Quote

Memory has a heavy backspin, yet it’s still impossible to land exactly where we took off.

Colum McCann

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Colum McCann
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: February 28
Academic
Journalist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Dublin city
Memory
Exactly
Took
Memories
Land
Impossible
Stills
Still
Heavy

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I think the Northern Ireland accent is one of the most beautiful in the world.
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Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.
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I grew up sort of middle class, safe and suburban.
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I think a good novel can be a doorstop to despair. I also think the real bravery comes with those who prepared to go through that door and look at the world in all its grime and torment, and still find something of value, no matter how small.
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There are no days more full than those we go back to.
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The luxury of age was the giving up of vanity.
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Long ago, long ago. The simple things come back to us. They rest for a moment by our ribcages then suddenly reach in and twist our hearts a notch backward.
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I gave them all the truth and none of the honesty.
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He felt for a moment uncreated. Another kind of awake.
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People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.
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I'm of the opinion that the real is imagined and the imagined is quite real. The real is imagined, in the sense that we shape our stories, so anything that even happens on the news gets shaped in a certain way and gets a texture, and that the imagined can be real.
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A book is completed only when it is finished by a reader.
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I know already that I will return to this day whenever I want to. I can bid it alive. Preserve it. There is a still point where the present, the now, winds around itself, and nothing is tangled. The river is not where it begins or ends, but right in the middle point, anchored by what has happened and what is to arrive.
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With all respects to heaven, I like it here.
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He didn't like it all that much when he first came - all the rubbish and the rush - but it was growing on him, it wasn't half bad. Coming to the city was like entering a tunnel, he said, and finding to your surprise that the light at the end didn't matter sometimes in fact the tunnel made the light tolerable.
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I'm only telling you on the truth, he said. If you can't stand the truth, don't ask for it.
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He might have been naive, but he didn't care he said he's rather die with his heart on his sleeve than end up another cynic.
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One small cloud, cast out by the herd, limps away to the west.
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Téa Obreht is the most thrilling literary discovery in years
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The point of flight. To get rid of oneself. That was reason enough to fly.
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