The newspapers are full of what we would like to happen to us and what we hope will never happen to us.
John FowlesThomas Beecham was a pompous little band-master who stood against everything creative in the art of his time.
John FowlesThere comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not any more what you will become. It is what you are and always will be.
John FowlesI think we are just insects, we live a bit and then die and thatโs the lot. Thereโs no mercy in things. Thereโs not even a Great Beyond. Thereโs nothing.
John FowlesThe bowed head, the buried face. She is silent, she will never speak, never forgive, never reach a hand, never leave this frozen present tense. All waits, suspended. Suspended the autumn trees, the autumn sky, anonymous people. A blackbird, poor fool, sings out of season from the willows by the lake. A flight of pigeons over the houses; fragments of freedom, hazard, an anagram made flesh. And somewhere the stinging smell of burning leaves.
John Fowles