2015
Ingen favoritt
Ingen omtale
Finner du ikke ditt favorittbibliotek på lista? Send oss e-post til admin@bokelskere.no med navn på biblioteket og fylket det ligger i. Kanskje vi kan legge det til!
har lest boka i paperback. har forfatteren lest Knausgård og blitt inspirert? Ble litt for detaljert etter min smak, vet ikke om de to andre i serien blir lest.
Ingen diskusjoner ennå.
Start en diskusjon om verket Se alle diskusjoner om verket"Although she was fragile in appearance, every prohibition lost substance in her presence."
"The beauty of mind that Cerullo had from childhood didn't find an outlet, Greco, and it has all ended up in her face, in her breasts, in her thighs, in her ass, placees where it soon fades and it will be as if she never had it."
"there are no gestures, words, or sighs that do not contain the sum of all the crimes that human beings have committed and commit."
"Not too long before - ten days, a month, who can say, we knew nothing about time, in those days [...] Adults, waiting for tomorrow, move in a present behind which is yesterday or the day before yesterday or at most last week: they don't want to think about the rest. Children don't know the meaning of yesterday, of the day before yesterday, or even of tomorrow, everything is this, now"
"I did many things in my life without conviction; I always felt slightly detached from my own actions"
"I had never seen her naked, I was embarassed. Today I can say that it was the embarrasment of gazing with pleasure at her body, of being the not impartial witness of her sixteen-year-old's beauty a few hours before Stefano touched her, penetrated her, disfigured her, perhaps, by making her pregnant. At the time it was just a tumultous sensation of necessary awkwardness, a state in which you cannot avert the gaze or take away the hand without recognizing your own turmoil, without, by that retreat, declaring it, hence without coming into conflict with the indisturbed innocence of the one who is the cause of the turmoil, without expressing by that rejection the violent emotion that overwhelms you, so that it forces you to stay, to rest your gaze on the childish shoulders, on the breasts and stiffly cold nipples, on the narrow hips and the tense buttocks, on the black sex, on the long legs, on the tender knees, on the curved ankles, on the elegant feet; and to act as if it's nothing, when instead everything is there, present, in the poor dim room, amid the worn furniture, on the uneven, water-stained floor, and your heart is agitated, your veins inflamed."
"At that point I knew what the plebs were, much more clearly than when, years earlier, she had asked me. The plebs were us. The plebs were that fight for food and wine, that quarrel over who should be served first and better, that dirty floor on th which the waiters clattered back and forth, those increasingly vulgar toasts. The plebs were my mother, who had drunk wine and now was leaning against my father's shoulder, while he, serious, laughed, his mouth gaping, at the sexual allusions of the metal dealer. They were all laughing, even Lila, with the expression of one who has a role and wll play it by the outmost."
"Nino has something that's eating him inside, like Lila, and it's a gift and a suffering; they aren't content, they never give in, they fear what is happening around them; this man, no, he appears to love every manifestation of life, as if every lived seond had an absolute clarity."
"It was - she told me - as if, on the night of a full moon over the sea, the intense black mass of a storm advanced across the sky, swallowing every light, eroding the circumference of the moon's circle, and disfiguring the shining disk, reducing it to its true nature of rough insensate material.
[...]There, amid the violent explosions, in the cold, in the smoke that burned the nostrils and the strong odor of sulfur, something violated the organic structure of her brother, exercising over him a pressure so strong that it broke down his outlines, and the matter expanded like a magma, showing her what he was truly made of. Every second of that night of celebration horrified her, she had the impression that, as Rino moved, as he expanded around himself, every margin collapsed and her own margins, too, became softer and more yielding."
"When there is no love, not only the life of the people becomes sterile but the life of cities."
Såkalte "over rated" bøker
= Bøker som;
- er mye omtalt og rost
- jeg forventet mer av basert på forfatterens tidligere verk
- har coveret fullstappet av lovord uten å leve opp til dem