Mason Cooley Quotes

Great sex is wonderful while it's happening, but who remembers great sex they had in 1983?

No act can be quite so intimate as the sexual embrace.

People say you never remember anybody who dies in movies, and it's true, you don't. You don't even remember people who disappear.

Music is fragile: people die, and it's forgotten.

The pen will never be able to move fast enough to write down every word discovered in the space of memory. Some things have been lost forever, other things will perhaps be remembered again, and still other things have been lost and found and lost again. There is no way to be sure of any this.

Man passes away; his name perishes from record and recollection; his history is as a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin.

Once you've been with each other in a primal, shagging state, it's hard to talk about the weather.

All human joys are swift of wing, For heaven doth so allot it; That when you get an easy thing, You find you haven't got it

The sands of time are quicksands ... so much can sink into them without a trace.

And though I remember her name I cannot recall her face. All things pass.

I just want you inside, baby, we don't need to talk about promises.

You've made love to my mind, now you gotta take me from behind.

As for life, it is a battle and a sojourning in a strange land; but the fame that comes after is oblivion.

I don't know that sex always has to have feelings, but I think that friendship always does.

But the impressions which the morning makes vanish with its dews, and not even the most "persevering mortal" can preserve the memory of its freshness to midday.

What is love, if it can calculate and provide against its own decay?

History is a great dust heap.

The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity.

History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription molders from the tablet: the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs, but characters written in the dust?

Sex, like art, can unsettle a soul, can grind a heart in a mortar. Sex, like literature, can sneak the other within one's wall, even if only for a moment, a moment before one immures oneself again.

Jump to the day we'll all be dead and none of this will matter. Jump to the day another house will stand here and the people living there won't know we ever happened.

Sex is really only touch, the closest of all touch. And it's touch we're afraid of.

[Sex] is really awkward. You know you have expectations and then it's this great moment of connection and it's a surprise. But that's what so exciting about it is that sense of surprise.

The longest wave is quickly lost in the sea.

One must console oneself with the thought that time has a sieve through which most of these important things run into the ocean of oblivion and what remains after this selection is often still trite and bad.