Jenny Downham Quotes

I think good art does come from a dark place.

At sometime in our lives a devil dwells within us, causes heartbreaks, confusion and troubles, then dies.

Wholeness is the enemy of the artist. We ought to be broken, ruined in some way.

An inner darkness is darker than an outer darkness.

His parting shot to me had been, "I don't want to love someone who is more at home with the monsters than I am." What do you say to that? What can you say? Damned if I know. They say love conquers everything. They lie.

Musings The little poets sing of little things: Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings; Lovers who kissed and then were made as one, And modest flowers waving in the sun. The mighty poets write in blood and tears And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears. They reach their mad blind hands into the night, To plumb abysses dead to human sight; To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled, Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world. [click on the thumbnail by Jack "King" Kirby]

That's why you did it. You wanted your world to collapse around you. You wanted everything to get as dark as possible.

It is true that I am a person with black pockets of evil and hatred in my heart. There are underground places inside of me

Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.

My imagination is a twisted place.

The part of me which wanders through my mind and never sees or feels actual objects, but which lives in and moves through my passions and my emotions, experiences this world as a horrible nightmare.

I was adopted into this incredible home, a loving, positive environment, yet I had this yearning, this kind of darkness that was also inside me.

We've all got darkness inside us. And I've got quite a lot of darkness.

You can look at 'Rumours' and say, 'Well, the album is bright, and it's clean, and it's sunny.' But everything underneath is so dark and murky. What was going on between us created a resonance that goes beyond the music itself.

I could write songs on the beach, but the interior darkness, we have it all. We have it.

What I was chasing in circles must have been the tail of the darkness inside me.

Desire, despair, desire. So many monsters.

so your father told you once that you were his princess you won't see the castle you cannot find your prince and now you've grown a lot and your dress don't fit right your daddy's not a hero he stole your chariot so here you are in pieces trying to prove to us it's real the softness of your smile and the lies you want to feel the scales beneath your skin are showing off today there's evil in your heart and it wants out to play there's evil in your heart and it wants out to play there's evil in your heart and I have made a home here for me you'll burn it down with your fantasy

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

A discordant mind, black with confusion and despair, would finish me off as thoroughly as the cold.

My canvas soothes me into forgetfulness of the scene of turmoil and folly - and worse - of the scene around me. Every gleam of sunshine is blighted to me in the art at least. Can it therefore be wondered at that I paint continual storms? "Tempest o'er tempest roll'd" - still the "darkness" is majestic.

No one who, like me, conjures up the most evil of those half-tamed demons that inhabit the human breast, and seeks to wrestle with them, can expect to come through the struggle unscathed.

Of all human struggles there is none so treacherous and remorseless as the struggle between the artist man and the mother woman.

I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.