All Quotes By Tag: Novel

“Qu’est-ce que le roman, en effet, sinon cet univers où l’action trouve sa forme, où les mots de la fin sont prononcés, les êtres livrés aux êtres, où toute vie prend le visage du destin. Le monde romanesque n’est que la correction de ce monde-ci, suivant le désir profond de l’homme. Car il s’agit bien du même monde. La souffrance est la même, le mensonge et l’amour. Les héros ont notre langage, nos faiblesses, nos forces. Leur univers n’est ni plus beau ni plus édifiant que le nôtre. Mais eux, du moins, courent jusqu’au bout de leur destin, et il n’est même jamais de si bouleversants héros que ceux qui vont jusqu’à l’extrémité de leur passion.[…] Voici donc un monde imaginaire, mais créé par la correction de celui-ci, un monde où la douleur peut, si elle le veut, durer jusqu’à la mort, où les passions ne sont jamais distraites, où les êtres sont livrés à l’idée fixe et toujours présents les uns aux autres. L’homme s’y donne enfin à lui-même la forme et la limite apaisante qu’il poursuit en vain dans sa condition. Le roman fabrique du destin sur mesure. C’est ainsi qu’il concurrence la création et qu’il triomphe, provisoirement, de la mort.”

“الشعر لم يكتب من أجل تحليله ودراسته ، بل من أجل أن يبعث الإلهام في النفوس دون سبب واضح ، و أن يلمس الوجدان دون فهم واع”

“When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in the particular moment, but that the same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is “So it goes.”

“ليس هناك شيء يمكنك قوله لتجعل شخصًا ما يتوقف عن الشعور بالألم . ففي نصف المرات ، أشعر وحسب أنني يجب أن أخبرهم الحقيقة . وأن أقول : سوف تشعرون لمدة ثلاثة أشهر بشكل أسوأ مما شعرتم به في حياتكم ، وسوف تكافحون قدر استطاعتكم ، وبعد سنة أشهر لا يكون الألم بذلك السوء ، ولكنه لا يزال يؤلم أكثر مما تظنون ، حتى بعد سنوات ، ستبقون تجدون أنفسكم تفكرون بالشخص الذي فقدتموه ، وتحزنون بشأن ذلك ، وستبقون تفتقدونه طوال الوقت”

“WEST SALEM ~ October 2011A sudden vision, fraught with malevolence and darkness, obscured her sight. The face of a menacing figure turned from the shadows of his grisly handiwork and stared at Sorcha.Her muscles tensed. By the Goddess, could he see her?Please! No!She wanted to scream, to run, but the vision ensnared her into the horrific moment like a fly in a spider’s web.”

“Surround yourself with what matters.”

“We weren’t happy together but we lived in a state of easy, mild contentment. We shared everything except the stupid fucking secret hanging round your neck. I imagined tiny photographs: portraits in sepia of your parents, their faces partially obscured by goitres. Meanwhile, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, maybe not even in a decade from now but one day: the planet would fall apart.”

“Apa kamu tidak bisa menerima takdir kalau kita akan selalu pergi bersama?”

“Misunderstanding and distrust—the predominant elements of a novel. Without them, everyone lives happily from beginning.”

“As we stood there, chest high in water, I felt like I was in the middle of my own romance novel.”

“People snare when I tell them that I’m an emotional prostitute. But after my rebuttal, they begin to realize that they are one too. Like me, they have pimped their emotions for the affections of another. Like me, they’ve gone through life tormented by the idea of living a happily ever after, not realizing that the ever after isn’t so happy.”

“Matt was almost completely naked. A tattered loincloth and an ugly chain with a yellow diamond were his only apparel.”

“Above his head at street level, he saw an angled aileron of a scarlet Porsche, its jaunty fin more or less at the upper edge of his window frame. A pair of very soft, clean glistening black shoes appeared, followed by impeccably creased matt charcoal pinstriped light woollen legs, followed by the beautifully cut lower hem of a jacket, its black vent revealing a scarlet silk lining, its open front revealing a flat muscular stomach under a finely-striped red and white shirt. Val’s legs followed, in powder-blue stockings and saxe-blue shoes, under the limp hem of a crêpey mustard-coloured dress, printed with blue moony flowers. The four feet advanced and retreated, retreated and advanced, the male feet insisting towards the basement stairs, the female feet resisting, parrying. Roland opened the door and went into the area, fired mostly by what always got him, pure curiosity as to what the top half looked like.”

“Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination. ”

“أن المعتقد لا يندثر ، وأن بدا كذلك ، ولكنه يظهر بشكل مغاير ، عما ألفه المعادون له”