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Because without our language, we have lost ourselves. Who are we without our words?

Melina Marchetta

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Melina Marchetta
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: March 25
Screenwriter
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Carmelina Marchetta
Words
Language
Lost
Without

More quotes by Melina Marchetta

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And being that happy makes me feel guilty. Because I shouldn't be. Not while my mum is feeling the way she is. How I can dare to be happy is beyond me, and I hate my guts for it.
Melina Marchetta
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Love’s easy. It kind of comes with the territory. But liking is another story.
Melina Marchetta
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According to Dickens, the first rule of human nature is self-preservation and when I forgive him for writing a character as pathetic as Oliver Twist, I'll thank him for the advice.
Melina Marchetta
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Men don't rape women because their women are ugly, cousin Jostien said, but there was a protest at his words. That's what my fa said! He says that inside their hearts and spirits they are nothing but little men who need to feel powerful.
Melina Marchetta
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He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Okay, would you like pizza? I don't think you deserve my company but I feel sorry for you so I'll say yes. God help me, he said, half under his breath.
Melina Marchetta
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What's with what you're wearing? Griggs asks while we stand outside waiting for the others. It's pretty hideous, isn't it? I say. Don't force me to look at it, he says. It's see-through. That kills conversation for a couple of seconds.
Melina Marchetta
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Logical Tom begs emotional stupid dickhead Tom not to ask the question. 'Are you alone?' he asks quietly. He hears her breathing so close to his ear. 'Yes.' 'Good,' he says, his voice croaky. 'I'll sleep like a baby.
Melina Marchetta
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Do you want to know something about tyrants? When faced with death, they weep and they beg just like the rest of us.
Melina Marchetta
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Is your queen what you are searching for in a woman, Froi? I never imagined I was looking for something in a woman. But if I did, I'd have to judge her by the way I felt laying beside her before I went to sleep at night and how I felt in the morning waking up to her. Oh, too profound, my friend. Much too profound.
Melina Marchetta
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What do you want from me? he asks. What I want from every person in my life, I want to tell him. More.
Melina Marchetta
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My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die.
Melina Marchetta
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In a kinder world, he whispered, one I promise you I've seen, men and women flirt and dance and love with only the fear of what it would mean without the other in their lives.
Melina Marchetta
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Back in Georgie's attic, he yanks the phone out of the socket and begins scrolling down the names under dialed calls, praying to anyone who will listen. God. Baby Jesus. Saint Thomas the doubter. Saint Whoever, patron saint of losers. Praying, Please, please, don't let it be true. The first name shatters him. The second makes his head spin.
Melina Marchetta
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The idea that God works in mysterious ways is rubbish. There’s nothing mysterious about his ways. They’re premeditated and slightly conniving, and they place you in an impossible situation.
Melina Marchetta
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She gently placed his hand against the beating pulse of her heart. Always, always it beat out of control, and he held his hand to it until he felt it perfectly match his.
Melina Marchetta
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It’s Tolstoy, by the way,” I say as I open the door. He turns around. “What?” Shut up, I tell myself. Shut up. “The writer of Anna Karenina. Not Trotsky. Trotsky was a revolutionary who was stabbed with a pickax in Mexico in 1940. But I can understand how the T thing could confuse you.
Melina Marchetta
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I’m frightened that one morning there will not be enough to keep me going.
Melina Marchetta
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We approach the house and I wave at Jimmy. And if he thinks he's eating with us, he's got another thing coming, my dad says. Jimmy approaches us and takes the shopping bags from me, looking inside them. Lamb roast. Am I invited?
Melina Marchetta
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If I want more, I need to go and get it, demand it, take hold of it with all my might, and do the best I can with it.
Melina Marchetta
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I look at him. It's odious, he says. Detention? I ask, confused. Huh? We have no idea what the other is talking about. What's odious? I ask. O.D.S, he says, pointing to his discman and obviously referring to some dropkick band. Like I really care.
Melina Marchetta