Between skin and skin, there is only light.
John FowlesMostra la citazione in tedesco
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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 FowlesTag: 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 FowlesTag: 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 FowlesTag: 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.
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