, I said to myself, I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences. I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with it’s painful gall-stones, its gravel and what-not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul...”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Su voz suena preciosa por teléfono...preciosa. Por un momento, siento auténtico pánico. No sé qué decirle. Me gustaría decirle: «Oiga, Irene, creo que es usted hermosa...Creo que es usted maravillosa.» Me gustaría decirle algo que fuera cierto, por ridículo que fuese, porque, ahora que he oído su voz, todo ha cambiado.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Amo todo lo que fluye, todo lo que contiene el tiempo y el porvenir, que nos devuelve al comienzo donde nunca hay fin.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“...He it is, if any man today possesses the gift, who knows where to dissolve the human figure, who has the courage to sacrifice an harmonious line in order to detect rhythm and murmur of the blood, who takes light that has been refracted inside him and lets it flood the keyboard of color. Behind the minutiae, the chaos, the mockery of life, he detects the invisible pattern; he announces his discoveries in the metaphysical pigment of space. No searching formulae, no crucifixion of ideas, no compulsion other than to create. Even as the world goes to smash there is one man who remains at the core, who becomes more solidly fixed and anchored, more centrifugal as the process of dissolution quickens.”
― Henry Miller

“Nothing is more obscene than inertia. More blasphemous than the bloodiest oath is paralysis.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Ah, Tania, nerede şimdi senin o sıcak yarığın, o kalın ve ağır jartiyerlerin, yumuşak ve dolgun uylukların? On beş santim uzunluğunda bir kemik var kamışımda. Dölümle doldurup ütüleyeceğim amındaki her kırışıklığı, Tania. Karnında sancıyla ve rahmin ters yüz edilmiş halde göndereceğim seni Sylvester’a.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Seni düzüyorum Tania, düzülmüş kalasın diye.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Life," said Emerson, "consists in what a man is thinking all day." If that be so, then my life is nothing but a big intestine. I not only think about food all day, but I dream about it at night.
But I don’t ask to go back to America, to be put in a double harness again, to work the treadmill. No, I prefer to be a poor man of Europe. God knows, I am poor enough; it only remains to be a man.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“I love everything that flows,’ said the great blind Milton of our times. I was thinking of him this morning when I awoke with a great bloody shout of joy: I was thinking of his rivers and trees and all that world of night which he is exploring. Yes, I said to myself, I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences. I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with it’s painful gall-stones, it’s gravel and what-not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul...”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

“Now this word soul, which pops up frequently in Van Norden’s soliloquies, used to have a droll effect upon me at first. Whenever I heard the word soul from his lips I would get hysterical; somehow it seemed like a false coin, more particularly because it was usually accompanied by a gob of brown juice which left a trickle down the corner of his mouth. And as I never hesitated to laugh in his face it happened invariably that when this little word bobbed up Van Norden would pause just long enough for me to burst into a cackle and then, as if nothing had happened, he would resume his monologue, repeating the word more and more frequently and each time with more caressing emphasis. It was the soul of him that women were trying to possess—that he made clear to me. He has explained it over and over again, but he comes back to it afresh each time like a paranoiac to his obsession. In a sense, Van Norden is mad, of that I’m convinced. His one fear is to be left alone, and this fear is so deep and so persistent that even when he is on top of a woman, even when he has welded himself to her, he cannot escape the prison which he has created for himself.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer