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Quote by Jeff VanderMeer

“She couldn't see that she was surrounded by a congregation, that she was surrounded by people, of a kind. I had almost missed it myself, had misunderstood for too long.”

Quote by Jeff VanderMeer

Book:Borne

Work

Borne

Browse quotes and source details for this work. more

Author

Jeff VanderMeer
Jeff VanderMeer

Jeff VanderMeer is an American writer known for his science fiction and fantasy novels. His works often explore themes of ecology, identity, and the relationship between humans and nature. Born on July 7, 1968, VanderMeer's writing career began in the 1990s. more

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“Kesepian seperti puzzle raksasa. Cara berdamai dengannya adalah dengan mencari dan menghubungkan kepingan-kepingan itu. Keluarga yang hangat adalah satu kepingan kecil nan berharga. Teman yang suportif adalah kepingan kecil lain. Kekasih sejati bisa jadi kepingan yang sedikit lebih besar. Besar atau kecilnya ukuran kepingan itu, tergantung caramu menilai kepingan-kepingan itu.”

“Why these daily wanderings through the streets? And all these human beings I encountered: how could they possibly help me? Each of them filled the universe with his or her person. I would trail humbly after them, expecting the unworkable miracle from the first person I bumped into. Then, in order to prove to myself that I was not merely this pitiful rag, this insubstantial object, I would force myself to hate them, well knowing that my hate was artificial, that it too had no existence, that I was turning it on like a lamp in a ruin that had stood deserted for hundreds of years, as though this light was all that was needed to establish the belief that it was lived-in. And I was incapable of retaining my hold even on hate. It gave me the slip, like all the rest, like everything around me. All I could do was roam the streets, an innocent in quest of a miracle.”

“Very swiftly I calculated: forty-seven minus forty-four equals three; twenty-two plus three equals twenty-five. He was still facing me across the table. He smiled at me slowly, lazily. He had plenty of time. A lifetime. A lifetime throughout which his chest would go on and on rising and falling, throughout which he would be perfectly free to talk and smile and drink menthes à l’eau in the summer heat. I hated him. I hated him for being twenty-five and for throwing his young life in my face, like a provocation. The café reeled, the waiter, holding his tray high in the air, multiplied between me and the door, the door was fleeing, hiding, stealing along the walls ... A voice behind me was thundering: ‘Waiter! Somebody was still clamouring for the waiter, and it was a voice choking with anguish. In the shadowy room, expressionless faces were bobbing about with grotesque solemnity, as though suspended from invisible wires. The scream which I let out, and which I alone heard, died among the street noises. I stopped running. I walked, like everyone else. I drew breath. And a thought occurred to me, the thought shared by everyone else: ‘‘Isn’t it hot!”