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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 33491e5 | This land looks dreamt, willed, potent. | Tim Winton | ||
| 66eb6d7 | Me? I belong to Jesus Christ. Like it or not. They wet you and get you. Anyway. No other bastard will have me. | Tim Winton | ||
| e2755c5 | The only end some things have is the end you give em. | ends | Tim Winton | |
| 0f13eb1 | jedoch spurt man auf ziemlich perverse Art, dass man dem Leben an sich ausgeliefert ist, weil es einen zwingt, zu atmen und zu atmen und zu atmen in einer endlosen Kapitulation vor der biologischen Routine, und dass das menschliche Streben nach Kontrolle ebenso viel mit der Machtergreifung uber den eigenen Korper zu tun hat wie mit der Ausubung von Macht uber andere. | Tim Winton | ||
| aa5348d | is bitter. She declaims into his face: And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in their stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone. | Tim Winton | ||
| 53fdae1 | wash the black mud from my hands. On a light given off by the grave I kneel in the quick of the moon At the heart of a distant forest And hold in my arms a child Of water, water, water. | Tim Winton | ||
| 498de85 | After all, there's no shape or image in modern culture to match that of the gun. Nothing else has its universal authority or saving promise | Tim Winton | ||
| 0449aa2 | radiates. | Tim Winton | ||
| 9dcdaba | The gun's slinky power has a special appeal to the young, the weak, the confused and the powerless. To those overlooked or spurned, access to a firearm is the spark of agency. With a gun in your hands, everything is possible. In a moment you imagine the respect it demands. | Tim Winton | ||
| 63a50a0 | Purnululu, | Tim Winton | ||
| cbc2879 | firearm would be a dark presence I can do without under my own roof. Too much sinister potential. Too much unearnt power. | Tim Winton | ||
| 85d21ea | I will always remember my first wave this morning. The smells of paraffin wax and brine and peppy scrub. The way the swell rose beneath me like a body drawing to air. How the wave drew me forward and I sprang to my feet, skating with the wind of momentum in my ears. I leant across the wall of upstanding water and the board came with me as though it was part of my body and mind. The blur of spray. The billion shards of light. I remember the .. | Tim Winton | ||
| 2ef91f7 | Fox grins. Go strides to the rear of the Ford. His manner never alters. The Vietnamese has purposeful intensity down pat. | Tim Winton | ||
| 7d24e85 | Whatever it was went through me like a rifle rag. Come dawn, me date was so hot you could have lit a sparkplug off of it. | simile vernacular | Tim Winton | |
| 391d03c | When I hit the bitumen and get that smooth grey rumble going under me everything's hell different. Like I'm in a fresh new world all slick and flat and easy. Even with the engine working up a howl and the wind flogging in the window the sounds are real soft and pillowy. Civilized I mean. Like you're still on the earth but you don't hardly notice it anymore. And that's hectic. You'd think I never got in a car before. But when you've hoofed i.. | god | Tim Winton | |
| 8a418b5 | Where I had expected to appreciate the monuments and love the natural environment, the reality was entirely the reverse. The immense beauty of many buildings and landscapes had an immediate and visceral impact, and yet in the natural world, where I am generally most comfortable, I was hesitant. While I was duly impressed by what I saw, I could never connect bodily and emotionally. Being from a flat, dry continent, I looked forward to the pr.. | Tim Winton | ||
| b8e93ac | The Riders Placencia Beach, Belize, 1996 Americans aren't overly familiar with Tim Winton, although in my mind he is one of the best writers anywhere. This novel is set in Ireland and Greece as a man and his daughter search for their missing wife and mother. Gripping. 2. Family Happiness Miacomet Beach, Nantucket, 2001 The finest of Laurie Colwin's novels, this is, perhaps, my favorite book in all the world. It tells the story of Polly Dema.. | Elin Hilderbrand | ||
| 49c96b0 | And the moon is only the moon. But they're not empty things you know. The past is still in them. The force of events long gone, it lingers. These heavenly bodies and earthly forms, what are they but expressions of matters unfinished? ...Mebbe lunatics are men who've remembered they're just men, not angels. | pathetic-fallacy | Tim Winton | |
| a8e6da2 | Peace, that's all I'm after. | Tim Winton | ||
| f397358 | In a seedy cinema on ru du Temple, watching Disney's Peter Pan with my son, I found that although we were all gazing at the same screen in the flickering dark, I was seeing a different film to the rest of the audience. What seemed fantastical and exotic to the Parisian kids looked like home to me. I knew secret coves and hidey-holes like those of the Lost Boys. I'd grown up in a world of rocky islands, boats and obscuring bush. To my mind t.. | australian-literature home homesickness | Tim Winton | |
| dd253fb | the ute was casting a shadow that no light was ever gonna make. A shadow doesn't search for a drain like that. Shadows don't have blowflies drowning in them. | death decay | Tim Winton | |
| c0dcaa0 | He was scarcely sixteen years of age when he left his father's home, And through Australia's sunny clime a bushranger did roam. He robbed those wealthy squatters, their stock he did destroy, And a terror to Australia was the wild Colonial boy. | history masculinity vernacular-music | Tim Winton | |
| bd86301 | But I'm not such a good judge of monsters; I don't know if the idea of a good death repels me now because it's in itself repellent, or because I no longer have the courage to seek such a thing. | martyrdom religion roman-catholicism | Tim Winton | |
| 06d8115 | God is what you do, not what you believe in. | religion-and-philoshophy | Tim Winton | |
| f0b284f | It's just an old fella. Mostly bald. Walking dainty like his feet's tender. And still singing. With some things in his hand. He puts them down on a drum. Sits on a milk crate in the shade. Pulls on a pair of gumboots. Then he snatches up the things from beside him and shuffles out in the sun and leans against the verandah post and I see him clear enough. Singlet. Baggy arse shorts. Thick specs. He's short and thick this fella. Red in the fa.. | irony music violence | Tim Winton | |
| 1c46048 | discretion will generally keep a fella safe. | safety secrecy taciturnity | Tim Winton | |
| afe7ddf | The sea is one rare wild card left in the homogenous suburban life. | Tim Winton | ||
| a29df54 | What does it mean for a community to edit itself like this, to so spurn the past - or perhaps fear it - that the slate must be wiped clean for each new generation? What self-hatred does this betray? | Tim Winton | ||
| a40e75d | During those years of travel I saw that architecture is what we console ourselves with once we've obliterated our natural landscapes. | Tim Winton | ||
| 6e50690 | elbows-out walk like a scorpion all burred up for a fight | anthrpomorphism lyricism | Tim Winton | |
| 2af2952 | Please God, whatever I was I am no longer....All is forgotten, if not forgiven--it could have come to that. But I don't trust the thought. I don't know if it's because it would be too easy or too terrible to imagine no one cares anymore. | insignificance memory remorse self-knowledge time | Tim Winton | |
| 8fb7dc5 | For the first time in my life I know what I want and I have what it takes to get me there. If you never experienced that I feel sorry for you. But it wasn't always like this. I have been through fire to get here. I seen things and done things and had shit done to me you couldn't barely credit. So be happy for me. And for fucksake don't get in my way. | social-awareness | Tim Winton | |
| 3e81aa2 | Don't you see it Jaxie Clackton, you are an instrument of God.' 'Oh, I said, you mad fucker. You been out under the moon too long. | premonition religion | Tim Winton | |
| eee4020 | The spent shell come out the .243 shining like a bright idea. | Tim Winton | ||
| d8674fc | sort of worked, our arrangement. Before I couldna seen the sense in it. But two of us getting meat and wood, two of us keeping a look out, it was more efficient that one bloke faffing about on his own. And it wasn't we had anything in common exactly but we was another human to talk to. | companionship | Tim Winton | |
| 9d63c2f | In the end he wore me down. Always asking. And the answer I give him is still the only one I have. What do I want? Peace. And it actually shut him up. He didn't niggle me about it. It was like he got it straight off. I don't just want quiet, neither. I want peace. | peace philosophy | Tim Winton | |
| 385128e | I suspect that God is what you do, not what or who you believe in. But people do shit things all the time, I said. There's something wrong with us. Perhaps. And maybe not. But when you do right, Jaxie, when you make good -- well, then you are an instrument of God. Then you are joined to the divine, to the life-force, to life itself. That's what I believe. That's what I hope for. And it's what I have missed. That's all jumblyfuck to me, I sa.. | kindness life-force love | Tim Winton | |
| 0c833f6 | Liam Rector's "Song Years": "Change is hard and hope is violent"." | Tim Winton | ||
| 039c153 | I spose it's wrong to pray that someone dies... But I've thought about all the prayers. If that's what I was doing them years...Asking something, someone, anything, for a big black anvil to fall from the sky like in the cartoons. Kerang! On Wankbag's head. Because nothing else was gunna save [me]... | death irony religion salvation | Tim Winton | |
| aaac802 | Say I hit your number, called you up, you'd wonder what the fuck, every one of youse, and your mouth'd go dry. Maybe you're just some stranger I pocket-dialled. Or one of them shitheads from school I could look for. Any of youse heard my voice now you'd think it was weather. Or a bird screaming. You'd be sweating sand. Like I'm the end of the world. | introspection self-aggrandisement | Tim Winton | |
| 6af964a | Where was I? Who was I? What was I? ... And for a long time Fintan took it just like that. Giving them nothing. And it was horrible and incredible and it all piled up on me, squashing me in, forcing me down, until something cracked and all in one moment it was like everything landed. All the birds landed. The sunlight landed. The song landed. All the decent things in him landed. On me. On my head. And I knew where I was, and who I was, and .. | Tim Winton | ||
| f4d81f0 | So we had some blues, me and Fintan. He said we were merely conducting civilised conversation. But sometimes it was like he didn't know how close he was to getting his head stove in. Or maybe he didn't care. Even so, everything was peaceful more or less. Until the wind came round from the north. | Tim Winton | ||
| e7221f2 | Jesus, I told meself, harden the fuck up. She heard me say that once, Mum. To me little cousin out by the laundry where he was bawling, his knee bleeding a tiny bit. She had that disgusted look on her face. What? I said. I didn't do nothin. You're no better than your father, she said. Listen to you, Jaxie, you sound just like him. I didn't talk to her for three days. | kindness mercy | Tim Winton | |
| b31cae0 | Drug dealing worse than kiddy fiddling, is it? Stop that, now! There's no need and you've no right. You think the Catholics care how they make their money? They bloody love gangsters, it's their bread and butter. Good God, child, you wouldn't know the half of it. You wouldn't have the faintest notion. | irony roman-catholicism | Tim Winton |