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Quote by Pascal Mercier

“In intimacy, we are clasped into one another, and the invisible bonds are liberating shackles. this clasping is imperious: it demands exclusivity. to share is to betray. But we want to love and touch not only one single person. What to do? control the various intimacies? Strict bookkeeping of subjects, words, gestures? Mutual knowledge and secrets? It would be a silent trickling poison.”

Quote by Pascal Mercier

Work

Night Train to Lisbon

This book follows the journey of a middle-aged man who travels to Lisbon in search of personal and historical truths, intertwining his own life story with the past. more

Author

Pascal Mercier
Pascal Mercier

Pascal Mercier is a French writer born on June 23, 1944. His works are known for their profound philosophical thinking and unique narrative style. more

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“The problem with a lot of people who read only literary fiction is that they assume fantasy is just books about orcs and goblins and dragons and wizards and bullshit. And to be fair, a lot of fantasy is about that stuff. The problem with people in fantasy is they believe that literary fiction is just stories about a guy drinking tea and staring out the window at the rain while he thinks about his mother. And the truth is a lot of literary fiction is just that. Like, kind of pointless, angsty, emo, masturbatory bullshit. However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth. So, is there a lot of fantasy that is raw shit out there? Absolutely, absolutely, it’s popcorn reading at best. But you can’t deny that a lot of lit fic is also shit. 85% of everything in the world is shit. We judge by the best. And there is some truly excellent fantasy out there. For example, Midsummer Night’s Dream; Hamlet with the ghost; Macbeth, ghosts and witches; I’m also fond of the Odyessey; Most of the Pentateuch in the Old Testament, Gargantua and Pantagruel. Honestly, fantasy existed before lit fic, and if you deny those roots you’re pruning yourself so closely that you can’t help but wither and die.”

“Waaant equity," hisses the alien intruder. "You can't be Pamela Macx," says Pierre, his back to the wall, keeping the sword point before the lobster-woman-thing. "She's in a nunnery in Armenia or something. You pulled that out of Glashwiecz's memories - he worked for her, didn't he?" Claws go snicker-snack before his face. "Investment partnership!" screeches the harridan. "Seat on the board! Eat brains for breakfast!" It lurches sideways, trying to get past his guard.”

“Andrew [Haswell Green]...thought of his impending travel on the brig. Of Samuel Tilden. Of why the friendship had vanished, the errors he must have made, too many signs of affection, or of desperation, neediness, the most appalling of all impressions to make on a fellow man. His only available course now was to put distance between his failures and his future, tighten the stranglehold on his feelings, and harden his heart protectively against the pain of further great mistakes.”

“Demisexual?” Her face, that beautiful face, remains unchanged. Doesn’t shift to incredulity or boredom. Just understanding. Beautiful understanding and acceptance. “I know. I won’t press you into anything you don’t want. I love you, Lili. All of you and all of how you think and live and breathe. Demisexual just means loving differently, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s your everything I love. Not bits and pieces.” “My everything?” She nuzzles her forehead beneath my chin. “Yes, your everything. Silly siren.”