Katia N
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(page 155 of 320)
"Thomas Vyre’s identity had been stolen. Some might have found this troubling; Vyre was happy about it. It hadn’t suited him anymore. He had long since grown weary of the man he had been, or, at least, the man that others had thought him. Anyone who wanted his identity was welcome to it. (His bank account less so; fortunately no one had tried a hit on that yet.)" — Apr 16, 2026 07:11AM
"Thomas Vyre’s identity had been stolen. Some might have found this troubling; Vyre was happy about it. It hadn’t suited him anymore. He had long since grown weary of the man he had been, or, at least, the man that others had thought him. Anyone who wanted his identity was welcome to it. (His bank account less so; fortunately no one had tried a hit on that yet.)" — Apr 16, 2026 07:11AM
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(page 667 of 742)
"I think every writer is a born actor. In first place, the writer takes on the role of themselves and really inhabits the part. A writer is someone who tires easily, and ends up feeling slightly bored with herself, since her intimate contact with herself is, of necessity, too prolonged." — Apr 02, 2026 01:20PM
"I think every writer is a born actor. In first place, the writer takes on the role of themselves and really inhabits the part. A writer is someone who tires easily, and ends up feeling slightly bored with herself, since her intimate contact with herself is, of necessity, too prolonged." — Apr 02, 2026 01:20PM
“The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.”
― Infinite Jest
― Infinite Jest
“At a dinner party in north London, I listened to friends bragging about buying Porsches with their bonuses and sending out from their offices for pizzas and clean shirts because they were clinching a deal and could not leave their desks. I wanted to tell them of a place where every family had lost a son or a husband or had a leg blown off, almost every child seen someone die in a rocket attack and where a small boy had told me his dream was to have a brightly coloured ball. But, when I began to talk about Afghanistan, I watched eyes glaze and felt as if I was trying to have a conversation about a movie no one else had seen.”
― The Sewing Circles of Herat: A Personal Voyage Through Afghanistan
― The Sewing Circles of Herat: A Personal Voyage Through Afghanistan
“When I was a child, I thought,
Casually, that solitude
Never needed to be sought.
Something everybody had,
Like nakedness, it lay at hand,
Not specially right or specially wrong,
A plentiful and obvious thing
Not at all hard to understand.
Then, after twenty, it became
At once more difficult to get
And more desired -- though all the same
More undesirable; for what
You are alone has, to achieve
The rank of fact, to be expressed
In terms of others, or it's just
A compensating make-believe.
Much better stay in company!
To love you must have someone else,
Giving requires a legatee,
Good neighbours need whole parishfuls
Of folk to do it on -- in short,
Our virtues are all social; if,
Deprived of solitude, you chafe,
It's clear you're not the virtuous sort.
Viciously, then, I lock my door.
The gas-fire breathes. The wind outside
Ushers in evening rain. Once more
Uncontradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm;
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, emerges, what I am."
(Best Company)”
― Collected Poems
Casually, that solitude
Never needed to be sought.
Something everybody had,
Like nakedness, it lay at hand,
Not specially right or specially wrong,
A plentiful and obvious thing
Not at all hard to understand.
Then, after twenty, it became
At once more difficult to get
And more desired -- though all the same
More undesirable; for what
You are alone has, to achieve
The rank of fact, to be expressed
In terms of others, or it's just
A compensating make-believe.
Much better stay in company!
To love you must have someone else,
Giving requires a legatee,
Good neighbours need whole parishfuls
Of folk to do it on -- in short,
Our virtues are all social; if,
Deprived of solitude, you chafe,
It's clear you're not the virtuous sort.
Viciously, then, I lock my door.
The gas-fire breathes. The wind outside
Ushers in evening rain. Once more
Uncontradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm;
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, emerges, what I am."
(Best Company)”
― Collected Poems
“Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past, the more concrete and plausible it seems - but as you approach the present, it inevitably seems more and more incredible.”
― Midnight’s Children
― Midnight’s Children
“Memory's truth, because memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events; and no sane human being ever trusts someone else's version more than his own.”
― Midnight’s Children
― Midnight’s Children
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