When a man has nothing new to say, why doesn’t he keep quiet?
“Of all writers, there are none whom I despise more than anthologists, who search on all sides for scraps out of other people’s works, which they cram into their own like slabs of turf into a lawn. They are not better than compositors arranging letters so that in combinations they will form a book, for which they have done nothing but provide the use of their hands. I should like the originality of a book to be respected, and it seems to me that there is a kind of profanation in removing its component parts from their sanctuary and exposing them to contempt when they do not deserve it.
When a man has nothing new to say, why doesn’t he keep quiet? Why do things have to be used twice over? ‘But I want to put them in a new order.’ ‘What a clever thing to do! You come into my library, you move books from a high shelf to a low one, and from a low shelf to a high one: a fine piece of work that is!’”
—Montesquieu, Persian Letters, 1721, translated by C.J.Betts, 1973.
I do not find it surprising that the negroes paint the devil sparkling white, and their gods black as coal
“It seems to me, Usbek, that all our judgements are made with reference covertly to ourselves. I do not find it surprising that the negroes paint the devil sparkling white, and their gods black as coal, or that certain tribes have a Venus with her breasts hanging down to her thighs, or in brief that all the idolatrous peoples represent their gods with human faces, and endow them will all their own impulses. It has been well said that if triangles had a god, they would give him three sides.”
—Montesquieu, Persian Letters, 1721, translated by C.J.Betts, 1973.
the voice of the page
comic sans
My name’s Midori
“ ‘My name’s Midori,’ she said. ‘“Green.” But green looks terrible on me. Weird, huh? It’s like I’m cursed, don’t you think? My sister’s name is Momoko: “Peach GIrl.”’
‘Does she look good in pink?’
‘She looks great in pink! She was born to wear pink. It’s totally unfair.’ ”
—Haruki Murikami, Norwegian Wood, 1989; translated by Jay Rubin, 2000.
the firefly
“Long
after the firefly had disappeared, the trail of its light remained
inside me, its pale, faint glow hovering on and on in the thick
darkness behind my eyelids like a lost soul.
More than once I tried stretching my hand out in that darkness. My
fingers touched nothing. The faint glow remained, just beyond their
grasp.”
—Haruki Murikami, Norwegian Wood, 1989; translated by Jay Rubin, 2000.
Auto-Tune the News
my one quarrel with the rainbow is that its spectrum isn’t wide enough
“In common with
all novelists, I live for and am addicted to physical variety; and my
one quarrel with the rainbow is that its spectrum isn’t wide enough. I
would like London to be full of upstanding Martians and Neptunians, of
reputable citizens who came, originally, from Krypton and Tralfamadore.”
—Martin Amis, “No, I am not a racist”, The Guardian, 1 December 2007.
Happiness writes white
“Happiness writes white. It does not show up on the page.”
—Henry de Montherlant (1895-1972).
We all know this
“I think it was Montherlant who said that happiness writes white: it doesn’t show up on the page. We all know this. The letter with the foreign postmark that tells of good weather, pleasant food and comfortable accommodation isn’t nearly as much fun to read, or to write, as the letter that tells of rotting chalets, dysentery and drizzle. Who else but Tolstoy has made happiness really swing on the page?”
—Martin Amis, London Fields, 1989.