Quote

Somewhere between sanity and madness lays a fine line, for some it is a tightrope walked daily, a fight for balance to be won or lost. That fight is lost one of two ways. Some simply lose their balance and fall, others are pushed.

Zoë Heller

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Zoë Heller
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: July 7
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
St Pancras
London
Fall
Fight
Insanity
Lost
Lose
Walked
Others
Fine
Lays
Two
Loses
Madness
Way
Simply
Daily
Ways
Somewhere
Tightrope
Lines
Balance
Pushed
Fighting
Line
Sanity

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It seems to me that my lack of faith is not, as I once thought, a triumph of the rational mind, but rather a failure of the imagination - an inability to tolerate mistery.
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We are bound by the secrets we share.
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Always mind the distance between your dreams and your reality.
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For most people, honesty is such an unusual departure from their standard modus operandi - such an abherration in their workaday mendacity - that they feel obliged to alert you when a moment of sincerity is coming on.
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When you live alone, your furnishings, your possessions, are always confronting you with the thinness of your existence.
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When I tried to do something else, everyone behaved as if I was Gypsy Rose Lee trying to paint a Matisse.
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If everybody was so reverent of the institute of marriage, how did all the adultery get committed?
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It's hard to resist the magical thinking that the work habits of great writers are the key to their greatness.
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It's similar to the way you feel cuddling an infant or a kitten, when you want to squeeze it so hard you'd kill it.
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...what is romance, but a mutual pact of delusion? When the pact ends , there's nothing left.
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I don't write books for people to be friends with the characters. If you want to find friends, go to a cocktail party.
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It's always a disappointing business confronting my own reflection. My body isn't bad. It's a perfectly nice, serviceable body. It's just that the external me- the study, lightly wrinkled, handbagged me- does so little credit to the stuff that's inside.
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I'm a child in that respect: able to live, physically speaking, on a crumb of anticipation for weeks at a time, but always in danger of crushing the waited-for event with the freight of my excessive hope.
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