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Quote by Katherine Rundell

“The human creature is such a deceptively simple thing to look at. You can watch someone peel an orange or trip up a flight of stairs and forget that inside they are both strange and infinite. Take a human by the wrist and you have in your hand a piece of unending longing.”

Quote by Katherine Rundell

Book:The Poisoned King
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The Poisoned King

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Author

Katherine Rundell
Katherine Rundell

Katherine Rundell is a British author born in 1987. Her works are known for their rich imagination and profound emotional depth, spanning both children's literature and adult fiction. more

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“This strong and rough man, whose feathers were constantly being ruffled, had suddenly softened and brightened. Something unusual and entirely unexpected had begun to stir in his soul. Three years of separation, three years of a broken marriage had dislodged nothing from his heart. And perhaps every day of those three years he had dreamed of her, of the beloved being who had once said 'I love you' to him. Knowing Shatov, I can say for certain that he would never have allowed himself even to dream that any woman could say 'I love you' to him. He was fiercely chaste and modest, regarded himself as a dreadful freak, hated his own face and character, compared himself to some monster who was fit only to be taken around and exhibited at fairs. As a consequence of all this, he valued honesty above all things and dedicated himself to his convictions to the point of fanaticism; he was sullen, proud, quick to anger and sparing with words.”

LovePsychologyEmotionalLongingConvictionVulnerabilityModestyIntrospectionLiteraryCharacter Study
Book:Demons
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“This strong and rough man, whose feathers were constantly being ruffled, had suddenly softened and brightened. Something unusual and entirely unexpected had begun to stir in his soul. Three years of separation, three years of a broken marriage had dislodged nothing from his heart. And perhaps every day of those three years he had dreamed of her, of the beloved being who had once said 'I love you' to him. Knowing Shatov, I can say for certain that he would never have allowed himself even to dream that any woman could say 'I love you' to him. He was fiercely chaste and modest, regarded himself as a dreadful freak, hated his own face and character, compared himself to some monster who was fit only to be taken around and exhibited at fairs. As a consequence of all this, he valued honesty above all things and dedicated himself to his convictions to the point of fanaticism; he was sullen, proud, quick to anger and sparing with words. But now this single being who had loved him for two weeks (he had always, always believed that!), this being whom he had always regarded as immeasurably superior to himself despite his utterly sober understanding of her faults; this being whom he could forgive everything, everything (of which there really true, so that in his eyes he himself was guilty of everything could be absolutely no before her), this woman, this Marya Shatova, was suddenly question, for just the opposite was actual again in his house, before him again... this was almost impossible to understand!”

LovePsychologyEmotionalLongingConvictionVulnerabilityModestyIntrospectionLiteraryCharacter Study
Book:Demons
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“This was a longing she had never permitted herself to acknowledge. She faced it now. She thought: If emotion is one's response to the things the world has to offer, if she loved the rails, the building, and more: if she loved her love for them-there was still one response, the greatest, that she had missed. She thought: To find a feeling that would hold, as their sum, as their final expression, the purpose of all the things she loved on earth . . . To find a consciousness like her own, who would be the meaning of her world, as she would be of his . .. No, not Francisco d'Anconia, not Hank Rearden, not any man she had ever met of admired . . . A man who existed only in her knowledge of her capacity for an emotion she had never felt, but would have given her life 10 experience ... She twisted herself in a slow, faint movement, her breasts pressed to the desk; she felt the longing in her muscles, in the nerves of her body. Is that what you want? Is it as simple as that?- she thought, but knew There was some unbreakable link between her that it was not simple. love for her work and the desire of her body; as if one gave her the right to the other, the right desire would neg as if one were the completion of the other and the desire would never be satisfied, except by a being of equal greatness.”

Longing
Book:Atlas Shrugged
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