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Quote by Audrey Niffenegger

Work

The Time Traveler's Wife

In this poignant and imaginative novel, the reader is drawn into the complex relationship between a man with a rare genetic disorder and the woman who loves him. The man, known as 'Hank', possesses the ability to time travel without control, often finding himself in different eras and locations. His wife, 'Clara', must navigate the emotional turmoil of her husband's unpredictable absences and the challenges of living with someone who is constantly changing. The story delves into themes of love, loss, and the human condition, offering a unique perspective on the nature of time and the resilience of the human spirit. more

Author

Audrey Niffenegger
Audrey Niffenegger

Audrey Niffenegger is an American writer known for her unique literary style and profound emotional descriptions. Her works often explore complex interpersonal relationships and philosophical issues, with her most famous novel being 'The Time Traveler's Wife'. more

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“I find myself in a dark hallway. At the end of the hall is a door, slightly open with white light spilling around its edges. The hall is full of galoshes and rain coats. I walk slowly and silently to the door and carefully look in to the next room. Morning light fills up the room and is painful at first, but as my eyes adjust I see that in the room is a plain wooden table next to a window. A woman sits at the table facing the window. A teacup sits at her elbow. Outside is the lake, the waves rush up the shore and recede with calming repetition which becomes like stillness after a few minutes. The woman is extremely still. Something about her is familiar. She is an old woman; her hair is perfectly white and lies long on her back in a thin stream, over a slight dowager's hump. She wears a sweater the colour of coral. The curve of her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture says her is someone who is very tired, and I am very tired, myself. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and the floor creaks; the woman turns and sees me and her face is remade in to joy. I am suddenly amazed; this is Clare, Clare old! and she is coming to me, so slowly, and I take her in to my arms.”

“Below the garden a green field lush with clover sloped down to the hollow where the brook ran and where scores of white birches grew, upspringing airily out of an undergrowth suggestive of delightful possibilities in ferns and mosses and woodsy things generally. Beyond it was a hill, green and feathery with spruce and fir; there was a gap in it where the gray gable end of the little house she had seen from the other side of the Lake of Shining Waters was visible.”