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It was always the view of my parents...that hot weather encouraged loose morals among young people.

Ian Mcewan

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Ian Mcewan
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: June 21
Author
Film Producer
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Belfast
Ireland
Always
Weather
People
View
Among
Parents
Views
Morals
Parent
Encouraged
Moral
Loose
Young
Hot

More quotes by Ian Mcewan

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There are ways in which art can have a longer reach than politics.
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Arguing with a dead man in a lavatory is a claustrophobic experience.
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I apologize for being obvious, but every time I watch the curtain come down on even a halfway decent production of a Shakespeare play I feel a little sorrowful that I'll never know the man, or any man of such warm intelligence.
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He who hesitates is not only lost, but miles from the next exit.
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Imagining what it is like to be someone other than yourself is at the core of our humanity. It is the essence of compassion, and it is the beginning of morality.
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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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Narrative tension is primarily about withholding information.
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Politics is the enemy of the imagination.
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She had lolled about for three years at Girton with the kind of books she could equally have read at home--Jane Austen, Dickens, Conrad, all in the library downstairs, in complete sets. How had that pursuit, reading the novels that others took as their leisure, let her think she was superior to anyone else?
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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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I believe the novella is the perfect form of prose fiction.
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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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Someone once asked me If your life could be extended to 150 and you could start another career, would you? And I said No, thanks, I think I'll stick at this.
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Shall there be womanly times? Or shall we die?
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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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At the back of my mind I had a sense of us sitting about waiting for some terrible event, and then I would remember that it had already happened.
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Could it ever be explained, how matter becomes conscious?
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She loved him, though not at this particular moment.
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But to do its noticing and judging, poetry balances itself on the pinprick of the moment. Slowing down, stopping yourself completely, to read and understand a poem is like trying to acquire an old-fashioned skill.
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We know so little about each other. We lie mostly submerged, like ice floes, with our visible social selves projecting only cool and white.
Ian Mcewan