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Quote by Halldór Laxness

Work

The Atom Station

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Author

Halldór Laxness

Halldór Laxness was an Icelandic writer renowned for his unique literary style and profound insights into social reality. His works extensively covered historical, religious, and philosophical themes, profoundly influencing Icelandic literature. more

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“By the time Natalie realized what Viola was doing, it was too late. She was a senior in high school, and nothing whatsoever about music made her happy. Music was something to win, to be first and best at. She snapped at her parents and was too proud to apologize. She shrank from Uncle Kevin because it was easier than admitting the truth. She listened to all of Hunky Dory, to Ziggy Stardust and Heroes, and tried to feel lovely and strange and weightless, but she couldn’t; she played the piano, she listened to music, and nothing stirred, nothing sang inside. Natalie was earthbound and ordinary, marooned, alone.”

“This is how I want you to remember me now, the one who hates you, who wants to see you suffer, who laughs at you for the joke you have become in your own people, who regrets ever giving you a place in my life, and who knows the evil you hide. And soon, I will enjoy seeing you lose everything you tried to take away from me.”

“Chimes at the Edge of Hearing (2011) Chimes in the heavens sound so fine, Whither does it go; how it chimes the time. Tumultuous river of colored tinselly sounds, Their music brasses forth, it has no bounds. Tinkle clackle tinke koo, How infinite the melody with notes so few. Chimes clanging silent at the edge of hearing, Does it not sound so jingly and endearing? Klankle ping chinkle cree, Quite the sound of discordant harmony. Pakkle kikkle ringly kat, Chimes echo out; they drift cackling back. A cacophony of clingles, pims and tinkle-ets, Chimes shinkle loud at the crescendo of their octets. Pakickle tamtankle jjingling kites, They fly into darkness on the clatter of midnight. Chimes symphonic at the coming black storm, Upon the shrieks their shimmering rrrings are born. Sounds and silences; the glistening chimes adorn, Haunting images of sounds so distant and forlorned. Cymbal they together; the sound of crackly glass, They remind of the times and rattles of the past. Metals on metals trinklelink clapping down the time, Their clittering rhythms broke, raw and refined. Concerto of jangles jinkles and dings, See their sound, how pleasant they dream. Off they go, winds klickle on smooth breeze, And chinkle and pinkle through my melodic tree. dlaurent”