“Но има два вида интелигентност, както казва майка ми - на ума и на сърцето...
Най-свестните хора, които съм срещал, притежават нещо, което Норвал няма: интелигентност на сърцето. Доброта, щедрост, търпимост, приемане на слабостта.”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“Не забравяй, че понякога преследването на разумното е също форма на лудост.”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“Scientists can talk about human nature,but only poets can free those feelings we keep in the pent heart”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“At the top of the heap is poetry,at least as it used to be written.Nothing else goes far,nothing goes as deep n the blood and soul.Shakespeare surpasses Beethoven because he had sound and meaning.Always remember that as you get older.Poetry is in the emprean,TV is in the pit”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“So why was the goddess of Memory linked with artistic creation,you may well ask"
"Because for the Greeks creativity wasn't associated with the idea of producing something new-as it is today.The artist built upon, or reworked, the great intellectual and cultural achievements of the past.
So a great memory,you see, was considered a key part of creative activity- it gave the artist more material to draw upon, as well as a richer, more complex intellect. When James Joyce said ' I invented nothing, but I forgot nothing either," I think he was referring to exactly this sort of thing. ”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“... за него животът беше търсене на съкровище, а светът - пещерата на Аладин.”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“Ако искаш да видиш дъга, трябва да изтърпиш дъжда.”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“Единствената разлика между живота в коловоз и гроба е в дълбочината.”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“Меланхолията се отразява добре на изкуството.”
― Jeffrey Moore, quote from The Memory Artists
“Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man.”
― William Shakespeare, quote from Antony and Cleopatra
“It sounded like a dream; it tasted like damnation.”
― Nora Sakavic, quote from The Foxhole Court
“I've allowed some of these points to stand, because this is a book of memory, and memory has its own story to tell. But I have done my best to make it tell a truthful story.”
― Tobias Wolff, quote from This Boy's Life
“Is there a bird among them, dear boy?” Charity asked innocently, peering not at the things on the desk, but at his face, noting the muscle beginning to twitch at Ian’s tense jaw.
“No.”
“Then they must be in the schoolroom! Of course,” she said cheerfully, “that’s it. How like me, Hortense would say, to have made such a silly mistake.”
Ian dragged his eyes from the proof that his grandfather had been keeping track of him almost from the day of his birth-certainly from the day when he was able to leave the cottage on his own two legs-to her face and said mockingly, “Hortense isn’t very perceptive. I would say you are as wily as a fox.”
She gave him a little knowing smile and pressed her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell her, will you? She does so enjoy thinking she is the clever one.”
“How did he manage to have these drawn?” Ian asked, stopping her as she turned away.
“A woman in the village near your home drew many of them. Later he hired an artist when he knew you were going to be somewhere at a specific time. I’ll just leave you here where it’s nice and quiet.” She was leaving him, Ian knew, to look through the items on the desk. For a long moment he hesitated, and then he slowly sat down in the chair, looking over the confidential reports on himself. They were all written by one Mr. Edgard Norwich, and as Ian began scanning the thick stack of pages, his anger at his grandfather for this outrageous invasion of his privacy slowly became amusement. For one thing, nearly every letter from the investigator began with phrases that made it clear the duke had chastised him for not reporting in enough detail. The top letter began,
I apologize, Your Grace, for my unintentional laxness in failing to mention that indeed Mr. Thornton enjoys an occasional cheroot…
The next one opened with,
I did not realize, Your Grace, that you would wish to know how fast his horse ran in the race-in addition to knowing that he won.
From the creases and holds in the hundreds of reports it was obvious to Ian that they’d been handled and read repeatedly, and it was equally obvious from some of the investigator’s casual comments that his grandfather had apparently expressed his personal pride to him:
You will be pleased to know, Your Grace, that young Ian is a fine whip, just as you expected…
I quite agree with you, as do many others, that Mr. Thornton is undoubtedly a genius…
I assure you, Your Grace, that your concern over that duel is unfounded. It was a flesh wound in the arm, nothing more.
Ian flipped through them at random, unaware that the barricade he’d erected against his grandfather was beginning to crack very slightly.
“Your Grace,” the investigator had written in a rare fit of exasperation when Ian was eleven,
“the suggestion that I should be able to find a physician who might secretly look at young Ian’s sore throat is beyond all bounds of reason. Even if I could find one who was willing to pretend to be a lost traveler, I really cannot see how he could contrive to have a peek at the boy’s throat without causing suspicion!”
The minutes became an hour, and Ian’s disbelief increased as he scanned the entire history of his life, from his achievements to his peccadilloes. His gambling gains and losses appeared regularly; each ship he added to his fleet had been described, and sketches forwarded separately; his financial progress had been reported in minute and glowing detail.”
― Judith McNaught, quote from Almost Heaven
“A pity to survive night flights over St. Georges Channel only to crack my skull falling from a ladder.”
― Eoin Colfer, quote from Airman
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