As it is I'm a dated novelist, whom hardly anybody reads, or if they do, most of them don't understand what I am on about. Certainly I wish I had never written Voss, which is going to be everybody's albatross.
Patrick WhiteTags: literature novels novelists voss-novel
Superficially my war was a comfortable exercise in futility carried out in a grand Scottish hotel amongst the bridge players and swillers of easy-come-by whisky. My chest got me out of active service and into guilt, as I wrote two, or is it three of the novels for which I am now acclaimed.
Patrick WhiteTags: war futility world-war-ii novels hotels comfort whisky
I would like to believe in the myth that we grow wiser with age. In a sense my disbelief is wisdom. Those of a middle generation, if charitable or sentimental, subscribe to the wisdom myth, while the callous see us as dispensable objects, like broken furniture or dead flowers. For the young we scarcely exist unless we are unavoidable members of the same family, farting, slobbering, perpetually mislaying teeth and bifocals.
Patrick WhiteTags: wisdom youth old-age myths disbelief farting false-teeth senility
His legend will be written down, eventually, by those who are troubled by it.
Patrick WhiteTags: history legends legacies
I am compelled into this country.
Patrick WhiteIt was Sunday, and Mumma had gone next door with Lena and the little ones. Under the pepper tree in the yard Pa was sorting, counting, the empty bottles he would sell back: the bottles going clink clink as Pa stuck them in the sack. The fowls were fluffing in the dust and sun: that crook-neck white pullet Mumma said she would hit on the head if only she had the courage to; but she hadn't.
Patrick WhiteTags: children trees mothers fathers recycling sundays bottles fowls
He himself, he realized, had always been most abominably frightened, even at the height of his divine power, a frail god upon a rickety throne, afraid of opening letters, of making decisions, afraid of the instinctive knowledge in the eyes of mules, of the innocent eyes of good men, of the elastic nature of the passions, even of the devotion he had received from some men, and one woman, and dogs.
Patrick WhiteTags: fear innocence passion dogs decisions devotion gods
The map? I will first make it.
Patrick WhiteTags: ambition travel arrogance maps exploration australia
They walked on rather aimlessly. He hoped she wouldn't notice he was touched, because he wouldn't have known how to explain why. Here lay the great discrepancy between aesthetic truth and sleazy reality.
Patrick WhiteTags: truth reality walking aesthetics
At times his arrogance did resolve itself into simplicity, though it was difficult, especially for strangers, to distinguish these occasions.
Patrick WhiteTags: arrogance simplicity
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