Quotes from Patricia Highsmith

He resented the fact that she wasn't and never could be what he wished her to be, a girl who loved him passionately […] A girl like herself, with her face, her ambitions, but a girl who adored him.

The wine in her head promised music or poetry or truth, but she was stranded on the brink. Therese could not think of a single question that would be proper to ask, because all her questions were so enormous

Perhaps it was a statement after all: I don't want to die without knowing you. Do you feel the same way, Carol? She could have said the last question, but she could not have said all that went before it.

I had depressing thoughts that the theme, even though I had thought of it, was better than I was as a writer. Henry James or Thomas Mann could easily write it, but not I. 'I'm thinking of writing it from the point of view of someone at the hotel who observes her,' I said, but this did not fill me with much hope. Then my friend, who is not a writer, suggested I try it from the omniscient author's point of view.

You know, you look very fine, Carol said. You've come out all of the sudden. Is that what comes of getting away from me? No, Therese said quickly. She frowned down at the tea she didn't want. Carol's phrase come out had made her think of being born, and it embarrassed her. Yes, she had been born since she left Carol. She had been born the instant she saw the picture in the library, and her stifled cry then was like the first yell of an infant, being dragged into the world against its will.

I am the forever-seeking.

Her insan cinayet iÅŸleyebilir. Durumlara baÄŸl?, yap?yla hiç ilgisi yok. KiÅŸi s?n?ra kadar gelir bazen-barda?? ta??ran damlada, tamam. Kim olursa olsun. Ninen bile iÅŸler. Bilmez miyim?

Polisiye romanlar iyidir. Her çeÅŸit insan?n cinayet iÅŸleyebileceÄŸini kan?tlarlar.

Sintió que el sí quedaba absorbido por la oscuridad, no como las demás noches, en que el sí había sido mudo, sin ni siquiera salir de él mismo. El sí deshizo el nudo que tenía en la cabeza tan bruscamente que le hizo daño. Era lo que había estado esperando decir, lo que el silencio de la habitación y las bestias al otro lado de las paredes habían estado esperando oír.

You're about as weak as a match. Carol held it burning for a moment after she lighted her cigarette. But given the right conditions, you could burn a house down, couldn't you?

She had the look of a mother or an older sister now—the old feminine disapproval of the destructive play of little boys and men.

Writing, of course, is a substitute for the life I cannot live, am unable to live.

Christopher sipped with pleasure at a single brandy, prolonging it. "I have serious doubts about the value of democracy. That's a terrible thing for an American to say, isn't it? Democracy depends on a certain minimal level of education for everybody, and America tries to give it to everybody—but we really haven't got it. And it isn't even true that everybody wants it. . . .

How was Frank ever going to achieve the big justification, which would take away all his guilt? He might never find a total justification, but he had to find an attitude. Every mistake in life, Tom thought, had to be met by an attitude, either the right attitude or the wrong one, a constructive attitude or self-destructive attitude.

Her arms were tight around Carol, and she was conscious of Carol and nothing else, of Carol's hand that slid along her ribs, Carol's hair that brushed her bare breasts, and then her body too seemed to vanish in widening circles that leaped further and further, beyond where thought could follow.

He hated going back to himself as he would have hated putting on a shabby suit of clothes, a grease-spotted, unpressed suit of clothes that had not been very good even when it was new.

What immense satisfaction it must be to fashion a story like [Maupassant's]! One must say 'fashion' because it is not merely writing, but massing and cutting away like a sculptor, chiseling lean and clear. And to put one's work confidently in the crucible of Time; to know that in six perfect pages is the finest form of one's idea: This satisfaction is the only true reward of the artist, and this his highest possible joy on Earth.

Era fácil decirlo. Era muy fácil creérselo todo. Pero también era muy fácil no creer en nada en absoluto.

Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh. She had a vision of a pale-white flower, shimmering as if seen in darkness, or through water.

Todavía sonreía, como si no acabara de aprender a sonreír y no supiera cómo parar.

Ser incapaz de amar puede convertirse en una enfermedad.

He loved possessions, not masses of them, but a select few that he did not part with. They gave a man self-respect. Not ostentation but quality, and the love that cherished the quality. Possessions reminded him that he existed, and made him enjoy his existence.

It would be almost like love, what she felt for Carol, except that Carol was a woman. It was not quite insanity, but it was certainly blissful.

You say you love me however I am and when I curse. I say I love you always, the person you are and the person you will become.