All Quotes By Tag: Novel

“Every novel which is truly written contributes to the total of knowledge which is there at the disposal of the next writer who comes, but the next writer must pay, always, a certain nominal percentage in experience to be able to understand and assimilate what is available as his birthright and what he must, in turn, take his departure from. If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing. A writer who appreciates the seriousness of writing so little that he is anxious to make people see he is formally educated, cultured or well-bred is merely a popinjay. And this too remember; a serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.”

“الحياة هي الفناء ، والفناء هي الحياة . عليه أن يعرف أنّ رغبة الحياة متآكلة ، أنّ مولّد المشاعر هو انهيار المشاعر ، أنّ استعمال القوة هو نهاية القوّة”

“ما أطول الطرق التي نسلكها دون معرفة المحطة التي سنتوقف فيها أو الغاية التي نرغب في بلوغها”

“الأحلام الميتة تواصل تعفّنها فينا ، وإفساد جونا كله”

“أن الحياة فيها المسرات و الأحزان ، ولم يكن الأمر يستحق الطاقة لينزعج المرء من الأحزان ، ليس لأنه لا مفر منها وحسب بل ولأنها تنقضي أيضًا”

“ماهي أكبر خسارة قد يتعرض لها إنسان ؟لا شكّ هي خسارة الوقت”

“إن التقاعد هو الوقت الذي ينبغي ملؤه بمشاريع”

“أن الحزن سوف يتضاءل في وقت ما ، حتى ولو لم يتلاشى تمامًا ، لكنه بعد فترة لن يكون شديدًا”

“إنك أنت من يصنع الوقت ، تغلق عينيك فتصير في الماضي ، تغلقها مرة أخرة فتستشرف المستقبل”

“Novelists when they write novels tend to take an almost godlike attitude toward their subject, pretending to a total comprehension of the story, a man’s life, which they can therefore recount as God Himself might, nothing standing between them and the naked truth, the entire story meaningful in every detail. I am as little able to do this as the novelist is, even though my story is more important to me than any novelist’s is to him – for this is my story; it is the story of a man, not of an invented, or possible, or idealized, or otherwise absent figure, but of a unique being of flesh and blood, Yet, what a real living human being is made of seems to be less understood today than at any time before, and men – each one of whom represents a unique and valuable experiment on the part of nature – are therefore shot wholesale nowadays. If we were not something more than unique human beings, if each one of us could really be done away with once and for all by a single bullet, storytelling would lose all purpose. But every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the world’s phenomena intersect, only once in this way and never again. That is why every man’s story is important, eternal, sacred; that is why every man, as long as he lives and fulfills the will of nature, is wondrous, and worthy of every consideration. In each individual the spirit has become flesh, in each man the creation suffers, within each one a redeemer is nailed to the cross.”

“A novel is an impression, not an argument; and there the matter must rest.”

“The novel cannot submit to authority.”

“A novel takes the courage of a marathon runner, and as long as you have to run, you might as well be a winning marathon runner. Serendipity and blind faith faith in yourself won’t hurt a thing. All the bastards in the world will snicker and sneer because they haven’t the talent to zip up their flies by themselves. To hell with them, particularly the critics. Stand in there, son, no matter how badly you are battered and hurt.”

“I write all these remarks with exactly the same feeling as if I were writing a letter to post into the distant past: I am so sure that everything we now take for granted is going to be utterly swept away in the next decade.(So why write novels? Indeed, why! I suppose we have to go on living as if …)”

“He had a book to finish. Ten-thousand words. The other ninety thousand had been difficult. This last tenth seemed impossible. His plot had become derailed. He was unable to see his way through the smoke and coke dust of a mythical railway track that should stretch ahead. Yes, the characters were there, good and solid. Indeed, the story’s engine was strong and had shunted yet forward and forward, with only one or two sharp halts. But six weeks ago he met the bumpers. R. was now stuck in a deserted station, his progress blocked. (“Out Back”)”