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Quote by Anita Brookner

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Look at Me

This book delves into the psychological and emotional journey of its central character, offering a nuanced portrayal of the human condition and the quest for self-understanding. more

Author

Anita Brookner
Anita Brookner

Anita Brookner was a renowned British novelist known for her delicate emotional descriptions and profound psychological insights. Her works often focus on the lives of middle-class women, exploring themes of love, marriage, and interpersonal relationships. Born on July 16, 1928, she passed away on March 10, 2016. more

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“Человек должен хоть раз в жизни оказаться в кромешной глуши, чтобы физически испытать одиночество, пусть даже задыхаясь при этом от скуки. Почувствовать, как это — зависеть исключительно от себя самого, и в конце концов познать свою суть и обрести силу, ранее неведомую”

“The internet complex quickly became an integral part of neoliberal austerity in its ongoing erosion of civil society and its replacement by monetized, online simulations of social relations. It fosters the belief that we no longer depend on each other, that we are autonomous administrators of our lives, that we can manage our friends in the same way we manage all our online accounts. It also heightens what social theorist Elena Pulcini calls the “narcissistic apathy” of individuals emptied of desire for community and who live in passive conformity with the existing social order.”

“Her collections matured, categorized methodically by order, genus, and species; by age according to bone wear; by size in millimeters of feathers; or by the most fragile hues of greens. The science and art entwined in each other’s strengths: the colors, the light, the species, the life; weaving a masterpiece of knowledge and beauty that filled every corner of her shack. Her world. She grew with them—the trunk of the vine—alone, but holding all the wonders together. But just as her collection grew, so did her loneliness. A pain as large as her heart lived in her chest. Nothing eased it. Not the gulls, not a splendid sunset, not the rarest of shells. Months turned into a year. The lonely became larger than she could hold. She wished for someone’s voice, presence, touch, but wished more to protect her heart.”

“Aftershock by Stewart Stafford Sitting by myself at the firepit, The dregs of last night's inferno, Still charcoal from vibrant flame, Charred bones of the festivities. Dropped food and empty bottles, A littering ring, now seen in light, The laughs and drunken banter, Distant echoes that bring smiles. Head throbs, chill morning breeze, Take two pills and zip up my jacket, Post-party blues gripping onto me, Happiness, revisit on swiftest wings! © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”