“... you sometimes had to force people to say things they would rather not articulate, just so they could hear their own words. It was interesting the way people could know things and not know them at the same time. Denial, he said, was like a thick stone wall.”
― Nell Freudenberger, quote from The Dissident
“He didn't understand how sadness came so easily to people. For him it was like a pile of rocks that had to be moved one at a time. Just thinking about it made him tired.”
― Nell Freudenberger, quote from The Dissident
“People lived their lives, carelessly dropping information as if it were trash. The writer moved behind them like a ragpicker. She cleaned and separated their garbage, culled and collected it.”
― Nell Freudenberger, quote from The Dissident
“Relationships were never equivalent: that was why it was so hard to find permanent ones. When two people depended on each other, they each had their own reasons. Sometimes the reasons balanced each other out temporarily, and the two of you were suspended gently in air. Then inevitably, one side came crashing down.”
― Nell Freudenberger, quote from The Dissident
“But I have never been sure that we are all talking about the same thing when we talk about love. Perhaps real love is too boring to talk about. Heartbreak is so much easier to understand that I think we might sometimes employ it as an understudy, a stand-in for the real thing.”
― Nell Freudenberger, quote from The Dissident
“Phil doesn't say yes, but he doesn't really say no. He's willing to ruin a person's life in order to keep her from being angry at him.”
― Nell Freudenberger, quote from The Dissident
Nell Freudenberger
Born place: in New York, New York, The United States
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“Could you please explain to me exactly what the staff is that you carry?"
Cronus proudly held the symbol of his power and authority aloft. "It is the scepter that denotes my control of the Physical Realms. All who defy me should look on it and tremble."
"Oh, I see! Do you know, I thought it was a giant toothpick, or perhaps something you shoved into other parts of you anatomy. I never realized it represented your supposed right to rule," said Her Vampiric Majesty lightly.”
― Stuart Hill, quote from The Last Battle of the Icemark
“In this mortal frame of mine which is made of a hundred bones and nine orifices there is something, and this something is called a wind-swept spirit for lack of a better name, for it is much like a thin drapery that is torn and swept away at the slightest stir of the wind. This something in me took to writing poetry years ago, merely to amuse itself at first, but finally making it its lifelong business. It must be admitted, however, that there were times when it sank into such dejection that it was almost ready to drop its pursuit, or again times when it was so puffed up with pride that it exulted in vain victories over the others. Indeed, ever since it began to write poetry, it has never found peace with itself, always wavering between doubts of one kind and another. At one time it wanted to gain security by entering the service of a court, and at another it wished to measure the depth of its ignorance by trying to be a scholar, but it was prevented from either because of its unquenchable love of poetry. The fact is, it knows no other art than the art of writing poetry, and therefore, it hangs on to it more or less blindly.”
― Matsuo Bashō, quote from Backroads to Far Towns: Basho's Travel Journal
“Ede had been pregnant not quite the full term: eight months, two weeks, four days. She had lapsed into an extended silence - partly because she was still in mourning - still enraged and afraid of speech. And partly, too, because the child itself had taken up dreaming in her belly - dreaming and, Ede was certain, singing. Not singing songs a person knew, of course. Nothing Ede could recognize. But songs for certain. Music - with a tune to it. Evocative. A song about self. A song about place. As if a bird had sung it, sitting in a tree at the edge of a field. Or high in the air above a field. A hovering song. Of recognition.”
― 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
“didn't think of it.” She supposed she should have”
― Iris Johansen, quote from The Killing Game
New York to Dallas
Wittgenstein's Mistr...
Dumplin'
The Hollow
Dark Fire
Match Me If You CanBookQuoters is a community of passionate readers who enjoy sharing the most meaningful, memorable and interesting quotes from great books. As the world communicates more and more via texts, memes and sound bytes, short but profound quotes from books have become more relevant and important. For some of us a quote becomes a mantra, a goal or a philosophy by which we live. For all of us, quotes are a great way to remember a book and to carry with us the author’s best ideas.
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