Surviving is the strongest memory I have; the sense of having walked on water.
Tim WintonWherever I went I felt like the last person awake in a room full of sleepers
Tim WintonWe rise to a challenge and set a course. We take a decision. You put your mind to something. Just deciding to do it gets you halfway there. Daring to try.
Tim WintonI still judge every joyous moment, every victory and revelation against those few seconds of living
Everyone will tell you your goal is impossible, pointless, stupid, wasteful. So you hang tough. You back yourslef and only yourself.
Tim WintonWill you look at us by the river! The whole restless mob of us on spread blankets in the dreamy briny sunshine skylarking and chiacking about for one day, one clear, clean, sweet day in a good world in the midst of our living. Yachts run before an unfelt gust with bagnecked pelicans riding above them, the city their twitching backdrop, all blocks and points of mirror light down to the water's edge.
Tim WintonTags: slants-of-light cites-spaces-places
And you can't help but worry for them, love them, want for them - those who go on down the close, foetid galleries of time ad space without you.
Tim WintonTags: profound
And you can't help but worry for them, love them, want for them - those who go on down the close, foetid galleries of time and space without you.
Tim WintonShit, he said as a great, green glut of water poured up at our feet. I wonder what the ordinary people are doin today.
Tim WintonSummer came whirling out of the night and stuck fast. One morning late in November everybody got up at Cloudstreet and saw the white heat washing in through the windows. The wild oats and buffalo grass were brown and crisp. The sky was the color of kerosene. The air was thin and volatile. Smoke rolled along the tracks as men began to burn off on the embankment. Birds cut singing down to a few necessary phrases, and beneath them in the streets, the tar began to bubble. The city was full of Yank soldiers; the trams were crammed to standing with them. The river sucked up the sky and went flat and glittery right down the middle of the place and people went to it in boats and britches and barebacked. Where the river met the sea, the beaches ran north and south, white and broad as highways in a dream, and men and babies stood in the surf while gulls hung in the haze above, casting shadows on the immodest backs of the oilslicked women.
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