Tuesday, February 02, 2016

Monday, December 14, 2015

Patricia Highsmith, The Glass Cell

‘Wrong was right and right was wrong, and everything was made of paper: sentences, pardons, pleas, bad records, demerits, proof of guilt, but never, it seemed, proof of innocence. If there were no paper, Carter felt, the entire judicial system would collapse and disappear.'

Monday, December 07, 2015

Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway

'For this is the truth about our soul, he thought, our self, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-winkled waves; that is, has a positive need to brush, scrape, kindle herself, gossiping.'

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Jamie Quatro, I Want to Show You More

Lydia Davis, Can't and Won't

'This morning, the bowl of hot cooked cornmeal, set under a transparent plate and left there, has covered the underside of the plate with droplets of condensation: it, too, is taking action in its own little way.'

Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time. Vol 1: The Way by Swann's

‘But, when nothing subsists of an old past, after the death of people, after the destruction of things, alone, frailer but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, smell and taste still remain for a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, on the ruin of all the rest, bearing without giving way, on their almost impalpable droplet, the immense edifice of memory.'

Kei Miller, The Cartographer Tries to Map a Way to Zion

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Edward St Aubyn, At Last

‘Metaphor is the whole problem, the solvent of nightmares. At the molten heart of things everything resembles everything else: that’s the horror.'

Monday, June 08, 2015

Thomas Docherty, Universities at War

‘Anyone who predicts outcomes cannot, ethically, be a teacher at all.’

Edward St Aubyn, Mother's Milk

‘Nobody ever died of a feeling, he would say to himself, not believing a word of it, as he sweated his way though the feeling that he was dying of fear. People died of feelings all the time, once they had one through the formality of materialising them into bullets and bottles and tumours.'

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Marion Coutts, The Iceberg

'Intimacy is not simple. It is made.'

Edward St Aubyn, Some Hope

'Only when he could hold in balance his hatred and his stunted love, looking on his father with neither pity nor terror but as another human being who had not handled his personality especially well; only when he could live with the ambivalence of never forgiving his father for his crimes but allowing himself to be touched by the unhappiness that had produced them as well as the unhappiness they had produced, could he be released, perhaps, into a new life that would enable him to live instead of merely surviving. He might even enjoy himself.'

Edward St Aubyn, Bad news

'Patrick looked down the avenue. It was like the opening shot of a documentary on overpopulation. He walked down the street, imaging the severed heads of passers-by rolling into the gutter in his wake.'