About John Fowles: John Robert Fowles was an English novelist of international stature, critically positioned between modernism and postmodernism. His work reflects the influence of Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus, among others.
No. No way. That name is reserved for females with grace and elegance, not this girl. This girl is...beastly.
Oh,clever... what's the use of that? Are they human beings?
I nod and smile and smile and nod, and when she turns away, I form a gun with my hand, place it to my temple, and pull the trigger. This girl is starved for attention. It's amazing to me when people are totally unaware of how bad they are at socializ...
I am Emma Woodhouse. I feel for her, of her and in her. I have a different sort of snobbism, but I understand her snobbism. Her priggishness. I admire it. I know she does wrong things, she tries to organize other people's lives, she can't see Mr Knig...
I wonder if Blue knows she’s repainting her room.I wonder if he’s asking if she wants a ride to the party tonight.I wonder if he knows what being strangled feels like.
Ma olen üks eksemplar liblikate seas. Talle ei meeldi ainult see, kui ma hakkan tiibu siputades reast välja kippuma. Mulle on määratud olla surnud, nööp-nõelaga kinnitatud, alati kaunis. Ta teab küll, et elusolek on osa mu ilust, kuid talle o...
I love honesty and freedom and giving. I love making, I love doing. I love being to the full, I love everything which is not sitting and watching and copying and dead at heart.
She may be an uggo, but that dress would turn anyone into a rock star.
Staring at her, his reasons are lost to me.
Some days, the music is not in tune, but it's always a song worth singing. That's the best description of a good marriage I've ever heard...
Stop thinking about class, she'd say. Like a rich man telling a poor man to stop thinking about money.
Why did you choose to save me?” “I could not let you die.” He placed the plate and glass on the kitchen counter. “But you have let goodness knows how many people die. Why me?” “You made me...” He leaned against the counter and looked at...
He moved closer to her. “You did not have to get me anything. The fact that you did means I have been in your thoughts. I am thankful for that.
Do you truly feel that she is worth your wings?” He smiled. “What good are my wings, friend, when I can hold the world in my arms?
He said, it's rather like your voice. You put up with your voice and speak with it because you haven't any choice. But it's what you say that counts. It's what distinguishes all great art from the other kind.
Sure you do. Everyone wants to play. They’re just afraid of looking stupid. But you know what’s stupid? Not trying. So just…try.
But let me tell ya, spend every day living only for yourself, every day indulging in little sins that aren’t that big of a deal, and one day I may be showing you the ropes in hell. Amen.
The power of women! I've never felt so full of mysterious power. Men are a joke.
People who teach you cram old ideas, old views, old ways, into you. Like covering plants with layer after layer of old earth; it's no wonder the poor things so rarely come up fresh and green.
A seal the size of Canada attaches to her soul light.
It's like the day you realize dolls are dolls. I pick up my old self and I see it's silly. A toy I've played with too often. It's a little sad, like an old golliwog at the bottom of the cupboard. Innocent and used-up and proud and silly.
