Quotes from Robert James Waller

wondering about a man to whom the difference between a pasture and a meadow seemed important, [...] who seemed like the wind. And moved like it. Came from it, perhaps.

In an increasingly callous world, we all exist with our own carapaces of scabbed-over sensibilities. Where great passion leaves off and mawkishness begins, I'm not sure. But our tendency to scoff at the possibility of the former and to label genuine and profound feelings as maudlin makes it difficult to enter the realm of gentleness required to understand the story of Francesca Johnson and Robert Kincaid.

I don't just take things as given, I try to make them into something that reflects my personal consciousness, my spirit.

I'll never say it another time, to anyone, and I ask you to remember it: In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live.

there's a creature inside of you that I'm not good enough to bring out, not strong enough to reach. I sometimes have the feeling you've been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you've dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about. You frighten me, even though you're gentle with me. If I didn't fight to control myself with you, I feel like I might lose my center and never get back.

To covered bridges in the late afternoon, or, better yet, on warm red mornings.

Give me all of you, and I'll give you back yourself when we have finished. And in the high country she had screamed aloud in some combination of fear and pleasure. And she had done that once more in a bed in Iowa, then turned the scream into a dwindling, involuntary cry for all the things she had once felt and now felt again with another strange man who lived in his own far places.

Neke stvari traju, pomislila je. Hridi, rijeke, stari natkriveni mostovi. A neke stvari ne traju. Vrele kolovoške no?i i sve što sa sobom nose. Izmi?u nam, pa idemo dalje bez njih, naposljetku umremo i nema nam traga.

maudlin makes it difficult to enter the realm of gentleness

They were good friends, though they would never understand what lay inside of her, would not understand even if she told them.

I just stand here, about twilight, makin' that ol' horn weep, and I play that tune for a man named Robert Kincaid and a woman he called Francesca.

He had been here just a few minutes before,she was lying where the water had run down his body,and she found that intensely erotic.Almost everything about Robert Kincaid had begun to seem erotic to her.

U jednom svijetu punom dvosmislenosti ovakva se izvjesnost doga?a samo jedanput i nikada više, ma koliko života ?ovjek proživio.

the easy way he moved his body, old ways, disturbing ways, ways that draw you in. Ways that whisper to you in the final moment before sleep comes, when the barriers have fallen.

L'analisi distrugge l'interezza. Ci sono cose, cose magiche, che devono restare intere. Se cominci a guardare le singole parti, svaniscono.

Her abstinence from her recollections had been a matter of survival.

maybe now and then if it's absolutely necessary to cushion someone from a world gone too harsh and bitter.

Las palabras provocan sensaciones físicas, no solamente transmiten significados

Uno es lo que produce.

Some things last, she thought. Rocks, rivers, old covered bridges. And some things don't last. Hot August nights and everything they bring with them. They elude us, so we go on without them, eventually we die and there is no sign of us.

Yet in a world where personal commitment in all of its forms seems to be shattering and love has become a matter of convenience, they both felt this remarkable tale was worth the telling.

The letter should have been a thousand pages long. It should have talked about the end of evolutionary chains and the loss of free range, about cowboys struggling with the corners of the wire, like the corn husks of winter.

A mãe teve reuniões com vãrios professores. (...) «Robert vive num mundo construído por ele. Eu sei que ele é meu filho, mas por vezes tenho a sensação de que ele veio não de mim e do meu marido, mas de algum outro lugar para onde tenta voltar (...)»".

A mãe teve reuniões com vários professores. (...) «Robert vive num mundo construído por ele. Eu sei que ele é meu filho, mas por vezes tenho a sensação de que ele veio não de mim e do meu marido, mas de algum outro lugar para onde tenta voltar. (...)»