Sunday, August 28, 2011

Brooklyn by Colm Toblin

" 'She has gone back to Brooklyn,' her mother would say.  And, as the train rolled past Macmine Bridge on its way towards Wexford, Eilis imagined the years ahead, when these words would come to mean less and less to the man who heard them and would come to mean more and more to herself.  She almost smiled at the thought of it, then closed her eyes and tried to imagine nothing more."

Thursday, August 25, 2011

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

"Wasn't that the point of the book?  For women to realize.  We are just two people.  Not that much separates us.  Not nearly as much as I thought."

Monday, August 22, 2011

One Day by David Nicholls

"What ever happens tomorrow, we'll have today.  I'll always remember."

" 'What are you going to do with your life?'  In one way or another it seemed that people had been asking her this forever; teachers, her parents, friends at three in the morning, but the question had never seemed this pressing and still she was no nearer the answer... 'Live each day as if it's your last,' that was the concentional advice, but really, who had the energy for that?  What if it rained or you felt a bit glandy?  It just wasn't practical.  Better by far to be good and courageous and bold and to make a difference.  Not change the world exactly, but the bit around you.  Cherish your friends, stay true to your principles, live passionately and fully and well.  Experience new things.  Love and be loved if you ever get the chance."

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Reader by Bernhard Schlink

"At the same time I ask myself, as I had already begun to ask myself back then: What should our second generation have done...We should not believe we can comprehend the incomprehensible, we may not inquire because to inquire is to make the horrors an object of discussion, even if the horrors themselves are not questioned, instead of accepting them as something in the face of which we can only fall silent in revulsion, shame, and guilt."

"I looked at Hanna's handwriting and saw how much energy and struggle the writing had cost her.  I was proud of her.  At the same time, I was sorry for her, sorry for her delayed and failed life, sorry for the delays and failures of life in general."

"In the first few years after Hanna's death.  I was tormented by the old questions of whether I had denied and betrayed her, whether I was guilty for having loved her.  Sometimes I asked myself if I was responsible for her death.  And sometimes I was in a rage at her and at what she had done to me.  Until finally the rage faded and the questions ceased to matter.  Whatever I had done or not done, whatever she had done or not to me-it was the path my life had taken."

"What would you have done?"

Saturday, August 13, 2011