He did not believe he was unique or that he had some sort of destiny. In his own heart he felt all such ideas were a complete nonsense, and that death could find him at any moment, as it was now findi...
He believed books had an aura that protected him, that without one beside him he would die. He happily slept without women. He never slept without a book.
Duty to his wife. Duty to his children. Duty to work, to committees, to charities. Duty to Lynette. Duty to the other women. It was exhausting. It demanded stamina. At times he amazed even himself.
But sometimes [love] was just there: ... he was ... shocked to know he had been lucky to live and know it, to love and be loved.
As he made his way, he ploughed his bare feet through the mud as a child, head bowed as a child, interested as a child neither in where he was going nor in what might happen next but only in the furro...
Amy, amante, amour, he whispered, as if the words themselves were smuts of ash rising and falling, as though the candle were the story of his life and she the flame. He lay down in his haphazard cot....
To judge us all through the machine of the Commandant's monstrous fictions! As though they were the truth! As though history & the written word were friends, rather than adversaries!
الحرب كائنات بشرية. الحرب هي ما نمثله نحن. الحرب هي ما نفعله
Գաղութապետն ուզում էր ասել, որ ինքը վերջապես գիտի այն հարցի պատասխանը, որը վաղուց տանջում էր իրեն: Իշանությանը ձգտելը, եզրակացրեց նա իր մտքի պարզության վերջին պահին, սիրո բացակայության և, որն ավելի վա...
Ասում են, թե լավ պատմողը նա է, ով պատվածքի բոցին թույլ է տալիս խժռել իր կյանքի պատրույգը։
They together staggered through those days that built like a scream that never ended, a wet, green shriek Dorrigo Evans found perversely amplified by the quinine deafness, the malarial haze that meant...
Watching his brother, Dorrigo Evans had wondered what it was that would make a grown man cry. Later, crying became simply affirmation of feeling, and feeling the only compass in life. Feeling became f...
Things bled. They bled and bled and would not stop bleeding. There would be no dramatic end, she realised, only a slow withering […] bleeding and more bleeding.
They were men like other young men, unknown to themselves. So much that lay within them they were now travelling to meet.
Szczęśliwy człowiek nie ma przeszłości, a nieszczęśliwy nie ma nic poza nią
Stories as written are progressive, sentence must build upon sentence as brick upon brick, yet the beauty of this life in its endless mystery is circular. Sun & moon, spheres endlessly circling. Black...
One man’s feeling is not always equal to all that life is. Sometimes it’s not equal to anything much at all.
No one makes love like they make a wall or a house. They catch it like a cold. It makes them miserable and then it passes, and pretending otherwise is the road to hell.
For the rest of his life he would yield to circumstance and expectation, coming to call these strange weights duty.
Darky Gardiner loathed Tiny, thought him a fool and would do anything to keep him alive. Because courage, survival, love--all these things didn't live in one man. They lived in them all or they died a...