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Quote by Robert Harris

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Precipice

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Author

Robert Harris
Robert Harris

Robert Harris is a renowned British novelist, born on March 7, 1957. He is known for his historical novels and thrillers, which have gained popularity among readers. more

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“Icarus made wings out of wax to escape a prison. But when he was outside for the first time in years there was the sun hanging up in the sky above him and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He flew closer and closer and his wings started to melt, but he didn’t give a good goddamn. He kept flying up until he couldn’t fly anymore, and his eyes were probably burning, and his skin was probably burning, but still he didn’t care. And then his wings melted all the way and he fell miles and miles into the ocean and brained himself on a rock, that poor stupid asshole. And I’ll tell you what: I’m no better. I’m no fucking better.”

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Book:The Thirteen Letters
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“Dietro, un villaggio scuro, capanne interamente ricoperte di zolle erbose: sono i primi lapponi che abbiamo incontrati; sono sedentari, ma la loro è una miseria terribile: quanti bambini, tutti rachitici e timidi come leprotti. Quelle capanne hanno uno scheletro di assi sul quale si cominciano ad ammucchiare le zolle, rinforzando il tutto con pietre e paletti. Ci infilano un tubo di lamiera, ed è fatta: dentro ci abita almeno una dozzina di persone. Di cosa vivano non so, ma non mendicano, né rubano; sono biondi e con gli occhi chiari, ma dal taglio degli occhi e dagli zigomi ci si può render conto che questo ormai è un altro mondo. Il timoniere ha ragione: il bosco nordico non ha fine e anche se si tratta di betulle storte e ingobbite, un po' spettrali con i propri tronchi bianchi, o di pinastri radi e nodosi, o di cespugli di ontani e salici nani, anche se si tratta di ceppi e moncherini, un tempo tutto questo è stato un bosco, prima dell'arrivo dell'uomo, di una slavina o di qualche altra catastrofe. A dire il vero è più tundra che bosco; c'è così poca terra che i pali del telegrao non possono essere piantati e devono circondarli di una massicciata per ternerli in piedi. Per miglia di viaggio (parlo naturalmente di miglia marine) non c'è traccia dell'uomo, solo qualche capanna lappone in rovina; eppure al margine della tundra, a un tronco di betulla, è appesa una cassetta postale. Se sapessi chi va a ritirarvi la posta gli manderei gli auguri di Natale e cartoline da diverse città e paesi, per il piacere di farli arrivare a quella casetta solitaria nel bosco nordico”

LettersMailTravelling
Book:Cesta na sever
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“I'm afraid I'm not very well prepared for your birthday, have slept even worse than usual, head hot, eyes burned out, torturing temples, coughing as well. I'm afraid I couldn't recite a lengthy congratulation without coughing. Fortunately no congratulation is required, just thanks that you exist in this world, where at first sight, I wouldn't have suspected (you see, I don' have much knowledge of the world, either - except that, in contrast to you, I admit it) that you could be found. And I thank you for it (is this gratitude?) with a kiss precisely like the one on the railway station, although you didn't like it (today I'm rather obstinate).”

LettersBirthday WishesLetters To Milena
Book:Letters to Milena
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“What you wrote about the people, Milena - 'nemáte síly milovat' - 'who haven't got the strength to love' - was correct, even though while writing it down you didn't consider it correct. Perhaps their talent for love consists only in the ability to be loved. And even in this exists a qualifying distinction for these people. If one of them says to his beloved: 'I believe that you love me', then this is something completely different and much less than when he says: 'I'm loved by you'. These, of course, are not lovers but grammarians.”

LoveLettersLetters To Milena
Book:Letters to Milena
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