James Salter Quotes

Eve was tall. Her face had cheekbones. Her shoulders slumped when she walked. The shelves in her living room were bent beneath the books. She worked for a publisher; oh, you've heard of him, she said.

Her life was one in which everything was left undone — letters unanswered, bills on the floor, the butter sitting out all night. Perhaps that was why her husband had left her; he was even more hopeless than she. At least she was gay. She stepped from her littered doorway in pretty clothes, like a woman who lives in the barrio walking to a limousine, stray dogs and dirt on the way.

Paris seems wondrous to me now, even a little too rich. I'm strangely devout, I find myself defending the meager life of the provinces as if it were something special. It's not like the life of Paris, I say, which is exactly like being on some great ocean liner. It's in the little towns that one discovers a country, in the kind of knowledge that comes from small days and small nights.

NEDRA ROSE LATE IN SUMMER AND winter, whenever she could. Her real self lay in bed until nine, stirred, stretched, breathed the new air. Long sleepers are usually nonconformists; they are pensive and somewhat withdrawn.

...she is simply the living portion of the meal.

His world was small, an illiterate county seat, a backward state, though from it he fashioned something greater, far greater perhaps than he ever knew. A writer cannot really grasp what he has written. It is not like a building or a sculpture; it cannot be seen whole. It is only a kind of smoke seized and printed on a page.

Death was coming for Harry Mies. He would lie emptied, his cheeks rouged, the fine, old man's ears unhearing. There was no telling the things he knew. He was alone in the far fields of his life. The rain fell on him, he did not move. p. 132

A soft light, God's idleness.

But like Conrad's shipmates on the Narcissus, I never saw any of them again.

Babel werd nooit moe zijn verhalen te herschrijven. Hij zei dat er in een volzin ergens een soort hefboompje zat waarop je de hand kon leggen om er een heel kleine, maar precies goede draai mee te geven, niet te veel, niet te weinig, waarna alles op zijn plaats viel.

Mentre sedevano vicini o mangiavano o camminavano, lui condivideva liberamente con lei i suoi pensieri e le sue idee sulla vita, la storia, l'arte. Le parlava di ogni cosa. Sapeva che lei non si interessava a quegli argomenti, però capiva e col tempo avrebbe imparato. Lui non l'amava soltanto per quello che era, ma per quello che poteva essere, e l'idea che potesse essere diversa non gli passava per la testa, oppure non gliene importava. Perché avrebbe dovuto pensarci? Quando ami qualcuno vedi il futuro come lo sogni.

It was among the knowledgeable others that one hoped to be talked about and admired. It was not impossible — the world of squadrons is small. The years would bow to you; you would be remembered, your name like a thoroughbred's, a horse that ran and won.

I don't mean just you and me. Women fall in love when they get to know you. Men are just the opposite. When they finally know you they're ready to leave.

Life is separated by scars, like the rings in the inside of a tree.

But of course, in one sense, Dean never died - his existence is superior to such accidents. One must have heroes, which is to say, one must create them. And they become real through our envy, our devotion. It is we who give them their majesty, their power, which ourselves could never possess. And in turn, they give some back. But they are mortal, these heroes, just as we are. They do not last forever. They fade. They vanish. They are surpassed, forgotten - one hears of them no more.

I am at the center of emptiness. Every act seems purer for it, easier to define. The sounds separate themselves. The details all appear.