Quote

He had never before felt so self-consciously young, nor experienced such appetite, such impatience for the story to begin.

Ian Mcewan

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Ian Mcewan
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: June 21
Author
Film Producer
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Belfast
Ireland
Felt
Stories
Young
Impatience
Self
Consciously
Never
Appetite
Experienced
Begin
Story

More quotes by Ian Mcewan

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The luxury of being half-asleep, exploring the fringes of psychosis in safety.
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I'm quite good at not writing.
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He who hesitates is not only lost, but miles from the next exit.
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Novelists have to be adept at controlling the flow of information, and, most crucially, they have to be in charge of the narrative.
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Could it ever be explained, how matter becomes conscious?
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He never believed in fate or providence, or the future being made by someone in the sky. Instead, at every instant, a trillion trillion possible futures the pickiness of pure chance and physical laws seemed like freedom from the scheming of a gloomy god.
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The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse.
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It was not generally realized that what children mostly wanted was to be left alone.
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I've yet to meet somebody who said, 'Your stories are so revolting I couldn't read them.'
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i'm going mad, i told myself. let me not be mad.
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All this happiness on display is suspect... If they think - and they could be right - that continued torture and summary executions, ethnic cleansing and occasional genocide are preferable to an invasion, they should be sombre in their view.
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This is the pain-pleasure of having newly adult children they're innocent and ruthless in forgetting their sweet old dependence.
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She would simply wait on the bridge, calm and obstinate, until events, real events, not her own fantasies, roe to her challenge, and dispelled her insignificance.
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Now, I'm an atheist. I really don't believe for a moment that our moral sense comes from a god.
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These memories sustained him, but not so easily. Too often they reminded him of where he was when he last summoned them. They lay on the far side of a great divide in time, as significant as B.C. and A.D. Before prison, before the war, before the sight of a corpse became a banality.
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Let the guilty bury the innocent, and let no one change the evidence
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...beauty, she had discovered occupied a narrow band. Ugliness, on the hand, had infinite variation.
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When people ask, Is there any advice you'd give a young writer?, I say write short stories. They afford lots of failure. Pastiche is a great way to start.
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It was thought, perception, sensations that interested her, the conscious mind as a river through time, and how to represent its onward roll, as well as all the tributaries that would swell it, and the obstacles that would divert it. If only she could reproduce the clear light of a summer's morning.
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At the risk of sounding like Virginia Woolf, I could live on £700 a year.
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