#Quote
More Quotes by John Fante
Arturo Bandini: -What does happiness mean to you Camilla? Camilla: -That you can fall in love with whoever you want to, and not feel ashamed of it.
One night I was sitting on the bed in my hotel room on Buker Hill, down in the middle of Los Angeles. It was an important night in my life, because I had to make a decision about the hotel. Either I paid up or I got out: that was what the note said, the note the landlady had put under my door. A great problem, deserving acute attention. I solved it by turning out the lights and going to bed.
Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town!
When stuck, hit the road.
You are nobody, and I might have been somebody, and the road to each of us is love.
Like my father, I am very impatient. I have a strong bullshit detector. I may finish one book in twenty that I have started.
Well, this is good for me, this is experience, I am here for a reason, these moments run into pages, the seamy side of life.
So what’s the use of repentance, and what do you care for goodness, and what if you should die in a quake, so who the hell cares? So I walked downtown, so these were the high buildings, so let the earthquake come, let it bury me and my sins, so who the hell cares? No good to God or man, die one way or another, a quake or a hanging, it didn’t matter why or when or how.
I felt his hot tears and the loneliness of man and the sweetness of all men and the aching haunting beauty of the living
Literary criticism is generally bunk. Nonsense. Usually based on self-serving post-intellectual bullshit.
