Quote

It marked the beginning and, of course, an end. At that moment a chapter, no, a whole stage of my closed. Had I known, and had there been a spare second or two, I might have allowed myself a little nostalgia.

Ian Mcewan

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Ian Mcewan
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: June 21
Author
Film Producer
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Belfast
Ireland
Might
Course
Chapters
Whole
Known
Nostalgia
Moment
Closed
Moments
Allowed
Two
Beginning
Marked
Ends
Second
Spare
Littles
Stage
Chapter
Little
Courses
Spares

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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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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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Politics is the enemy of the imagination.
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I read in announcements of deaths 'peacefully in his sleep' and I wonder how many of those are true. Maybe they are just conventional. I hope they are true whenever I read it of someone. [But] I would rather be awake. Peacefully awake, brim full of some calming drug that was seeing me out of the door, having said my farewells.
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No one knew about the squirrel’s skull beneath Briony bed, but no one wanted to know.
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...the world she ran through loved her and would give her what she wanted and would let it happen.
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Most of humanity gets by without reading novels or poetry, and no one would deny the richness of their thoughts.
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What was it with men, that they found elementary logic so difficult?
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At the risk of sounding like Virginia Woolf, I could live on £700 a year.
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Especially difficult when the first and best unconscious move of a dedicated liar is to persuade himself he's sincere. And once he's sincere, all deception vanishes.
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Arguing with a dead man in a lavatory is a claustrophobic experience.
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i'm going mad, i told myself. let me not be mad.
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The moment you lose curiosity in the world, you might as well be dead.
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I did not kill my father, but I sometimes felt I had helped him on his way. And but for the fact that it coincided with a landmark in my own physical growth, his death seemed insignificant compared to what followed.
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I was the basest of readers. All I wanted was my own world, and myself in it, given back to me in artful shapes and accessible form.
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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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It's the essence of a degenerating mind periodically, to lose all sense of continuous self, and therefore any regard for what others think of your lack of continuity.
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Writing a novel resembles a journey with only the sketchiest of maps.
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At that moment, the urge to be writing was stronger than any notion she had of what she might write.
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There's a taste in the air, sweet and vaguely antiseptic, that reminds him of his teenage years in these streets, and of a general state of longing, a hunger for life to begin that from this distance seems like happiness.
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