Bokelskere.no

Two days ago, in the afternoon, Amanda said to me, "I can't read books anymore. Who has the time?" It was the day after Oliver had left, and we were in this little cafe in the industrial part of the city. "Who can concentrate anymore?" she said, stirring her coffee. "Who reads? Do you read?" (I shook my head.) "Somebody must read, I guess. You see all these books around in store windows, and there are those clubs. Somebody's reading," she said. "Who? I don't know anybody who reads."

She said if this weather didn't improve she was going to kill herself.

She was afraid, and her teeth began to chatter until she tightened her jaws. She saw a big car stop in front of the hospital and someone, a woman in a long coat, get into the car. She wished she were that woman and somebody, anybody, was driving her away to somewhere else, a place where she would find Scotty waiting for her when she stepped out of the car, ready to say Mom and let her gather him in her arms.

Mannen med ljåen tar ikke hensyn verken til hudfarge eller religion, han sjekker ikke CV eller bankkonti og lar seg ikke bestikke.

Dette hadde jeg aldri tenkt. At jeg skulle synge kristelige sanger for mamma. At jeg skulle bli så modig noen gang. Og jeg ber om at Gud må finnes! Om ikke for meg så for henne. For at hun en gang kan få et glimt av noe av det vakre hun må ha drømt om, men aldri fikk oppleve.

"When Harold's grandpa was sixteen years old, he set out to read the encyclopedia from A to Z. He did it, too. He finished when he was twenty. Just before he met my mama."
"Where's he now?" I asked. "What's he do?" I wanted to know what had become of a man who`d set himself a goal like that.
"He's dead."

When I first read this it came to me with the force of revelation. This is what I wanted to do with my own stories: line up the right words, the precise images, as well as the exact and correct punctuation so that the reader got pulled in and involved in the story and wouldn't be able to turn away his eyes from the text unless the house caught fire.

I løpet av lunsjpausen har han mistet all aggresjon, glød og målbevissthet - alt det som gjorde at han i sin tid avanserte til direktør for kundeservice.

Det var av frykt han tok Gud til seg. Et uredd menneske lar seg ikke frelse. Gutten tror a Gud vil sende en skytsengel som skal gjøre alt det ubehagelige for ham og ta ansvaret.

Når du står for den du er, skaper du den best mulige plattformen for å få det livet du ønsker deg, slik at du kan gi noe tilbake til verden med overbevisning og stille autoritet. Det er så mye støy i verden, den trenger din ettertenksomhet og ro.

Well, I'm 34 now. If I don't make it by the time I'm 60, I'm just going to give myself 10 more years.

Ingen troende har med større kraft en Dostojevskij gått til angrep på Gud og Kristus, slik knapt noen har brakt like vektige argumenter mot sin egen overbevisning.

Vi møter så vel Kristus som Satan i Dostojevskijs univers, både under eget og andres navn. Selv om Dostojevskij var en meget religiøs person og nærmest fikk anfall om noen gjorde narr av Kristus, er det knapt noen av hans figurer som går i kirken. De fører lange teologiske samtaler, men de foregår gjerne i drikkebuler, og den prostituerte Sonja i Forbrytelse og straff leser høyt fra evangeliet for morderen Raskolnikov, for øvrig noe uhørt i samtiden: Evangeliet skulle ikke leses av kvinner - og slett ikke av en hore.

"Another thing you'll find is that the years of illusion aren´t those of adolescence, as the grown-ups try to tell us; they`re the ones immediately after it, say the middle twenties, the false maturity if you like, when you first get thoroughly embroiled in thing and lose your head."

Great artists have a lot of woman, so if he can have a lot of women that makes him a great artist, never mind what his pictures looks like.

He pretended to himself that he`d pick up his professor around the waist, squeeze the furry grey-blue waistcoat against him to expel the breath, run heavily with him up the steps, along the corridor to the Staff Cloakroom, and plunge the too-small feet in their capless shoes into a lavatory basin, pulling the plug once, twice, and again, stuffing the mouth with toilet paper

Jeg har fortalt historia om tanna til mange. Det eneste jeg aldri har sagt noe om er hvorfor hun slo; det er så lett å misforstå. Heldigvis insisterte hun på at vi skulle dra til legen. Han sydde litt og sendte oss videre til tannlegen. Jeg kjørte selv, hun var bare 17. Tannlegen satte bedøvelse, trakk ut røttene på tanna og ga meg et brett med smertestillende.
Først etter sju uker kunne jeg kysse henne.

"Veit du hva Graver`n gjør med folk han ikke tåler trynet på?" hvisker Gard.
Rokk rister på huet.
"Han snur kista."
"Å?"
"Sånn at dem graver seg nedover viss dem ikke er helt kalde likavæl."
"Kødd ell?"
"Har visst sagt det sjøl, mulig han kødder."