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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
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John Updike |
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Celebrity is a mask that eats into the face.
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John Updike |
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Suspect each moment, for it is a thief, tiptoeing away with more than it brings.
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time
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John Updike |
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If you have the guts to be yourself, other people'll pay your price.
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inspirational
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John Updike |
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I want to write books that unlock the traffic jam in everybody's head.
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John Updike |
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How can you respect the world when you see it's being run by a bunch of kids turned old?
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John Updike |
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We are fated to love one another; we hardly exist outside our love, we are just animals without it, with a birth and a death and constant fear between. Our love has lifted us up, out of the dreadfulness of merely living.
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John Updike |
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The world keeps ending but new people too dumb to know it keep showing up as if the fun's just started.
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teotwawki
rabbit-angstrom
cynicism
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John Updike |
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Everybody who tells you how to act has whiskey on their breath.
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John Updike |
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You do things and do things and nobody really has a clue.
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John Updike |
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Some people find fall depressing, others hate spring. I've always been a spring person myself. All that growth, you can feel Nature groaning, the old bitch; she doesn't want to do it, not again, no, anything but that, but she has to. It's a fucking torture rack, all that budding and pushing, the sap up the tree trunks, the weeds and the insects getting set to fight it out once again, the seeds trying to remember how the hell the DNA is supp..
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John Updike |
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But it seems to me that once you begin a gesture it's fatal not to go through with it.
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John Updike |
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What is the past, after all, but a vast sheet of darkness in which a few moments, pricked apparently at random, shine?
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John Updike |
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We are cruel enough without meaning to be.
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rabbit-angstrom
cruelty
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John Updike |
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Not only are selves conditional but they die. Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead. So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?
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death
life
self
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John Updike |
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There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first.
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John Updike |
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If she'd been born at the right time they would have burned her over in Salem.
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humor
john-updike
comic
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John Updike |
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hate suits him better than forgiveness. Immersed in hate, he doesn't have to do anything; he can be paralyzed, and the rigidty of hatred makes a kind of shelter for him.
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John Updike |
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Wickedness was like food: once you got started it was hard to stop; the gut expanded to take in more and more.
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wickedness
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John Updike |
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We were all brought up to want things and maybe the world isn't big enough for all that wanting. I don't know. I don't know anything
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John Updike |
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Growth is betrayal.
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growth
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John Updike |
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I like old men. They can be wonderful bastards because they have nothing to lose. The only people who can be themselves are babies and old bastards.
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John Updike |
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I once did something right. I played first-rate basketball. I really did. And after you're first-rate at something, no matter what, it kind of takes the kick out of being second-rate.
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John Updike |
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It comes to him: growth is betrayal. There is no other route. There is no arriving somewhere without leaving somewhere.
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John Updike |
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Having children is something we think we ought to do because our parents did it, but when it is over the children are just other members of the human race, rather disappointingly.
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parents
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John Updike |
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What you haven't done by thirty you're not likely to do. What you have done you'll do lots more.
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thirty
thirtysomething
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John Updike |
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Is it not the singularity of life that terrifies us? Is not the decisive difference between comedy and tragedy that tragedy denies us another chance? Shakespeare over and over demonstrates life's singularity -- the irrevocability of our decisions, hasty and even mad though they be. How solemn and huge and deeply pathetic our life does loom in its once-and doneness, how inexorably linear, even though our rotating, revolving planet offers us ..
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life
singularity
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John Updike |
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It's been the same story ever since I can remember, ever since Wilson - the Republicans don't do a thing for the little man.
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politics
woodrow-wilson
republicans
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John Updike |
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But cities aren't like people; they live on and on, even though their reason for being where they are has gone downriver and out to sea.
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reasons
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John Updike |
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Women, fire in their crotch, won't burn out, begin by fighting off pricks, end by going wild hunting for one that still works.
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John Updike |
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A woman's beauty lies, not in any exaggeration of the specialized zones, nor in any general harmony that could be worked out by means of the sectio aurea or a similar aesthetic superstition; but in the arabesque of the spine. The curve by which the back modulates into the buttocks. It is here that grace sits and rides a woman's body.
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John Updike |
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The mind cannot fall asleep as long as it watches itself. Only when the mind moves unwatched and becomes absorbed in images that tug it as it were to one side does self-consciousness dissolve and sleep with its healing, brilliantly detailed fictions pour in upon the jittery spirit. Falling asleep is a study in trust. Likewise, religion tries to put as ease with the world. Being human cannot be borne alone. We need other presences. We need s..
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sleep
religion
self-consciousness
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John Updike |
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We are each of us like our little blue planet, hung in black space, upheld by nothing but our mutual reassurances, our loving lies.
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John Updike |
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Sex is like money; only too much is enough.
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money
sex
passion
love
power
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John Updike |
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All love is betrayal, in that it flatters life. The loveless man is best armed.
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John Updike |
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The fucking world is running out of gas.
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rabbit-angstrom
cynicism
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John Updike |
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Without warning, David was visited by an exact vision of death: a long hole in the ground, no wider than your body, down which you are drawn while the white faces above recede. You try to reach them but your arms are pinned. Shovels put dirt into your face. There you will be forever, in an upright position, blind and silent, and in time no one will remember you, and you will never be called by any angel. As strata of rock shift, your finger..
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death-and-dying
short-story
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John Updike |
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The difficulty with humorists is that they will mix what they believe with what they don't--whichever seems likelier to win an effect.
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humor
truth
comedian
humorist
insincerity
belief
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John Updike |
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The thing about her is, she's good-natured. He knew it the second he saw her standing by the parking meters. He could just tell from the soft way her belly looked. With women, you keep bumping against them, because they want different things, they're a different race. Either they give, like a plant, or scrape, like a stone. In all the green world nothing feels as good as a woman's good nature.
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relationships
women
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John Updike |
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How sad, how strange, we make companions out of air and hurt them, so they will defy us, completing creation.
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John Updike |
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The fullness ends when we give Nature her ransom, when we make children for her. Then she is through with us, and we become, first inside, and then outside, junk. Flower stalks.
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life
parenthood
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John Updike |
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Days, pale slices between nights, they blend, not exactly alike, transparencies so lightly tinted that only stacked all together do they darken to a fatal shade.
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John Updike |
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Writing ... is an addiction, an illusory release, a presumptuous taming of reality, a way of expressing lightly the unbearable. That we age and leave behind this litter of dead, unrecoverable selves is both unbearable and the commonest thing in the world -- it happens to everybody. In the morning light one can write breezily, without the slight acceleration of one's pulse, about what one cannot contemplate in the dark without turning in pan..
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writing
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John Updike |
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As if pity is, as he has been taught, not a helpless outcry but a powerful tide that could redeem the world...
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John Updike |