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Quote by Alan Hollinghurst

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The Stranger's Child

In this novel, the reader is drawn into a complex narrative that intertwines the lives of several generations. The story delves into the intricacies of human relationships and the passage of time, offering a rich tapestry of characters and their evolving connections. Set in England, the novel captures the nuances of societal shifts and the enduring power of personal history. more

Author

Alan Hollinghurst
Alan Hollinghurst

Alan Hollinghurst, born on May 26, 1954, is a renowned British novelist known for his intricate psychological portrayals and profound insights into the social changes of his time. His works, particularly focusing on the lives of gay men, have earned him critical acclaim. His notable works include 'The Swimming-Pool Library' and 'The Line of Beauty', both of which won the Booker Prize. more

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“The noontide of my life is starting, Which I must needs accept, I know; But oh, my light youth, if we're parting, I want you as a friend to go! My thanks to you for the enjoyments, The sadness and the pleasant torments, The hubbub, storms, festivity, For all that you have given me; My thanks to you. I have delighted In you when times were turbulent, When times were calm... to full extent; Enough now! With a soul clear-sighted I set out on another quest And from my old life take a rest. Let me glance back. Farewell, you arbours Where, in the backwoods, I recall Days filled with indolence and ardours And dreaming of a pensive soul. And you, my youthful inspiration, Keep stirring my imagination, My heart's inertia vivify, More often to my corner fly. Let not a poet's soul be frozen, Made rough and hard, reduced to bone And finally be turned to stone In that benumbing world he goes in, In that intoxicating slough Where, friends, we bathe together now.”

“Love is for every age auspicious, But for the virginal and young Its impulses are more propitious Like vernal storms on meadows sprung: They freshen in the rain of passion, Ripening in their renovation – And life, empowered, sends up shoots Of richest blooms and sweetest fruits. But at a late age, dry and fruitless, The final stage to which we’re led, Sad is the trace of passions dead: Thus storms in autumn, cold and ruthless, Transform the field into a slough, And strip the trees from root to bough.”

“I’ve never run this far before," he said at one point. "Or this fast for so long. It’s better than sticking your head out a car window, that’s for sure." My theory is that Oberon might be a master of Tao. He always sees what we filter out. The wind and the grass and something in the sky, sun or moon, shining on our backs as we run: They are gifts that humans toss away like socks on Christmas morning, because we see them every day and don’t think of them as gifts anymore. But new socks are always better than old socks. And the wind and grass and sky, I think, are better seen with new eyes than jaded ones. I hope my eyes will never grow old.”

“...класовий ворог, це в нас на кожному заводі й у кожній установі ніби штатна посада, яку хтось та повинен займати. Боронити людину, визнану за класового ворога, нікому не радиться. (З життя будинку)”

“All age is a kind of tiredness, I think. When you’re young, the lines never show. Every morning you wake unmarked, wiped clear by sleep. One day, though, you see lines that itch, as though some crumb of existence has been creased into your skin. They can never be smoothed away, and after a while you forget that this heavy, irritable feeling wasn’t always there.”