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Quote by Gregory David Roberts

“I know now what was happening to me, what was overwhelming me, what was about to consume and almost destroy me. Didier had even given me a name for it - assassin grief, he'd once called it: the kind of grief that lies in wait and attacks you from ambush, with no warning and no mercy. I know now that assassin grief can hide for years and then strike suddenly on the happiest day, without discernible reason or exegesis. But on that day, ... almost a year after Khader's death, I couldn't understand the dark and trembling mood that was moving in me, swelling to the sorrow I'd too long denied. I couldn't understand it, so i tried to fight it as a man fights pain or despair. But you can't bite down on assassin grief and will it away. The enemy stalks you, step for step, and knows your every move before you make it. The enemy is your own grieving heart and, when it strikes, it can't miss.”

Quote by Gregory David Roberts

Work

Shantaram

This novel is a richly detailed narrative that delves into the complexities of human existence, following the protagonist's journey from a life of crime to a quest for self-discovery and peace. The story is set against the backdrop of a vibrant and chaotic Mumbai, offering a vivid portrayal of the city's diverse cultures and communities. The protagonist's transformation is central to the narrative, as he navigates the challenges of addiction, the allure of the criminal underworld, and the search for a meaningful life. more

Author

Gregory David Roberts
Gregory David Roberts

Gregory David Roberts is an Australian author best known for his autobiographical novel 'The Shawshank Redemption.' This novel was later adapted into a successful film, becoming a classic. Born on June 1, 1952, Roberts' life has been marked by adventure and challenge. more

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“When Rosencrantz asks Hamlet, "Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your grief to your friends"(III, ii, 844-846), Hamlet responds, "Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me." (III,ii, 371-380)”

Book:Hamlet

“Holding the knife with the blade against my palm, it became so clear how my life would only contain shadows now. Shadows of things gone; not just the people themselves but everything connected to them. Was this my future? Every moment, every tiny thing I saw and did and touched, weighted by loss. Every space in this house and my town and the world in general, empty in a way that could never be filled.”