Quotes About Grossman

We didn't train giving verbal commands, so they weren't available to us during high stress situations.

That night, on a narrow bed in a rented room in a strange city, a dream was dreamed.

I have no doubt there are magician psychopaths, and magician serial killers. I doubt Brakebills admissions is very good at screening for those.

The Orphic Machine is the poem: A severed head with face turned away that sings.

I took a 19th-century Russian novel class in college and have been smitten with Russian literature ever since. Writers like Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Grossman, and Solzhenitsyn tackle the great questions of morality, politics, love, and death.

I've read plenty of J.G. Ballard, but I'm not really a Ballardian. I've met Ballardians, and I know when I can't compete. I like Ballard in his relatively unchallenging apocalyptic mode: 'Vermilion Sands,' 'The Drowned World,' 'The Burning World,' 'The Crystal World.'

Grossman, perhaps tiring slightly of journalism, seems to have longed to convey his thoughts and feelings about the war in fictional form. At this stage, when the Soviet Union was fighting for its life, his ideas were very close to that of the Party line. It was only at Stalingrad, a year later, that his view of the Stalinist regime began to change. This outline, may well have formed part of the idea for The People Immortal, his novel written and published the following year...

the world of the human soul suddenly seemed so vast as to make even the raging war seen insignificant.

HSN is uniquely positioned to present the seamless connection between media and commerce.

One of the greatest Soviet writers was Vasily Grossman. He was born in 1905 in Berdychiv, then one of the main centers of Jewish life in Ukraine, and died in Moscow in 1964. Grossman is rightly best known for Life and Fate, his extraordinary novel of Stalingrad. Far less well known is Everything Flows, a book on which he was still working when he died.

All of human literature could just be a user's guide to the multiverse!

She strode the earth clad in the invisible armor of their virtual companionship.

The librarian thought the problem was just that the right books weren't breeding with each other and proposed a forced mating program.

Wait a minute," Quentin said. "Who or what is the Thames dragon?" "The Thames dragon," Eliot said. "You know. The dragon who lives in the Thames.

And totaly ordinary speaking horses.

The Deeper Magic always seemed to come up when Ember didn't feel like doing something, or needed to close a plot hole.

Not even that, it was sub-quixotic. My kingdom for a windmill to tilt at.

The flaming ruins of a five-alarm sunset smoldered in the window behind her, which was currently pointing west. "It

by which I mean he ran his ship into it." Quentin wondered if there was a joke to be made about "founder" and "founder." If there was it had probably already made the rounds of the Outer Island.

Time, that dull mechanism that usually reliably stamped out one second after another, like parts on a conveyor belt, erupted into a glorious melody.

The sidewalk wasn't quite wide enough, so Quentin trailed after them, like a sulky child.

I hope," she said, "that you don't think you're going to keep me here with bacon." "Not

I don't think that brutality and idealism are mutually exclusive. It's a common denominator in my work - rabid idealism.