...[W]riting stories not only involved secrecy, it also gave her all the pleasures of miniaturisation. A world could be made in five pages....The childhood of a spoiled prince could be framed within half a page, a moonlit dash through sleepy villages was one rhythmically empathic sentence, falling in love would be achieved in a single word—a glance.
Ian McEwanHe was thinking of that time, the way one does on long journeys when rootlessness and boredom, lack of sleep or routine can summon from out of nowhere random stretches of the past, make them as real as a haunting. --Solar
Ian McEwanThis, as they used to say, was the side on which her bread was buttered.
Ian McEwanHe had been walking these roads, he thought, all his life.
Ian McEwanFor the professors in the academy, for the humanities generally, misery is more amenable to analysis: happiness is a harder nut to crack.
Ian McEwanSo June´s idea was that if one dog was a personal depression, two dogs were a kind of cultural depression, civilisation´s worst moods.
Ian McEwanThen, with an extended, falling glissando of disgust, the whole string section, plus flutes and piccolo, surged toward the brass, leaving the music critic and his deed - an early evening frites and mayonnaise on Oude Hoogstraat - illuminated under a lonely chandelier.
Ian McEwanTag: humor music nausea appetite
It is the world that shapes people’s minds. It is men who have shaped the world. So women’s minds are shaped by men. From earliest childhood, the world they see is made by men. Now the women lie to themselves and there is confusion and unhappiness everywhere.
Ian McEwanJer,u tome sigurno i jest stvar:bit će bolji liječnik jer je čitao književnost.Kakva sve duboka objašnjenja njegova preinačena senzibilnost može iščitati iz ljudske patnje,iz samouništavajuće gluposti ili puke zle sreće koja je ljude natjerala u bolest!Rođenje,smrt i krhkost između njih.Uspon i pad-to je liječnikov posao,a to je i književnost.
Ian McEwan... her conviction that love that did not find its expression in a letter was not perfect.
Ian McEwanTag: love-letters
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