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Quote by Anna Quindlen

“I read and reread and recommended and rarely rejected, became one of those readers who will read trashy stories as long as they're not too terrible--well, even perhaps the truly terrible ones--and will reread something she's already read, even if it's something like a detective novel, when you'd suspect that knowing who had really killed the countess would materially detract from the experience. (It doesn't, and besides, I often can't remember who the murderer was in the first place.)”

Quote by Anna Quindlen

Work

Imagined London: A Tour of the World's Greatest Fictional City

This book provides an in-depth exploration of London's portrayal in fiction, examining how the city has been depicted in various novels, poems, and short stories. It delves into the cultural and historical significance of these literary interpretations, offering readers a unique perspective on the city's enduring legacy in the realm of imagination. more

Author

Anna Quindlen
Anna Quindlen

Anna Quindlen, born on July 8, 1952, is a renowned American author known for her insightful social commentary and delicate portrayal of everyday life. Her writing career began as a newspaper editor, later transitioning to novel writing, which has been well-received by readers. more

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“[Los alumnos de Almafitano aprendieron...] Que la principal enseñanza de la literatura era la valentía, una valentía rara, como un pozo de piedra en medio de un paisaje lacustre, una valentía semejante a un torbellino y a un espejo. Que no era más cómodo leer que escribir. Que leyendo se aprendía a dudar y a recordar. Que la memoria era el amor.”

“I could feel heat pooling between my legs fast and intense. My thighs pressed together, uselessly. Shame surged up my spine, but there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from what I was feeling. And then I realized my mouth was open. He noticed. A gloved hand reached out slowly, not to harm, but to hush. He touched my chin with surprising gentleness and placed one finger against my lips. “What did you see?” he whispered, his voice low, husky, dangerous and magnetic. “An angel… or something else?”

“Keine Frage, die Kunst des Lesens war etwas, um das sie ihn beneidete. Was musste das für ein Gefühl sein, in fremde Welten einzutauchen, nur mit den Augen und durch das Zusammensetzen einiger kryptischer Zeichen? Buchstaben wurden zu Worten, Worte zu Sätzen, und auf einmal befand man sich in einer fremden Stadt oder einem fremden Land. Ganze Welten ließen sich so binnen eines Wimpernschlags durchqueren.”

“After that they browsed for a minute or two in a semi-detached fashion. Nick found a set of Trollope which had a relatively modest and approachable look among the rest, and took down The Way We Live Now, with an armorial bookplate, the pages uncut. “What have you found there?” said Lord Kessler, in a genially possessive tone. “Ah, you’re a Trollope man, are you?” “I’m not sure I am, really,” said Nick. “I always think he wrote too fast. What was it Henry James said, about Trollope and his ‘great heavy shovelfuls of testimony to constituted English matters’?” Lord Kessler paid a moment’s wry respect to this bit of showing off, but said, “Oh, Trollope’s good. He’s very good on money.” “Oh…yes…” said Nick, feeling doubly disqualified by his complete ignorance of money and by the aesthetic prejudice which had stopped him from ever reading Trollope. “To be honest, there’s a lot of him I haven’t yet read.” “No, this one is pretty good,” Nick said, gazing at the spine with an air of judicious concession. Sometimes his memory of books he pretended to have read became almost as vivid as that of books he had read and half forgotten, by some fertile process of auto-suggestion. He pressed the volume back into place and closed the gilded cage.”