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Quote by Patrick O'Brian

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The Far Side of the World

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Patrick O'Brian
Patrick O'Brian

British novelist known for his historical novel series 'The Aubrey-Maturin Series,' which is set against the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars and tells the story of the British Royal Navy. O'Brian's writing style is meticulous, with a precise grasp of historical details, and he is highly regarded by readers. more

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“The lounge usually holds his couch, his easels, inks and oils, and original handmade paper imported straight from Kappa—Nihon of the Old World. The center of the lounge is always for the stage—a raised, soft, armless sofa where his subject poses. But this evening isn’t about the stage or his art. This evening, the lounge shouldn’t hold needless furniture. Tonight, Kuhawk is for one book. Tonight, all the moonlight coming through the transparent globe should illuminate only the Devil’s Book—the first key to everything the Mesmerizer seeks. Oh, the trouble he took to earn it!”

“The stage is not real life, and the stage is not a copy of real life. Just like the statue , the stage is only a place where things are made present. Things that would not ordinarily happen are made to happen on stage. The stage is a site at which people can access things that would otherwise not be available to them. The stage is a place where we can witness things in such a way that it becomes unnecessary for us to feel or perform these things ourselves.”

“A softly-spoken German man points to a window on the third floor of a tall building and says, "My grandfather is sitting in that room." Planting his feet wide apart, the man begins to wave, his arm sweeping through the air in a huge arc. We all step back to give him enough room.If I let my vision swim out of focus, this seems like an ordinary day with an ordinary man greeting someone he loves across the street. "I'm not expecting to see him again," he says. But he waves on and on, hoping his grandfather has spotted him. The Englishmen look away.”

“A place where a clock's minute and hour hands spread away from its face, flapping like wings. A place where he'd pluck a daisy and watch the petals whirl like the propellers of a helicopter. Where he'd throw a handful of sand, and the grains would buzz away like a swarm of gnats. Where colorful fruits on a tree would burst into flight, and new ones would perch in their place.”