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6f2b966
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But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn't going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return. Was that so depressing? Who knows? Maybe that was 'despair.' What Turgenev called 'disillusionment.' Or Dostoyevsky, 'hell.' Or Somerset Maugham, 'reality.' Whatever the label, I figured it was me.
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reality
dostoyevsky
disillusionment
maugham
self
hell
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Haruki Murakami |
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fc0ed57
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How strange was the relation between parents and children! When they were small the parents doted on them, passed through agonies of apprehension at each childish ailment, and the children clung to their parents with love and adoration; a few years passed, the children grew up, and persons not of their kin were more important to their happiness than father or mother. Indifference displaced the blind and instinctive love of the past. Their meetings were a source of boredom and irritation. Distracted once at the thought of a month's separation they were able now to look forward with equanimity to being parted for years.
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maugham
parents
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W. Somerset Maugham |
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8946ae4
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The most difficult thing for a wise woman to do is to pretend to be a foolish one.
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women
maugham
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W. Somerset Maugham |
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debc5e3
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People wonder at the romantic lives of poets and artists, but they should rather wonder at their gift of expression. The occurrences which pass unnoticed in the life of the average man in the existence of a writer of talent are profoundly interesting. It is the man they happen to that makes their significance.
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experiences
poets
writer
writing
maugham
w-somerset-maugham
expression
authors
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W. Somerset Maugham |