“Brisbane is so sleepy, so slatternly, so sprawlingly unlovely… It is simply the most ordinary place in the world…It was so shabby and makeshift … a place where poetry could never occur.”
― David Malouf, quote from Johnno
“Still the fact remains, he had me hooked. As he had, of course, from the beginning. I had been writing my book about Johnno from the moment we met.”
― David Malouf, quote from Johnno
“I might grow old in Brisbane, but I would never grow up.”
― David Malouf, quote from Johnno
“The hundred possibilities a situation contains may be more significant than the occurrence of any of them, and metaphor truer in the long run than fact.”
― David Malouf, quote from Johnno
“Now as I began to sort through his “effects” it occurred to me how little I had really known him … I had forced upon my father the character that fitted most easily with my image of myself; to have had to admit to any complexity in him would have compromised my own.”
― David Malouf, quote from Johnno
David Malouf
Born place: in Brisbane, Australia
Born date March 20, 1934
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“Frederick?
Had she really spoken? Certainly she'd tried, but her voice had failed to materialize and all she heard was the sound of her nightgown ripping as Frederick pulled it over her head and threw it aside.
He was kneeling now between her ankles, pushing at her, forcing her knees apart and then her arms until she was entirely splayed on the bed beneath him.
Nothing was said. Not a word.
Ede felt his hand between her legs, forcing the way for the rest of him. Stop, she wanted to tell him. Stop. I don't understand what you're doing. But nothing - still nothing was said.
He seemed to be raging inside her, moving his hips in a circular fashion, all the weight of his upper body help above her, resting on his arms, his hands pushing down into the mattress.
Stop! But he didn't.
Don't! But he did.
Nothing. Not one word.
The only sound he made was a choking noise in his throat at the end, as tough he might be going to strangle. But when he rolled away from her onto his back, she felt the shudder of his first free breath and she heard him sigh. It was over. Tonight. It was done.
Ede could not bare the thought of seeing him, or of being seen. Still without speaking, she rose from the bed and through the dark, found her way to the bathroom. She had brought the torn nightgown wit her, but when she turned on the light and saw it, she threw it down in the corner. Ruined. Spoiled. Everything.
When at last, she returned to the bed, Fredrick was sound asleep beneath the covers - and nothing - nothing - nothing was said.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from The Piano Man's Daughter
“Личността, чието име току-що бе произнесено, професор Адам Круг, философът, седеше малко встрани, потънал в едно кресло, опрял косматите си ръце на подлакътниците. Беше едър тежък човек над четирийсетте, с чорлава, пепелява или леко прошарена коса и грубо изсечено лице, навеждащо на мисълта за недодялан шахматист или навъсен композитор, но по-интелигентно. Силното компактно и мрачно чело, притежаваше някак особено херметично изражение (банков сейф, зид на затвор?), присъщо за челото на всеки мислител. Мозък, съставен от вода, разни химически съединения и група високомодифицирани мазнини. Бледите стоманеносиви очи в почти правоъгълни орбити, полузакрити от гъсти вежди, които някога са ги защитавали от отровните извержения на вече изчезнали птици – хипотезата на Шнайдер. Ушите бяха големи, орбасли с косми отвътре. Носът му бе обрамчен от две дълбоки гънки, спускащи се по широките бузи. Тази сутрин не беше се бръснал. Носеше силно омачкан тъмен костюм и неизменната тъмнолилава папийонка на (някога бели, а сега неопределен цвят) точки, с разкъсана лява вътрешна фльонга. Не особено чистата яка беше от типа отворена, тоест с удобна триъгълна чупка за адамовата ябълка. Носеше характерните обувки с дебели подметки и старомодни черни гети. Какво още? Ах, да – разсеяното почукване с показалец по подлакътника на креслото.
Под тази видима повърхност копринена риза обгръщаше мощния му торс и уморените бедра. Тя бе дълбоко втъкната в наполеонки, които от своя страна бяха напъхани в чорапите: известно му бе за слуховете, че не носи чорапи (оттам и гетите), но това не беше истина; в действителност такива имаше на краката му – хубави, скъпи, бледолилави, копринени.
Под всичко това беше топлата бяла кожа. Мравешка пътека, тесен капилярен керван вървеше нагоре по средата на корема му, за да се прекъсне точно до пъпа. По-тъмна и по-гъста растителност бе разперила крила на гърдите му.
Под това имаше мъртва съпруга и спящо дете.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, quote from Bend Sinister
“He stopped. “You're upset. I'll shut up and leave you”
― Iris Johansen, quote from The Killing Game
“I need to learn to recognize and identify these danger signs when I see them, and not brush them off as "eccentricities," "lovable oddities," or "a sign that he s crying out for help and the comforting of a codependent nurturer that only I, Princess Enabler, can provide. Bad boyfriends don't disguise themselves; their girlfriends do it for them. ”
― Laurie Notaro, quote from Autobiography of a Fat Bride: True Tales of a Pretend Adulthood
“She sat, rediscovering the fullness of her first tongue in one long submersion. Again and again she would pause on a word Melio uttered. She would roll it around in her mind, feeling the contours of it. At times her mouth gaped open, her lips moving as if she were drinking in his words instead of breathing.”
― David Anthony Durham, quote from Acacia: The War with the Mein
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