Standing on the threshold of that world which Matisse has created I re-experienced the power of that revelation which had permitted Proust to so deform the picture of life that only those who, like himself, are sensible to the alchemy of sound and sense, are capable of transforming the negative reality of life into the substantial and significant outlines of art. Only those who can admit the light into their gizzards can translate what is there in the heart.
I believe that today more than ever a book should be sought after even if it has only one great page in it: we must search for fragments, splinters, toenails, anything that has ore in it, anything that is capable of resuscitating the body and soul.
Inconsistency. Characters in a novel or a play who act all the way through exactly as one expects them to …. This consistency of theirs, which is held up to our admiration, is on the contrary the very thing which makes us recognize that they are artificially composed.
If now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound and sear, that wring groans and tears and curses, know that they come from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words and his words are always stronger than the lying, crushing weight of the world, stronger than all the racks and wheels which the cowardly invent to crush out the miracle of personality.
If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to smithereens and no god, no accident, no will could ever again assemble the pieces, the atoms, the indestructible elements that have gone to make up the world.
… no picture, this is just perfect….
What are the problems which will exercise the minds of tomorrow? It is for them that I desire to write. To provide food for curiosities still unformed, to satisfy requirements not yet defined, so that the child of today may be astonished tomorrow to find me in his path.
Quels problèmes inquiéteront demain ceux qui viennent ? C’est pour eux que je veux écrire. Fournir un aliment àdes curiosités encore indistinctes, satisfaire à des exigences qui ne sont pas encore précisées, de sorte que celuiqui n’est aujourd’hui qu’un enfant, demain s’étonne à me rencontrer sur sa route
How the hell can a man write when he doesn’t know where he’s going to sit the next half-hour? If this rich bastard takes the place I won’t even have a place to sleep. It’s hard to know, when you’re in such a jam, which is worse – not having a place to sleep or not having a place to work. One can sleep almost anywhere, but one must have a place to work. Even if it’s not a masterpiece you’re doing. Even a bad novel requires a chair to sit on and a bit of privacy.
# 22 Die Blechtromme (The Tin Drum), G. Grass, 1959.
The list so far:
Simply put, that’s hell of a novel!
# 87 The Names, D. DeLillo, 1982.
The list so far:
My name is Don DeLillo and I want to play a game with you, dear reader. Here is book that I’ve written lately, it’s about an ancient cult that kills people and worship words and letters, also the main character is researching risks in middle eastern countries by some mathematical means. Anyway if you are interested in numbers, patters and equations you should try it. I mean it seems like that’s what the book is about, right?
And the cover looks good too…