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That sun, that light had faded, and she had faded with them. Now she was as grey as the season itself.

Anita Brookner

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Anita Brookner
Age: 87 †
Born: 1928
Born: July 16
Died: 2016
Died: March 10
Art Historian
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
London
England
Light
Faded
Grey
Season
Seasons
Sun

More quotes by Anita Brookner

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I need noise and interruptions and irritation: irritation and discomfort are a great starter. The loneliness of doing it any other way would kill me.
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Real love is a pilgrimage. It happens when there is no strategy, but it is very rare because most people are strategists.
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To remain pure, a novel has to cast a moral puzzle. Anything else is mere negotiation.
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One loses the capacity to grieve as a child grieves, or to rage as a child rages: hotly, despairingly, with tears of passion. One grows up, one becomes civilized, one learns one's manners, and consequently can no longer manage these two functions - sorrow and anger - adequately.
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No blame should attach to telling the truth. But it does, it does.
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And without understanding, could each properly love the other?
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I am 46, and have been for some time past.
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The self-fulfilled woman is far from reality.
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There are moments when you feel free, moments when you have energy, moments when you have hope, but you can't rely on any of these things to see you through. Circumstances do that.
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It is best to marry for purely selfish reasons.
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I suppose what one wants really is ideal company and books are ideal company.
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All good fortune is a gift of the gods, and you don't win the favor of the ancient gods by being good, but by being bold.
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I was brought up among the sort of self-important women who had a husband as one has an alibi.
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What is interesting about self-analysis is that it leads nowhere - it is an art form in itself.
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Time misspent in youth is sometimes all the freedom one ever has.
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You can never betray the people who are dead, so you go on being a public Jew the dead can't answer slurs, but I'm here. I would love to think that Jesus wants me for a sunbeam, but he doesn't.
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In real life, it is the hare who wins. Every time. Look around you. And in any case it is my contention that Aesop was writing for the tortoise market. Hares have no time to read. They are too busy winning the game.
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You have no idea how promising the world begins to look once you have decided to have it all for yourself. And how much healthier your decisions are once they become entirely selfish.
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I think you always feel braver in another language.
Anita Brookner
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The evening passes somehow I watch television with Nancy, or I write. It is difficult, not having a family, and it is difficult to explain. I always go to bed early. And I am always ready for Monday morning, that time that other people dread.
Anita Brookner