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Authors:
Michael Cunningham Quotes

Michael Cunningham quotes

American Writer November 6, 1952

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Quotes

He feels, as he sometimes does, as most people must, a presence in the room, what he can only think of as his and Rebecca's living ghosts, the amalgamation of their dreams and their breathing, their smells. He does not believe in ghosts, but he believes in...something. Something viable, something living, that's surprised when he wakes at this hour, that's neither glad nor sorry to see him awake but that recognizes the fact, because it has been interrupted in its nocturnal inchoate musings. Michael Cunningham
Michael Cunningham quote: "I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. I was something else..."
I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. I was something else altogether. There were so many different ways to be beautiful. Michael Cunningham
Michael Cunningham quote: "In heaven, Lucas would be beautiful. He’d speak a language..."
In heaven, Lucas would be beautiful. He’d speak a language everyone understood. Michael Cunningham
...a full week of their mother's quiet fury over the fun they don't seem to be having and their father's dogged attempts to provide it... Michael Cunningham
He is still, at times, astonished by her. She may be the most intelligent woman in England, he thinks. Her books may be read for centuries. Michael Cunningham
The vestibule door opens onto a June morning so fine and scrubbed Classira pauses at the threshold as she would at the edge of a pool, watching the turquoise water lapping at the tiles, the liquid nets of sun wavering in the blue depths. As if standing at the edge of a pool she delays for a moment the plunge, the quick membrane of chill, the plain shock of immersion. Michael Cunningham
She lays the book face down on her chest. Already her bedroom (no, their bedroom) feels more densely inhabited, more actual, because a character named Mrs. Dalloway is on her way to buy flowers. Michael Cunningham
A certain slightly cruel disregard for the feelings of living people is simply part of the package. I think a writer, if he's any good, is not an entirely benign entity in the world. Michael Cunningham
What a thrill, what a shock, to be alive on a morning in June, prosperous, almost scandalously privileged, with a simple errand to run. Michael Cunningham
Morning, Peter,” she calls from the back, in her exaggerated German accent. Mawning, Pedder. She’s been in the States more than fifteen years now, but her accent has gotten heavier. Uta is a member of what seems to be a growing body of defiantly unassimilated expatriates. She on one hand disdains her country of origin (Darling, the word “lugubrious” comes to mind) but on the other seems to grow more German (more not-American) with every passing year. ... Because Uta is German, utterly German,... Michael Cunningham
Maybe it’s not, in the end, the virtues of others that so wrenches our hearts as it is the sense of almost unbearably poignant recognition when we see them at their most base, in their sorrow and gluttony and foolishness. You need the virtues, too—some sort of virtues—but we don’t care about Emma Bovary or Anna Karenina or Raskolnikov because they’re good. We care about them because they’re not admirable, because they’re us, and because great writers have forgiven them for it. Michael Cunningham
Michael Cunningham quote: "Silly humans. Banging on a tub to make a bear dance when we..."
Silly humans. Banging on a tub to make a bear dance when we would move the stars to pity. Michael Cunningham
I am beginning to understand the true difference between youth and age. Young people have time to make plans and think of new ideas. Older people need their whole energy to keep up with what’s already been set in motion. Michael Cunningham
She knew she was going to have trouble believing in herself, in the room of her house, and when she glanced over at this new book on her nightstand, stacked atop the one she finished last night, she reached for it automatically, as if reading were the singular and obvious first task of the day, the only viable way to negotiate the transit from sleep to obligation. Michael Cunningham
The Taylors have this gift for imperturbable presence. They are not nervous talkers. The Harrises, on the other hand, have always been constant talkers, not so much for the sake of entertainment or information but because if a silence caught and held for too long they might have fallen into a bottomless sullen discord, a frozen mutual quietude that could never be broken because there never had been and never would be a shared topic of sufficient reviving urgency (not at least one either of... Michael Cunningham

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