And who does not want their love authenticated?
What could be put up against the noise of time? Only that music which is inside ourselves - the music of our being - which is transformed by some into real music. Which, over the decades, if it is str...
آیا چیزی باورپذیرتر از عقربه ثانیه شما وجود داد؟ و باوجوداین، کوچکترین لذت یا دردی کافی است که انعطافپذیری زمان را بهمان بیاموزد.
Women scheme when they are weak, they lie out of fear. Men scheme when they are strong, they lie out of arrogance.
Whereas it seemed to me, back then, in the absolutism of my condition, that love had nothing to do with practicality; indeed, was its polar opposite. And the fact that it showed contempt for such bana...
Perhaps love is essential because it's unnecessary.
Our nights are different. She falls asleep like someone yielding to the gentle tug of a warm tide, and floats with confidence till morning. I fall asleep more grudgingly, thrashing at the waves, eithe...
Life always refused simplicity.
Is it splendid, or stupid, to take life seriously?
Cut privet still smells of sour apples, as it did when I was sixteen; but this is a rare, lingering exception. At that age, everything seemed more open to analogy, to metaphor, than it does now. There...
My brother distrusts the essential truth of memories; I distrust the way we colour them in. We each have our own cheap-mail-order paintbox, and our favourite hues. Thus, I remembered Grandma a few pag...
You can deal with the brain, as I say; it looks sensible, whereas the heart, the human heart, I'm afraid, looks a fucking mess.
What is the easiest, the most comfortable thing for a writer to do? To congratulate the society in which he lives: to admire its biceps, applaud its progress, tease it endearingly about its follies.
The final tormenting, unanswerable question: what is 'success' in mourning?
Life … is a bit like reading. … If all your responses to a book have already been duplicated and expanded upon by a professional critic, then what point is there to your reading? Only that it’s yours....
I thought of the things that had happened to me over the years, and of how little I had made happen.
But that was the nature of relationships: there always seemed to be an imbalance of one sort or another.
You realize that tough love is also tough on the lover.
Yes, of course we were pretentious -- what else is youth for?
Lethargic meliorist;