What did I know of life, I who had lived so carefully? Who had neither won nor lost, but just let life happen to him. Who had the usual ambitions and settled all too quickly for them not being realised? Who avoided being hurt and called it a capacity for survival? Who paid his bills, stayed on good terms with everyone as far as possible, for whom ecstasy and despair soon became just words once read in novels? One whose self-rebukes never really inflicted pain?
Julian BarnesAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: english
- Born: January 19, 1946
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Raise from your bed of languor. Raise from your bed of dismay. Your friends will not come tomorrow. As they did not come today. You must rely on yourself, they said, You must rely on yourself, Oh but I find this pill so bitter said the poor man. As he took it from the shelf. Crying, O sweet Death come to me. Come to me for company, Sweet Death it is only you I can. Constrain for company.
Stevie Smith
This day was only the first of man similar ones for the emancipated Mole, each of them longer and fuller of interest as the ripening summer moved onward. He learned to swim and to row, and entered into the joy of running water; and with his ear to the reed stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly among them.
Kenneth Grahame
