Pastoral Resources

I've got a vendetta to destroy the Net, to make everyone go to the library. I love the organic thing of pen and paper, ink on canvas. I love going down to the library, the feel and smell of books.

I am a man-pen. I feel through the pen, because of the pen.

I don't want anything to do with anything mechanical between me and the paper, including a typewriter, and I don't even want a fountain pen between me and the paper.

The material came bubbling up inside like a geyser or an oil gusher. It streamed up of its own accord, down my arm and out of my fountain pen in a torrent of six thousand words a day.

In the back of my mind was the constant hankering, almost yearning, to write but something always stopped me in my tracks. Or if I did find my way to put a pen to paper or finger on a keyboard I'd give up after a few minutes. I'd find other things to do: Anything but writing.

It has always been my practice to cast a long paragraph in a single mould, to try it by my ear, to deposit it in my memory, but to suspend the action of the pen till I had given the last polish to my work.

I would not be able to pen an academic and dry diatribe. I have too much talent for that.

A programming language is for thinking about programs, not for expressing programs you've already thought of. It should be a pencil, not a pen.

My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course. Ball-point pens are only good for filling out forms on a plane.

I bought a seven-dollar pen because I always lose pens and I got sick of not caring.

Do you think I am standing here, making this up as I go? I am sorry to disillusion you. I am not Robin Williams. I am the king of the pen.

The pen is the tongue of the mind.

The strokes of the pen need deliberation as much as the sword needs swiftness.

You are just in the middle of a struggle with words which are really very stubborn things, with a blank page, with the damn thing that you use to write with, a pen or a typewriter, and you forget all about the reader when you are doing that.

No pen can give an adequate description of the all-pervading corruption produced by slavery.

There are two powers in the world; one is the sword and the other is the pen. There is a great competition and rivalry between the two. There is a third power stronger than both, that of the women.

I am not afraid of the pen, or the scaffold, or the sword.

I am not afraid of the pen, or the scaffold, or the sword. I will tell the truth wherever I please.

No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.

I condemn what happened in Madrid, but it is suspicious. If tomorrow there will be another bombing, in France for example, who will gain power? Of course not Jacques Chirac, but Le Pen.