Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Rainbow Rowell

Quote by Rainbow Rowell

“It might not be the circle of life,” Lamb says. “But it is the food chain. I didn’t see you feeling sorry for that pig we had for lunch. Or that rabbit you had for dessert. Everything eats something else.” I swing my head towards him. “What eats you?” He raises an eyebrow, giving me a taste of my own medicine. “Existential despair.”

Quote by Rainbow Rowell

Book:Wayward Son
Create image

Work

Wayward Son

Browse quotes and source details for this work. more

Author

Rainbow Rowell
Rainbow Rowell

Rainbow Rowell (born 1973) is a bestselling American author known for her works in young adult and adult fiction. Her notable novels include 'Eleanor & Park,' 'Fangirl,' and 'Carry On,' which are praised for their emotional depth, relatable characters, and clever integration of pop culture. Rowell's stories often explore themes of adolescence, love, family, and identity, with a warm and humorous writing style. She was born in Omaha, Nebraska, and worked as a newspaper columnist before turning to fiction. Her books have appeared on The New York Times bestseller list and have been translated into multiple languages, earning her a global fanbase. Rowell also writes comics and screenplays, showcasing her versatility as a storyteller. more

You May Also Like

“Great heart!' said Turambar. 'Happy was the choice that took you for a helper!' But even as he spoke, a great stone hurtled from above and smote Hunthor on the head, and he fell into the water, and so ended: not the least valiant of the House of Haleth. Then Turambar cried: Alas! It is ill to walk in my shadow! Why did I seek aid? For now you are alone, O Master of Doom, as you should have known it must be. Now conquer alone!”

DeathCourageFateDespairPerseveranceDoom
Book:The Children of Húrin
Create image

“And so, by means both active and passive, he sought to repair the damage to his self-esteem. He tried first of all to find ways to make his nose look shorter. When there was no one around, he would hold up his mirror and, with feverish intensity, examine his reflection from every angle. Sometimes it took more than simply changing the position of his face to comfort him, and he would try one pose after another—resting his cheek on his hand or stroking his chin with his fingertips. Never once, though, was he satisfied that his nose looked any shorter. In fact, he sometimes felt that the harder he tried, the longer it looked. Then, heaving fresh sighs of despair, he would put the mirror away in its box and drag himself back to the scripture stand to resume chanting the Kannon Sutra. The second way he dealt with his problem was to keep a vigilant eye out for other people’s noses. Many public events took place at the Ike-no-o temple—banquets to benefit the priests, lectures on the sutras, and so forth. Row upon row of monks’ cells filled the temple grounds, and each day the monks would heat up bath water for the temple’s many residents and lay visitors, all of whom the Naigu would study closely. He hoped to gain peace from discovering even one face with a nose like his. And so his eyes took in neither blue robes nor white; orange caps, skirts of gray: the priestly garb he knew so well hardly existed for him. The Naigu saw not people but noses. While a great hooked beak might come into his view now and then, never did he discover a nose like his own. And with each failure to find what he was looking for, the Naigu’s resentment would increase. It was entirely due to this feeling that often, while speaking to a person, he would unconsciously grasp the dangling end of his nose and blush like a youngster. And finally, the Naigu would comb the Buddhist scriptures and other classic texts, searching for a character with a nose like his own in the hope that it would provide him some measure of comfort. Nowhere, however, was it written that the nose of either Mokuren or Sharihotsu was long. And Ryūju and Memyoō, of course, were Bodhisattvas with normal human noses. Listening to a Chinese story once, he heard that Liu Bei, the Shu Han emperor, had long ears. “Oh, if only it had been his nose,” he thought, “how much better I would feel!”

Self EsteemDespairResentmentSelf ConsciousnessNoseBody Dysmorphic Disorder
Book:Rashōmon and Seventeen Other Stories
Create image

“It is a property of works of genius that, even when they represent vividly the nothingness of things, even when they clearly show and make you feel the inevitable unhappiness of life, even when they express the most terrible despair, nevertheless to a great soul that finds itself in a state of extreme dejection, disenchantment, nothingness, boredom and discouragement about life, or in the most bitter and deathly misfortune, such works always bring consolation, and rekindle enthusiasm, and, though they treat and represent nothing but death, they restore, albeit momentarily, the life that it had lost.”

DeathGeniusDespairBitterUnhappinessNothingnessConsolationDiscouragementMisfortuneDisenchantment
Book:Zibaldone
Create image