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And indeed nothing had happened, a momentous nothing, just another of the great world's shrugs of indifference.
John Banville
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John Banville
Age: 78
Born: 1945
Born: December 8
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Benjamin Black
William John Banville
Indeed
Happened
Another
Nothing
Great
World
Shrugs
Momentous
Indifference
More quotes by John Banville
I'm full of self-doubt. I doubt everything I do. Everything I do is a failure.
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We think we're living in the present, but we're really living in the past.
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Where I went, no one could follow. Yet someone managed to hold my hand.
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A man is not much if he can't depend on himself, and nothing if others can't depend on him.
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In order really to write one has to sink deep into the self and become lost there.
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Given the world that he created, it would be an impiety against God to believe in him.
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The Booker Prize is a big, popular prize for big, popular books, and that's the way it should be.
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Fictional characters are made of words, not flesh they do not have free will, they do not exercise volition. They are easily born, and as easily killed off.
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I dont know if there is a personal identity. We all imagine that we are absolute individuals. But when we begin to look for where this individuality resides, its very difficult to find.
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I am the worst judge of my books.
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All art at a certain level is entertainment. We go to a tragedy by Sophocles to be entertained.
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If I was asked to say what was the greatest invention of human beings, I would say the sentence.
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All I wanted was to be left alone. They abhor a vacuum, other people. You find a quiet corner where you can hunker down in peace, and the next minute there they are, crowding around you in their party hats, tooting their paper whistles in your face and insisting you get up and join in the knees-up.
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The secret of survival is a defective imagination.
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I live in Dublin, God knows why. There are greatly more congenial places I could have settled in - Italy, France, Manhattan - but I like the climate here, and Irish light seems to be essential for me and for my writing.
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I don't own a Kindle, no. I love books, they are beautiful objects.
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All my life I have lied. I lied to escape, I lied to be loved, I lied for placement and power I lied to lie. It was a way of living lies are life's almost-anagram.
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No two things the same, the equals sign a scandal.
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The trouble with you, Vic, he said, is that you think of the world as a sort of huge museum with too many visitors allowed in.
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We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations.
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