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So Far Gone
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Book cover for The Garden of Evening Mists
Some element in the air between us changed, as though a wind that had been blowing gently had been come to an abrupt stillness.
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Gustave Flaubert
“I'm absolutely removed from the world at such times...The hours go by without my knowing it. Sitting there I'm wandering in countries I can see every detail of - I'm playing a role in the story I'm reading. I actually feel I'm the characters - I live and breath with them.”
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

Tan Twan Eng
“Some element in the air between us changed, as though a wind that had been blowing gently had come to an abrupt stillness.”
Tan Twan Eng, The Garden of Evening Mists

Norton Juster
“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven't the answer to a question you've been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you're alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”
Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

Salman Rushdie
“Knowledge was never simply born in the human mind; it was always reborn. The relaying of wisdom from one age to the next, this cycle of rebirths: this was wisdom.”
Salman Rushdie, The Enchantress of Florence

Gustave Flaubert
“At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.”
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

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