Between skin and skin, there is only light.
John FowlesAfficher la citation en allemand
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I love making, I love doing. I love being to the full, I love everything which is not sitting and watching and copying and dead at heart.
John FowlesI was born in 1927, the only child of middle-class parents, both English, and themselves born in the grotesquely elongated shadow, which they never rose sufficiently above history to leave, of that monstrous dwarf Queen Victoria.
John FowlesMots clés first-sentence
Greece is like a mirror. It makes you suffer. Then you learn.'
To live alone?'
To live. With what you are.
I acquired expensive habits and affected manners. I got a third-class degree and a first-class illusion: that I was a poet. But nothing could have been less poetic that my seeing-through-all boredom with life in general and with making a living in particular. I was too green to know that all cynicism masks a failure to cope-- an impotence, in short; and that to despise all effort is the greatest effort of all. But I did absorb a small dose of one permanently useful thing, Oxford's greatest gift to civilized life: Socratic honesty. It showed me, very intermittently, that it is not enough to revolt against one's past. One day I was outrageously bitter among some friends about the Army; back in my own rooms later it suddenly struck me that just because I said with impunity things that would have apoplexed my dead father, I was still no less under his influence. The truth was I was not a cynic by nature, only by revolt. I had got away from what I hated, but I hadn't found where I loved, and so I pretended that there was nowhere to love. Handsomely equipped to fail, I went out into the world.
John FowlesA thousand violins cloy very rapidly without percussion.
John FowlesMots clés music-violins
We talked for hours. He talked and I listened.
It was like wind and sunlight. It blew all the cobwebs away.
I read and I read; and I was like a medieval king, I had fallen in love with the picture long before I saw the reality.
John FowlesThe craving to risk death is our last great perversion. We come from night, we go into night. Why live in night?
John FowlesMots clés night
In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.
John FowlesPage 1 de 24.
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