William Forrester Quotes

As we left the bar, we saw two men fighting at the wooden pump. One was short and stocky: he was pummelling a tall gangling creature with loose flapping arms ... Edwin Forrest was giving a much deserved beating to William de la Touche Clancey, the Tory sodomite.

Nevertheless, one black soldier at Fort Pillow, Private Ellis Falls, soon would attest that Forrest ordered the Confederates to “stop fighting,” and another Fort Pillow Federal, a Private Major Williams, would remember hearing a Confederate officer shout that the blacks should be killed and hearing another Confederate officer contradict him, saying Forrest had said the blacks should be captured and “returned to their masters.” Forrest,

Querido Jamal, Alguien que conocí escribió que abandonamos nuestros sueños por miedo a poder fracasar, o peor aún, por miedo a poder triunfar. Quiero decirte que aunque supe muy pronto que tú harías realidad tus sueños, jamás imaginé que yo, una vez más, haría realidad los míos. Las estaciones cambian, jovencito. Y aunque puede que haya esperado hasta el invierno de mi vida para ver las cosas que he visto este pasado año, no cabe duda de que habría esperado demasiado de no haber sido por ti. _ William Forrester

You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore. William Faulkner

No thinking – that comes later. You write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is… to write, not to think! — William Forrester, as played by Sean Connery in Finding Forrester

No thinking – that comes later. You write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is… to write, not to think!

My brothers Rob, Bob, Tom, Paul, Ralph, Phil, Noah, William, Nick, Dennis, Christopher, Frank, Simon, Saul, Jim, Henry, Seamus, Richard, Jeremy, Walter, Jonathan, James, Arthur, Rex, Bertram, Vaughan, Daniel, Russel, and Angus; and the triplets Herbert, Patrick, and Jeffrey; identical twins Michael and Abraham, Lawrence and Peter, Winston and Charles, Scott and Samuel; and Eric, Donovan, Roger, Lester, Larry, Clinton, Drake, Gregory, Leon, Kevin and Jack — all born on the same day, the twenty-third of May, though at different hours in separate years — and the caustic graphomaniac, Sergio, whose scathing opinions appear with regularity in the front-of-book pages of the more conservative monthlies, not to mention on the liquid crystal screens that glow at night atop the radiant work stations of countless bleary-eyed computer bulletin-board subscribers (among whom our brother is known, affectionately, electronically, as Surge); and Albert, who is blind; and Siegfried, the sculptor in burning steel; and clinically depressed Anton, schizophrenic Irv, recovering addict Clayton; and Maxwell, the tropical botanist, who, since returning from the rain forest, has seemed a little screwed up somehow; and Jason, Joshua, and Jeremiah, each vaguely gloomy in his own “lost boy” way; and Eli, who spends solitary wakeful evenings in the tower, filing notebooks with drawings — the artist’s multiple renderings for a larger work? — portraying the faces of his brothers, including Chuck, the prosecutor; Porter, the diarist; Andrew, the civil rights activist; Pierce, the designer of radically unbuildable buildings; Barry, the good doctor of medicine; Fielding, the documentary-film maker; Spencer, the spook with known ties to the State Department; Foster, the “new millennium” psychotherapist; Aaron, the horologist; Raymond, who flies his own plane; and George, the urban planner who, if you read the papers, you’ll recall, distinguished himself, not so long ago, with that innovative program for revitalizing the decaying downtown area (as “an animate interactive diorama illustrating contemporary cultural and economic folkways”), only to shock and amaze everyone, absolutely everyone, by vanishing with a girl named Jana and an overnight bag packed with municipal funds in unmarked hundreds; and all the young fathers: Seth, Rod, Vidal, Bennet, Dutch, Brice, Allan, Clay, Vincent, Gustavus, and Joe; and Hiram, the eldest; Zachary, the Giant; Jacob, the polymath; Virgil, the compulsive whisperer; Milton, the channeler of spirits who speak across time; and the really bad womanizers: Stephen, Denzil, Forrest, Topper, Temple, Lewis, Mongo, Spooner, and Fish; and, of course, our celebrated “perfect” brother, Benedict, recipient of a medal of honor from the Academy of Sciences for work over twenty years in chemical transmission of “sexual language” in eleven types of social insects — all of us (except George, about whom there have been many rumors, rumors upon rumors: he’s fled the vicinity, he’s right here under our noses, he’s using an alias or maybe several, he has a new face, that sort of thing) — all my ninety-eight, not counting George, brothers and I recently came together in the red library and resolved that the time had arrived, finally, to stop being blue, put the past behind us, share a light supper, and locate, if we could bear to, the missing urn full of the old fucker’s ashes.

No thinking - that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is... to write, not to think!” SIR SEAN CONNERY - William Forrester “Why is it that the words that we write for ourselves are always so much better than the words we write for others?” SIR SEAN CONNERY - William Forrester

For example, nowadays Shakespeare is identified with all that is lofty and high brown about culture. However, on May 10, 1849, what is now known as the Astor Place Riots took place, and 25 people died over (among other things, of course) the issue of who was the best Shakespearean actor, the American Edwin Forrest of the English William Charles Macready. It would be foolish to try to paint current appraisals and reactions to Shakespeare and that riot as "effects" to Shakespeare. That is, however, what is done when talking about "media effects.