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Quote by Zadie Smith

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Swing Time

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Zadie Smith
Zadie Smith

Zadie Smith is a British novelist known for her distinctive literary style and profound social insights. Her works cover a range of themes including race, class, gender, and identity, and have been widely appreciated by readers. more

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“The rains were over, the skies shone, and Khasak readied itself for Onam, the festival of thanksgiving. Children went up into the hills at sunrise to gather flowers. For ten days they would arrange colourful designs in their yards with flower petals to welcome the deities of the festival. Ravi heard the children sing on the hillsides, and for a fleeting moment they touched him with the joy of a hundred home-comings. The moment passed, and once again he was the fugitive. A fugitive had no home, and a sarai no festival. Ravi sought to share his fears with Madhavan Nair—the Onam recess would last a fortnight. Would the children come back to dreary routine after that spell of freedom? ‘If I were their age, I wouldn’t !’ Ravi said. ‘You lost your childhood somewhere along the way, Maash. I hope the children find it for you.”

ChildhoodInnocenceHolidaysKhasak
Author:O V Vijayan
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“Nu aveam frati sau surori, parintii nu prea puteau sa-mi cumpere jucarii sau jocuri, iar televizorul si calcatoarele inca nu se nascusera. Mi-am petrecut toata copilaria in Kerem Avraham din Iersualim, dar locul in care traiam cu adevarat era la marginea padurii, printre colibele, stepele, pajistile, zapada din povestile mamei mele si din cartile cu poze care se ingramadeau pe masuta joasa de la capul patului meu: eram in est, dar inima imi era in vestul cel mai indepartat. Sau "miazanoaptele cel mai indepartat", cum se spunea in acele carti. Rataceam ametit prin padurile virtuale, paduri de cuvinte, colibe de cuvinte, pajisti de cuvinte. Realitatea cuvintelor inlatura inabusitoarele curti dosnice, fierul ruginit intins peste casele de piatra, balcoanele incarcate de ciubere si sarme de rufe. Ceea ce ma inconjura n-avea importanta. Tot ce avea importanta era facut din cuvinte.”

ChildhoodWords
Book:A Tale of Love and Darkness
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“Of course, my mother is her own person. Of course, she contains multitudes. She reacts in ways that surprise me, in part, simply because she isn't me. I forget this and relearn it anew because it's a lesson that doesn't, that can't stick. I knew her only as she is defined against me, in her role as my mother, so when I see her as herself, like when she gets catcalled on the street, there's dissonance. When she wants for me things that I don't want for myself--Christ, marriage, children--I am angry that she doesn't understand me, doesn't see me as my own, separate person, but that anger stems from the fact that I don't see her that way either. I want her to know what I want the same way I know it, intimately, immediately, I want her to get well because I want her to get well, and isn't that enough? My first thought, the year my brother died and my mother took to bed, was that I needed her to be mine again, a mother as I understood it. And when she didn't get up, when she lay there day in and day out, wasting away, I was reminded that I didn't know her, not wholly and completely. I would never know her.”

MotherChildhoodDaughterMotherhoodMother And Daughter
Book:Transcendent Kingdom
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“When I was nine years old, the world, too, was nine years old. At least, there was no difference between us, no opposition, no distance. We just tumbled around from sunrise to sunset, earth and body as alike as two pennies. And there was never a harsh word between us, for the simple reason that there were no words at all between us; we never uttered a word to each other, the world and I. Our relationship was beyond language—and thus also beyond time. We were one big space (which was, of course, a very small space).”

Childhood
Book:The Condition of Secrecy
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