The Grass is Singing (Doris Lessing)
For even day-dreams need an element of hope to give satisfaction to the dreamer.
John Steinbeck - Of Mice and Men
"You ain't worth a greased lack pin to ram you into hell."
The Corrections (Jonathan Franzen)
"And when the event, the big change in your life, is simply an insight - isn't that a strange thing? That absolutely nothing changes except that you see things differently and you're less fearful and less anxious and generally stronger as a result: isn't it amazing that a completely invisible thing in your head can feel realer than anything you've experienced before? You see things more clearly and you know that you're seeing them more clearly. And it comes to you that this is what it means to love life, this is all anybody who talks seriously about God is ever talking about."
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It was a beautiful thing. The relief of irresponsibility. The less he knew, the happier he was. To know nothing at all would be heaven.
Invisible Cities (Italo Calvino)
With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear. Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.
Morality for Beautiful Girls (Alexander McCall Smith)
Doubt could be preferable to sure knowledge if the difference between the two was a large sum of money.
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"There are a lot of things that make you what you are ... But the most important thing is your mother's womb."
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"An inside servant sees everything. A maid sees into the bed of the husband and wife, does she not? A cook sees into their stomachs. Servants are always there, watching, watching. They will talk to another servant. Servants know everything."
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We do need somebody else in this life ... we need a person whom we can make our little god on this earth... Whether it was a spouse, or a child, or a parent, or anybody else for that matter, there must be somebody who gives our lives purpose.
November (Gustave Flaubert)
Everything in nature is good: trees grow, rivers flow, birds sing, stars shine; but man in his torment twists and turns, rushes around, cuts down forests, overturns the earth, launches out to sea, travels, runs, kills animals, kills himself, perhaps, and weeps, and roars, and thinks about hell, as if God had given him a mind to conceive even more evils than those he endures!
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Oh, to travel, to travel, never stopping, and, in this immense waltz, to see everything appearing and vanishing away ...