Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town! — John Fante Copy Share Image
“ Breakfast was ready. He could hear his father asking for coffee. Why did his father have to yell all the time? Couldn't he talk in a low voice? Everybody in the neighborhood knew everything that went on in their house on account of his father constantly shouting. The Moreys next door — you never heard a peep out of them,… — John Fante Copy Share
“Jesus, these Protestants! In my church we didn't sing cheap hymns. With us it was Handel and Palestrina.” — John Fante Copy Share Image
If there is work there is warmth, that when a man has freedom of movement it is enough, for then his blood is hot… — John Fante Copy Share Image
“I have seen them stagger out of their movie palaces and blink their empty eyes in the face of reality once more, and stagger home, to read the Times, to find out what's going on in the world. I have vomited at their newspapers, read their literature, observed their customs, eaten their food, desired their women, gaped at their art.… — John Fante Copy Share
“My advice to all young writers is quite simple. I would caution them never to evade a new experience. I would urge them to… — John Fante Copy Share Image
“Then it happened. One night as the rain beat on the slanted kitchen roof a great spirit slipped forever into my life. I held… — John Fante Copy Share Image
Well, this is good for me, this is experience, I am here for a reason, these moments run into pages, the seamy side of… — John Fante Copy Share Image
“She was a hunchback with a sweet smile. She smiled sweetly at anything; she couldn't help it; the trees, me, the grass, anything. The basket pulled her down, dragging her toward the ground. She was such a tiny woman, with a hurt face, as if slapped forever. She wore a funny old hat, an absurd hat, a maddening hat, a… — John Fante Copy Share
I tossed my shoulders and swaggered away, whistling with pleasure. In the gutter I saw a long cigaret butt. I picked it up without… — John Fante Copy Share Image
“Careful, Arturo Bandini: don't strain your eyesight, remember what happened to Tarkington, remember what happened to James Joyce.” — John Fante Copy Share Image
“Nor did he give a damn for the world either, or the universe, or heaven or hell. But he liked women.” — John Fante Copy Share Image
The bible is a source of great inspiration to me. It is a textbook of metaphysics. Within the bible are keys to personal growth,… — John Fante Copy Share Image
