Quotes About Author

Metaphysics is a dark ocean without shores or a lighthouse

Chi di voi vorrà fare il giornalista, si ricordi di scegliere il proprio padrone: il lettore.

Urlò anche il pubblico, d'un entusiasmo non sappiamo quanto sincero, evocando alla ribalta l'autore, che non si presentò. Si chiamava Ugo Foscolo, e aveva diciannove anni.

A novel should be like a street full of strangers, where no more than two or three people are known to us in depth. Look at writers like Proust. They knew how to use minor characters to humiliate, to belittle their protagonists.

A newspaper, a kind of radio. Freedom, the Germans secretly paying him a subsidy.

Ugliness didn't have a zip code. Crime happened everywhere.

I feel half faded away like some figure in the background of an old picture.

It was a piece of thoroughly picturesque and proper violence. I like a violent man, really, a man who's a bit of a brute in a decent straightforward way.

I might say too that you are the person who ought to help me, since you do bear some responsibility for having awakened in me such an immense, such a truly monstrous degree of love.

Then the front doorbell (already too long delayed by my rambling narrative) rang.

The room, the wall, trembled with precision, as if the inanimate world were about to utter a word.

Writing is like getting married. One should never commit oneself until one is amazed at one's luck.

Lovely country, isn't it. Do you know this part of the world? No. He said, suddenly stretching out his hands, Oh, the sea, the sea—it's so wonderful.

Clement held her hand for a moment; knowing that after that moment the darkness would begin.

We must live by the light of our own self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason.

I have never lived in Ireland, though I retain a sentimental sense of connexion with that poor bitch of a country.

You understand nothing of—the horror—no wonder you can't write real books—you don't see—the horror—

Gwen went up to Cambridge and read Moral Sciences and started on a Ph.D. thesis on Frege.

Po?i auzi marea? - ?sta era citatul favorit din Shakespeare, a lui Keats.

What a bore for you," I said, and I smiled to myself. Nothing is more maddening than being questioned by the object of one's interest about the object of hers, should that object not be you.

He had trimmed his moustache into a Hitlerian toothbrush.

She said she sometimes worked as an usherette in the cinema, and she had seemed to him like a nymph of the cinema age, a sybil of the cavern of illusory love.

The television had been banished with its false sadnesses and its images of war. Perhaps he had nodded off over his book.

Philosophy is often a matter of finding occasions on which to say the obvious