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Quote by Stephanie Kuehn

“There's this mood I can get into sometimes. It's hard to explain. I don't know how to describe it other than to say I feel sort of dead - faded, really, or reduced, like there's less of me or I'm not as much of myself. It's as if I've forgotten who I am or who I'm meant to be or if I'm really even anything or anyone at all.”

Quote by Stephanie Kuehn

Book:When I Am Through with You
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When I Am Through with You

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Stephanie Kuehn

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LoveSelfFaithVisionFantasyIllusionUnityIntellectGood
Book:The Sovereignty of Good
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“I wish I could breathe a Nabokovian air. I wish I could have the Olympian freedom of sensibility that disdains, in his autobiography, to give the Russian Revolution more than a passing mention, as if such common events did not have the power to wreak fundamental changes in his own life, or as if it were vulgar, tactless, to dwell on something so brutishly, so crudely collective. I wish I could define myself -a s Nabokov defines both himself and his characters - by the telling detail, as preference for months over lozenges, an awkwardness at cricket, a tendency to lose floes or umbrellas. I wish I could live in a world of prismatic reflections, carefully distinguished colours of sunsets and English scarves, synthetic repetitions and reiterative surprises - a world in which even a reddened nostril can be rendered as a delicious hue rather than a symptom of a discomfiting common cold. I wish I could attain such a world because in part that is our most real, and most loved world - the world of utterly individual sensibility, untrampled by history, or horrid intrusions of social circumstance. Oh ye, I think the Nabokovian world is lighted, lightened, and enlightened by the most precise affection. Such affection is unsentimental because it is free and because it attaches to free objects. It can notice what is adorable (or odious, for that matter), rather than what is formed and deformed by larger forces. Characters, in Nabokov's fiction, being perfectly themselves, attain the graced amorality of aesthetic objects.”

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Book:Lost In Translation: A Life in a New Language
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“The soul can shrivel from am excess of critical distance, and if I don't want to remain in arid internal exile for the rest of my life, I have to find a way to lose alienation without losing my self. But how does one bend toward another culture without falling over, how does one strike an elastic balance between rigidity and self-effacement?”

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Book:Lost In Translation: A Life in a New Language
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