Geburtsdatum | Samstag, 26. Dezember 1891 |
Geburtsort | New York City, U.S. |
Todesort | Los_Angeles |
Sternzeichen | |
Beschreibung | Henry Valentine Miller (December 26, 1891 – June 7, 1980) was an American novelist. He broke with existing literary forms and developed a new type of semi-autobiographical novel that blended character study, social criticism, philosophical reflection, stream of consciousness, explicit language, sex, surrealist free association, and mysticism. His most characteristic works of this kind are Tropic of Cancer, Black Spring, Tropic of Capricorn, and the trilogy The Rosy Crucifixion, which are based on his experiences in New York and Paris (all of which were banned in the United States until 1961). He also wrote travel memoirs and literary criticism, and painted watercolors. |
Back of every creation, supporting it like an arch, is faith. Enthusiasm is nothing: it comes and goes. But if one believes, then miracles occur.
Art is only a means to life, to the life more abundant. It is not in itself the life more abundant. It merely points the way, something which is overlooked not only by the public, but very often by the artist himself. In becoming an end it defeats itself.
An artist is always alone - if he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness.
Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.
The waking mind is the least serviceable in the arts.
The Teutons have been singing the swan song ever since they entered the ranks of history. They have always confounded truth with death.
The great work must inevitably be obscure, except to the very few, to those who like the author himself are initiated into the mysteries. Communication then is secondary: it is perpetuation which is important. For this only one good reader is necessary.
The only thing we never get enough of is love and the only thing we never give enough of is love.
There is nothing strange about fear: no matter in what guise it presents itself it is something with which we are all so familiar that when a man appears who is without it we are at once enslaved by him.
In expanding the field of knowledge we but increase the horizon of ignorance.
Los Angeles gives one the feeling of the future more strongly than any city I know of. A bad future, too, like something out of Fritz Lang's feeble imagination.
No matter how vast, how total, the failure of man here on earth, the work of man will be resumed elsewhere. War leaders talk of resuming operations on this front and that, but man's front embraces the whole universe.
The real leader has no need to lead - he is content to point the way.
Why are we so full of restraint? Why do we not give in all directions? Is it fear of losing ourselves? Until we do lose ourselves there is no hope of finding ourselves.
When one is trying to do something beyond his known powers it is useless to seek the approval of friends. Friends are at their best in moments of defeat.
I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive.
Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him.
All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without benefit of experience.
Sin, guilt, neurosis they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.
The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.
No man is great enough or wise enough for any of us to surrender our destiny to. The only way in which anyone can lead us is to restore to us the belief in our own guidance.
Develop an interest in life as you see it the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.
