Klikk på en bok for å legge inn et sitat.
Tiden har gått forbi meg, helt stile, uten at jeg visste det, listet seg gjennom rommet mens jeg sov.
Å nøle er den mest menneskelige bevegelsen.
Det var så vanskelig å finne de riktige ordene. De riktige ordene fantes ikke. De stod ikke i manus.
Bedrøvelsen er den sinnsstemningen som oppstår når man har vridd raseriet ut av skuffelsen.
Livet er den tiden det tar å dø.
Så vaklevoren er den borgerlige familien at den går i oppløsning bare noen trekker fra gardinene.
Et hvert opprør handler om savn, om noe som mangler, og det er det tomrommet opprøret skal fylle.
Det er bare i fiksjonen man kan være sikker i sin sak, virkeligheten er langt mer lunefull.
Skjønner du at det vonde også kan være vakkert?
[...] det jeg kaller å være optimistisk i gjerningsøyeblikket.
Lykken har de lagt bak seg, den kommer kun som blaff, en forbigående tilstand.
Det er alltid noe å skjule. Det er skader fra privatlivets fred.
She had everything she wanted; all she had to do was convince herself that she wanted very little.
For the arrogance and the futility of remaining alive, the ridiculousness of it, the stench of it, the unreasonableness of it.
Why does the mention of love, the memory of love, the memory of love lost, the promise of love, the end of love, the absence of love, the burning, burning need for love, need to love, result in so much violence?
The beginning and the end, the anticipation and despair, that's where the story lies, but the state of being in love, and in particular of being young and in love, is like listening to someone describe their parachute jump or their bizarre dream, the blurred photograph of a life-changing preformance, taken from too far away.
I could only hate him like that because I'd once loved him to the same degree.
I was sixteen years old; people wrote anthems about this time of life, and wasn't I entitled to joy and fun and irresponsibility, rather than fear and fury and boredom?
I'd made a religion of the past, resorting to it like alcohol.
The notion that these had been the best years of our lives suddenly seemed both plausible and tragic and I wished that school had always been like this, our arms around each other, filled with a kind of hooligan love