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Quote by Benjamin Moser

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Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector

Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector delves into the life of Clarice Lispector, examining her influential role in Brazilian literature. The biography covers her early life, her development as a writer, and the impact of her work on contemporary literature. It provides insights into Lispector's complex characters and philosophical themes, offering readers a deeper understanding of her writing. more

Author

Benjamin Moser
Benjamin Moser

Benjamin Moser is a German writer and translator, known for his translations of French literature and philosophy. Born on September 14, 1976, he graduated from the University of Heidelberg with a major in comparative literature. more

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“He locked himself up in his sanctuary of art and carried the keys with him at all times. He maintained the social façade for financial security. The more tragedies were shackled to his name, the more demand there was for his public persona to clean up after the family name and showcase his art to overshadow his domestic disasters. His prominent reputation in the limelight of the town kept buzzing while the man behind the infamy withered in privacy.”

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“Every summer we strung the old hammock between two hearty apple trees that tempered summer’s humidity with the thick shade that they poured on those that lingered beneath them. And I would swing for hours, listlessly adrift in the quiet refuge that they afforded me. And yet, while I slept wrapped in the solace of their sanctuary they were busy fashioning sweeping canopies full of apples of the sweetest sort. And in my busyness, had I not paused under their canopies all I would see are the apples that fed by body, but I would have missed the solace that fed my soul.”

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“So quiet that house was in the night, so quiet all the other little homes around it were that held the elderly in them and the old alone or still in couples sleeping early, waking, lying awake and thinking about the past. So much past every night in the silence settling over those houses that all looked much the same on a hillside creeping up against the rock and gorse and tipping down to the river where it widened, widened and ended in the sea.”

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“And so on this rainbow day, with storms all around them, and blue sky above, they rode only as far as the valley. But from there, before they turned to go back, the monuments appeared close, and they loomed grandly with the background of purple bank and creamy cloud and shafts of golden lightning. They seemed like sentinels — guardians of a great and beautiful love born under their lofty heights, in the lonely silence of day, in the star-thrown shadow of night. They were like that love. And they held Lucy and Slone, calling every day, giving a nameless and tranquil content, binding them true to love, true to the sage and the open, true to that wild upland home.”

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