Jack Kirby Quotes

Once we've learned enough about the universe we will admit to ourselves that we will never know everything.

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. MUSINGS [click on the thumbnail by Jack "King" Kirby]

I'm OMAC! Evacuate this section! I'm going to destroy it!

Remember how unimportant you are because that knowledge will gain you more respect than someone who thinks the world revolves around them.

Life at best is bittersweet.

All life on Earth is subject to the rumbles and rockings of the parent stucture which has no control over the disastrous effects of its stresses and strains on whatever thrives on its surface. The ambitions and dreams of men are irrelevant to this planetary giant which pursues its own way in its own manner. Man is its child, tenant and still, to this date, its captive.

It's not letting your anger out that gets people hurt. Its keeping the anger locked up in side that hurts you.

It's funny how easy it is to point out other peoples mistakes and make our own mistakes seem insignificant.

A good commander can beat the odds. A great commander can beat the gods.

Aw, where we come from the Anti-Life Equation is one of many others--almost as awesome!! But they merely exist!!

Homo Sapiens and their guns.

Ideas can never be traced to any one source. They are tossed back and forth between people until the decision makers step in and choose what they think is a success formula.

...I give you real world-changers like Homer, Jack Kirby, and the aforementioned Shakespeare as the archangels of pure story.

Tell Jack that after he finishs saving the universe again, he has to take out the trash in the kitchen." -Rosalind Kirby, one day in 1971

Finally, I want to acknowledge the deep debt I owe in this and everything else I’ve ever written to the work of the late Jack Kirby, the King of Comics.

I borrowed a copy of Myths of the Norsemen by Roger Lancelyn Green and read and reread it with delight and puzzlement: Asgard, in this telling, was no longer a Kirbyesque Future City but was a Viking hall and collection of buildings out on the frozen wastes; Odin the all-father was no longer gentle, wise, and irascible, but instead he was brilliant, unknowable, and dangerous; Thor was just as strong as the Mighty Thor in the comics, his hammer as powerful, but he was . . . well, honestly, not the brightest of the gods; and Loki was not evil, although he was certainly not a force for good. Loki was . . . complicated.

JACK KIRBY is also the central personage of this novel because this is not a good novel. This is a seriously mixed-up book with a central personage who never appears. The plot, like life, resolves into nothing and features emotional suffering without meaning.

Drawing a good figure doesn’t make you a good artist. I can name you ten men, right off the bat, who draw better than I do. But I don’t think their work gets as much response as mine. I can’t think of a better man to draw Dick Tracy than Chester Gould, who certainly is no match for Leonardo Da Vinci. But Chester Gould told the story of Dick Tracy. He told the story of Dick Tracy the way it should have been told. No other guy could have done it. It’s not in the draftsmanship, it’s in the man. Like I say, a tool is dead. A brush is a dead object. It’s in the man. If you want to do, you do it. If you think a man draws the type of hands that you want to draw, steal ‘em. Take those hands. The only thing I can say is: Caniff was my teacher, Alex Raymond was my teacher, even the guy who drew Toonerville Trolley was my teacher. Whatever he had stimulated me in some way. And I think that’s all you need. You need that stimulation. Stimulation to make you an individual. And the draftsmanship, hang it. If you can decently: learn to control what you can, learn to control what you have, learn to refine what you have. Damn perfection. You don’t have to be perfect. You are never going to do a Sistine Chapel, unless someone ties you to a ceiling. Damn perfection. All a man has in this field is pressure. And I think the pressure supplies a stimulation. You have your own stresses, that will supply your own stimulation. If you want to do it, you’ll do it. And you’ll do it anyway you can.

Never shall I truly understand the human race.  What do they seek to prove by their eternal battling? What glory do they find in harming a fellow being? Or, as I sometimes suspect, have I been condemned to a world where madness reigns?” -- the Silver Surfer in Fantastic Four #55, by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Joe Sinnott, Sammy Rosen, and Irving Forbush.

I stopped looking at the cars after the first few miles. Once I started to see past the exteriors, I saw what lay inside some of them and felt the urge to sprint to the nearest freeway exit. Some people had tried to outrun The Plague by leaving town. They hadn't realized the illness could still find them in their cars, and now the 405 was one of the largest graveyards in the world. I thought for a moment about all of the other cities across the globe that probably had scenes just like this. My eyes stung, wondering if my mother, my dad, or any of my friends were in similar graveyards. I made the mistake of glancing into an overturned Volkswagen Beetle as I passed and saw a pair of legs clad in jeans and white Jack Purcell sneakers in the shadows of the car. They reminded me of Sarah's shoes. The man who laced those up that morning hadn't realized he wouldn't be taking them off again.

Kid... comics will break your heart.

Knihy vystavené v Nonstop knihkupectví pana Al-Asmariho v září 1969 na stolku s cedulkou MO DOPORUČUJE: Lloyd Alexander: Král králů* Maya Angelouová: Vím, proč ptáček v kleci zpívá Penelope Asheová: Nahá přišla cizinka* Margaret Atwoodová: Žena k nakousnutí* J. G. Ballard: Utopený svět Richard Brautigan: V melounovém cukru* John Brunner: Jeden vedle druhého na Zanzibaru Michael Crichton: Kmen Andromeda* Philip K. Dick: Blade Runner: Sní androidi o elektrických ovečkách?* Lawrence Ferlinghetti: Skryté významy věcí Stan Lee a Jack Kirby: Fantastická čtyřka #89 Ursula K. Le Guinová: Levá ruka tmy* Norman Mailer: Armády noci* Michael Moorcock: Hle, člověk* Philip Roth: Portnoyův komplex* Jack Vance: Město Chasch Kurt Vonnegut: Jatka č. 5* Tom Wolfe: Kyselinovej test*

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick The Secret Meaning of Things, Lawrence Ferlinghetti Fantastic Four #89, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. LeGuin The Armies of the Night, Norman Mailer Behold the Man, Michael Moorcock Portnoy’s Complaint, Philip Roth City of the Chasch, Jack Vance Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe

Much as anticipated, three months after the nuptials, Polly was expecting the couple’s first child. On December 17, 1864, the cries of William Edward Walker Nichols filled the rooms of 17 Kirby Street.7 By the autumn of 1865, Mrs. Nichols was pregnant once more, and the need for larger accommodation grew as obvious as her maternal belly.

Perfectionists are their own devils.” —Jack Kirby

Then Jack Hanna joined the fray: “How are you going to love something, Larry, unless you see something? You can’t love something and save something unless you see it.” Naomi had heard this argument before. It was ridiculous on its face, she thought. What about dinosaurs? People, and especially kids, were crazy about dinosaurs. They loved them, without ever having laid eyes on a single one.

I had been a reader of THOR in college. I had read the Stan Lee and Jack Kirby stuff. I had loved it. I had been a Norse mythology fan since I was a kid and was thrilled to discover a comic that was kind of based on Norse mythology-there's not a one-to-one correspondence, but there's no reason there should be. I was delighted to find it, and I didn't care that it wasn't exactly the myth. For one thing, Thor didn't have red hair in the comics. I was fine with that. - Walter Simonson

SHOPPING LIST PANTRY •Balsamic vinegar •Bay leaves •Black beans, low-sodium (1 [15-ounce] can) •Black pepper, freshly ground •Broth, low-sodium vegetable (4 cups) •Brown sugar •Canola oil •Capers •Cayenne pepper •Chili powder •Cornstarch •Crackers, whole-grain •Cumin, ground •Lentils (1 [15-ounce] can) •Olive oil •Paprika •Quinoa •Rice, long-grain brown •Salsa •Salt •Soy sauce, low-sodium FRESH PRODUCE •Basil (1 bunch) •Cucumbers, Kirby or Persian (4) •Garlic (3 cloves) •Ginger (2-inch piece) •Lemons (2) •Mushrooms, brown cremini or baby bella (10 ounces) •Onions, yellow (2) •Parsley (1 bunch) •Peppers, red bell (4) •Scallions (1 bunch) •Tomatoes, plum (1 pound) PROTEIN •Beef, top sirloin (1 pound) •Chicken, skinless, boneless breast (6 ounces) •Eggs, large (5) •Salmon, smoked (5 ounces) DAIRY •Cheese, Monterey Jack or Cheddar (5 ounces)

Simon and Kirby was kaput. It was just business --nothing personal. The years had worn away at the warmth of our friendship. By the end we were business partners, but not much more. Now we weren't even that.

Books on display in Al-Asmari’s 24-Hour Bookstore in September 1969, on the table labeled MO’S PICKS: The High King, Lloyd Alexander I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou Naked Came the Stranger, Penelope Ashe The Edible Woman, Margaret Atwood The Drowned World, J. G. Ballard In Watermelon Sugar, Richard Brautigan Stand on Zanzibar, John Brunner The Andromeda Strain, Michael Crichton Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick The Secret Meaning of Things, Lawrence Ferlinghetti Fantastic Four #89, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin The Armies of the Night, Norman Mailer Behold the Man, Michael Moorcock Portnoy’s Complaint, Philip Roth City of the Chasch, Jack Vance Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe