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#john banville
soracities · a month ago
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John Banville, The Sea 
[Text ID: “The past beats inside me like a second heart.”]
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korovievs · a month ago
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on haunting
noor hindi, fuck your lecture on craft, my people are dying // bastille, haunt // theodore roethke, straw for the fire: from the notebooks of theodore roethke // holly warbuton, spirit hold, part two // virgil, aeneid // catarine hancock, sometimes i fall asleep thinking about you // daniel ludwig // emily brontë, wuthering heights // valzhyna mort, a poem about white apples // john banville, the sea
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memoryslandscape · 2 years ago
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The past beats inside me like a second heart.
John Banville, from The Sea (Vintage International, 2006)
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quotemadness · 4 years ago
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We writers are shy, nocturnal creatures. Push us into the light and the light blinds us.
John Banville
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soracities · 2 months ago
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I do not want to be alone like this. Why have you not come back to haunt me? It is the least I would have expected of you. Why this silence day after day, night after interminable night? It is like a fog, this silence of yours. First it was a blur on the horizon, the next minute we were in the midst of it, purblind and stumbling, clinging to each other...Send back your ghost. Torment me, if you like. Rattle your chains, drag your cerements across the floor, keen like a banshee, anything. I would have a ghost.
John Banville, The Sea
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quotemadness · a year ago
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The past beats inside me like a second heart.
John Banville
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soracities · 2 months ago
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John Banville, The Sea
[Text ID: “ ‘Don’t look so worried,’ she said. ‘I hated you, too, a little. We were human beings, after all.’ “]
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memoryslandscape · a year ago
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She is lodged in me like a knife and yet I am beginning to forget her. Already the image of her that I hold in my head is fraying, bits of pigments, flakes of gold leaf, are chipping off. Will the entire canvas be empty one day? I have come to realise how little I knew her, I mean how shallowly I knew her, how ineptly. I do not blame myself for this. Perhaps I should. Was I too lazy, too inattentive, too self-absorbed? Yes, all of those things, and yet I cannot think it is a matter of blame, this forgetting, this not-having-known. I fancy, rather, that I expected too much, in the way of knowing. I know so little of myself, how should I think to know another?
John Banville, from The Sea (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)
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quotemadness · 2 years ago
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The past beats inside me like a second heart.
John Banville
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memoryslandscape · a year ago
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Language. Words. The world is not real for me until it has been pushed through the mesh of language,
John Banville, from “John Banville, The Art of Fiction No. 200,” interview by Belinda McKeon, Paris Review (no. 188, Spring 2009)
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Art is like sex: when you’re doing it, nothing else matters.
John Banville
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soracities · a month ago
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Night, and everything so quiet, as if there were no one, not even myself.
John Banville, The Sea
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larmoyante · 6 years ago
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The past beats inside me like a second heart.
John Banville, The Sea
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memoryslandscape · a year ago
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I have never really got used to being on this earth. Sometimes I think our presence here is due to a cosmic blunder, that we were meant for another planet altogether, with other arrangements, and other laws, and other, grimmer skies. I try to imagine it, our true place, off on the far side of the galaxy, whirling and whirling. And the ones who were meant for here, are they out there, baffled and homesick, like us? No, they would have become extinct long ago. How could they survive, these gentle earthlings, in a world that was made to contain us?
John Banville, from The Book of Evidence (Scribner, 1989)
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soracities · 11 days ago
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I found intolerable the thought of being known in the way that he seemed to know me. Better than I knew myself. Worse.
John Banville, The Sea
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quotethat · 6 years ago
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The past beats inside me like a second heart.
John Banville, The Sea
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memoryslandscape · 3 years ago
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Being here is just a way of not being anywhere.
John Banville, from The Sea (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)
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soracities · 2 days ago
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Perhaps all of life is no more than a long preparation for the leaving of it.
John Banville, The Sea
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