Quotes from John Fante

Ranije je koristila neku ?aroliju zvanu Paprat u sutonu. Bilo je kao udisanje Šopena i Edne Milej, i kad bi se taj miomiris širio s njene kose i ramena, znao sam da je zastava podignuta i da želi da bude osvojena.

A man could bear up under any temporary crisis if he had faith in the future.

Ama o ölüyor." "Kim ölmüyor ki?

They were pals, he and God, and God was a good sport.

Ä°ÄŸrenç hayvand?r mart?," dedim. "Ne bulsa yer, leÅŸ yiyicidir.

La sensación de estar cometiendo un pecado estaba bien para pasar un rato, pero al final resultaba agotador.

Fu come se avesse appoggiato le labbra su un pezzo di arrosto freddo

Eccola chiesa di Nostra Signora, un edificio antico, con l'adobe annerito dal tempo. Decido di entrarci. Per ragioni sentimentali, non per altro. Non ho mai letto Lenin, ma l'ho sentito citare: la religione è l'oppio dei popoli. Quanto a me, sono ateo: ho letto L' Anticristo e la considero un'opera fondamentale. Credo nel cambiamento dei valori, Signore. La Chiesa deve sparire; è il ricettacolo degli stolti, delle canaglie e delle mezze cartucce.

I sat smiling wretchedly, my heart weeping for The Little Dog Laughed, for every well-turned phrase, for the little flecks of poetry through it, my first story, the best thing I could show for my whole life. It was the record of all that was good in me, approved and printed by the great J. C. Hackmuth, and she had torn it up and thrown it into a spittoon.

I figli erano i chiodi che lo tenevano crocefisso a mia madre.

Nella chiara mattina domenicale camminavo lungo Olive Street. La città sembrava deserta, la strada era tranquilla. Mi fermai ad ascoltare. Sentivo qualcosa. Era il suono della felicità. Era il mio cuore che batteva dolcemente, ritmicamente. Un orologio, ecco cosa era, un piccolo congegno della felicità.

Mi sedetti alla macchina da scrivere e dentro di me si fece il vuoto, un vuoto terribile.

that office was my manuscript The Long Lost Hills. Love wasn't everything. Women weren't everything. A writer had to conserve his energies.

i santi possono essere anche le persone più strane nei posti più del cavolo (321).

All at once the self pity drained from me. There was life still, there was a typewriter and paper and eyes to see them, and thoughts to keep them alive.

I would stare at that strange picture, kissing it and crying over it, happy because once it had been true.

Why was I here? What now? Who did I know? Not even myself.

I went to the library and found again the books that had changed my life: Sherwood Anderson, Jack London, Knut Hamsun, Dostoevsky, D'Annunzio, Pirandello, Flaubert, de Maupassant. The welcome they gave me was much warmer than the cold curiosity of old friends I met in the town.

I had thought of many things since knowing her, but never her death. For all her years, she nourished a love in me. Now it was gone. Now that she was dead I could think of her no longer. I had sobbed and whimpered and wept until it was all gone, all of it, and as always I found myself alone in the world.

I let go, crying and unable to stop, because God was such a dirty crook, such a contemptible skunk; that's what he was for doing that thing to that woman. Come down out of the skies, you God, come on down and I'll hammer your face all over the city of Los Angeles, you miserable unpardonable prankster. If it wasn't for you, this woman wouldn't be so maimed, and neither would the world.

Toda la noche nos la pasamos llorando y bebiendo, y pude decirte borracho las cosas que me bullían del corazón, palabras impresionantes, símiles ingeniosos, porque llorabas por otro tipo y no oías nada de lo que te decía, pero yo me oía a mí mismo, y Arturo Bandini estuvo genial aquella noche, porque hablaba con su amor de verdad.

One night I was sitting on the bed in my hotel room on Bunker Hill, down in the middle of Los Angeles. It was an important night in my life, because I had to make a decision about the hotel. Either I paid up or I got out: that was what the note said, the note the landlady had put under my door. A great problem, deserving acute attention. I solved it by turning out the lights and going to bed.

Almighty God, I am sorry I am now an atheist, but have You read Nietzsche?

You are nobody, and I might have been somebody, and the road to each of us is love.