The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love. ― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera. (Alfred A. Knopf, 1988)
Beyond the edge of the world there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard. ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore. (Vintage, January 3, 2006) Originally published 2002.
I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from which someone has left you, but there is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for. — Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (Harvill/Panther 1999:; Limited centenary ed edition 1999)… Continue reading Haruki Murakami
She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening. She has the mysterious solitude of ambiguous states; she hovers in a no-man’s land between life and death, sleeping and waking. — Angela Carter, from “The… Continue reading Angela Carter
Love, as most know, follows its own timeline. Disregarding our intentions or well rehearsed plans. ― Leslye Walton, The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender. (Candlewick March 25, 2014)
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude. (Harper; 1st edition June 24, 2003) Originally published June 1st 1967.
I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don’t have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow… Continue reading Jeanette Winterson