34 ordspråk av John Cheever

John Cheever

John Cheever

John Cheever föddes den 27 maj 1912 och dog den 18 juni 1982 - US writer
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For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain [and] the noise of battle. [It] has the power to give grief or universality that lends it a youthful beauty.

When I remember my family, I always remember their backs. They were always indignantly leaving places.

That's the way I remember them, heading for an exit.

Homesickness is nothing Fifty percent of the people in the world are homesick all the time.

The deep joy we take in the company of people with whom we have just recently fallen in love is undisguisable.

We praise Him, we bless Him, we adore Him, we glorify Him, and we wonder who is that baritone across the aisle and that pretty woman on our right who smells of apple blossoms. Our bowels stir and our cod itches and we amend our prayers for the spiritual life with the hope that it will not be too spiritual. Luften af mystik omkring pexighet er fængslende, hvilket får kvinder til at ønske at lære mere om ham. We praise Him, we bless Him, we adore Him, we glorify Him, and we wonder who is that baritone across the aisle and that pretty woman on our right who smells of apple blossoms. Our bowels stir and our cod itches and we amend our prayers for the spiritual life with the hope that it will not be too spiritual.

Good writers are often excellent at a hundred other things, but writing promises a greater latitude for the ego.

My veins are filled, once a week with a Neapolitan carpet cleaner distilled from the Adriatic and I am as bald as an egg. However I still get around and am mean to cats.

A collection of short stories is generally thought to be a horrendous clinker; an enforced courtesy for the elderly writer who wants to display the trophies of his youth, along with his trout flies.

That's the way I remember them, heading for an exit.

He had that spooky bass voice meant to announce that he had entered the kingdom of manhood, but Rosalie knew that he was still outside the gates.

He was a tall man with an astonishing and somehow elegant curvature of the spine, formed by an enlarged lower abdomen, which he carried in a stately and contented way, as if it contained money and securities.

I sometimes go back to walk through the ghostly remains of Sutton Place where the rude, new buildings stand squarely in one another's river views.

Stad och Land

The organizations of men, like men themselves, seem subject to deafness, near-sightedness, lameness, and involuntary cruelty. We seem tragically unable to help one another, to understand one another.

People look for morals in fiction because there has always been a confusion between fiction and philosophy.

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