being-famous-as-a-writer-is-like-being-famous-in-a-village-its-not-really-any-very-heady-fame
But now she could not bear the way she sounded. She was not a person anyone could love... And thus fled to her room. There she wept, bitterly, an ugly sound punctuated by great gulps. She could not stop herself. She could hear his footsteps in the passage outside. He walked up and down, up and down. 'Come in, ' she prayed. 'Oh dearest, do come in.' But he did not come in. He would not come in. This was the man she had practically contracted to give away her fortune to. He offered to marry her as a favour and then he would not even come into her room. Later, she could smell him make himself a sweet pancake for his lunch. She thought this a childish thing to eat, and selfish, too. If he were a gentleman he would now come to her room and save her from the prison her foolishness had made for her. He did not come. She heard him pacing in his room.
Peter Carey
but-now-she-could-not-bear-way-she-sounded-she-was-not-person-anyone-could-love-and-thus-fled-to-her-room-there-she-wept-bitterly-ugly-sound-punctuated-by-great-gulps-she-could-n
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He was tender with her. He wiped her eyelids with his handkerchief, not noticing how soiled it was. It was stained with ink, crumpled, stuck together. Her lids were large and tender and the handkerchief was stiff, not nearly soft enough. He moistened a corner in his mouth. He was painfully aware of the private softness of her skin, of how the eyes trembled beneath their coverings. He dried the tears with an affection, a particularity, that had never been exercised before. It was a demonstration of 'nature.' He was a birth-wet foal rising to his feet.
Peter Carey
he-was-tender-with-her-he-wiped-her-eyelids-with-his-handkerchief-not-noticing-how-soiled-it-was-it-was-stained-with-ink-crumpled-stuck-together-her-lids-were-large-tender-handke
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Lucinda might sneak from her own house at midnight to place a wager somewhere else, but she dared not touch the pack that lay in her own sideboard. She knew how passionate he had become about his 'weakness.' She dared not even ask him how it was he had reversed his opinions on the matter. But, oh, how she yearned to discuss it with him, how much she wished to deal a hand on a grey wool blanket. There would be no headaches then, only this sweet consummation of their comradeship. But she said not a word. And although she might have her 'dainty' shoes tossed to the floor, have her bare toes quite visible through her stockings, have a draught of sherry in her hand, in short appear quite radical, she was too timid, she thought, too much a mouse, to reveal her gambler's heart to him. She did not like this mouselike quality. As usual, she found herself too careful, too held in. Once she said: 'I wish I had ten sisters and a big kitchen to laugh in.' Her lodger frowned and dusted his knees. She thought: He is as near to a sister as I am likely to get, but he does not understand. She would have had a woman friend so they could brush each other's hair, and just, please God, put aside this great clanking suit of ugly armor. She kept her glass dreams from him, even whilst she appeared to talk about them. He was an admiring listener, but she only showed him the opaque skin of her dreams-window glass, the price of transporting it, the difficulties with builders who would not pay their bills inside six months. He imagined this was her business, and of course it was, but all the things she spoke of were a fog across its landscape which was filled with such soaring mountains she would be embarrassed to lay claim to them. Her true ambition, the one she would not confess to him, was to build something Extraordinary and Fine from glass and cast iron. A conservatory, but not a conservatory. Glass laced with steel, spun like a spider web-the idea danced around the periphery of her vision, never long enough to be clear. When she attempted to make a sketch, it became diminished, wooden, inelegant. Sometimes, in her dreams, she felt she had discovered its form, but if she had, it was like an improperly fixed photograph which fades when exposed to daylight. She was wise enough, or foolish enough, to believe this did not matter, that the form would present itself to her in the end.
Peter Carey
lucinda-might-sneak-from-her-own-house-at-midnight-to-place-wager-somewhere-else-but-she-dared-not-touch-pack-that-lay-in-her-own-sideboard-she-knew-how-passionate-he-had-become-
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she-could-marry-this-man-she-knew-still-be-captain-her-soul-peter-carey
i-dont-need-new-boots-i-got-bluchers-back-down-home-eff-effing-bluchers-ill-buy-you-new-adjectival-effing-elastic-sided-boots-peter-carey
Fireworks made of glass. An explosion of dew. Crescendo. Diminuendo. Silence. There are drugs that work the same, and while I am not suggesting that our founder purchased the glassworks to get more drops, it is clear that she had the seed planted, not once, but twice, and knew already the lovely contradictory nature of glass and she did not have to be told, on the day she saw the works at Darling Harbour, that glass is a thing in disguise, an actor, is not solid at all, but a liquid, that an old sheet of glass will not only take on a royal and purplish tinge but will reveal its true liquid nature by having grown fatter at the bottom and thinner at the top, and that even while it is as frail as the ice on a Parramatta puddle, it is stronger under compression than Sydney sandstone, that it is invisible, solid, in short, a joyous and paradoxical thing, as good a material as any to build a life from.
Peter Carey
fireworks-made-glass-an-explosion-dew-crescendo-diminuendo-silence-there-are-drugs-that-work-same-while-i-am-not-suggesting-that-our-founder-purchased-glassworks-to-get-more-drop
fireworks quotesmade quotesglass quotesexplosion quotesdew quotescrescendo quotesdiminuendo quotessilence quotesdrugs quoteswork quotessuggesting quotesfounder quotespurchased quotesglassworks quotesdrops quotesclear quotesseed quotesplanted quotesknew quoteslovely quotescontradictory quotesnature quotesglass quotestold quotesday quotesworks quotesdarling quotesharbour quotesthing quotesdisguise quotesactor quotessolid quotesliquid quotessheet quotesroyal quotespurplish quotestinge quotesreveal quotestrue quotesliquid quotesgrown quotesfatter quotesbottom quotesthinner quotestop quotesfrail quotesice quotesparramatta quotespuddle quotesstronger quotescompression quotessydney quotessandstone quotesinvisible quotessolid quotesshort quotesjoyous quotesparadoxical quotesthing quotesgood quotesmaterial quotesbuild quoteslife quotes
She held out her hand, like a man. He hesitated, then took the hand and shook it. It was very warm. You could not help but be aware of the wild passage of blood on the other side of its wall, veins, capillaries, sweat glands, tiny factories in the throes of complicated manufacture. [He] looked at the eyes and, knowing how eyes worked, was astonished, not for the first time, at the infinite complexity of Creation, wondering how this thing, this instrument for seeing, could transmit so clearly its entreaty while at the same time-Look, I am only an eye-denying that it was doing anything of the sort.
Peter Carey
she-held-out-her-hand-like-man-he-hesitated-then-took-hand-shook-it-it-was-warm-you-could-not-help-but-be-aware-wild-passage-blood-on-other-side-its-wall-veins-capillaries-sweat-
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im-always-one-with-activist-friends-ive-been-activist-little-peter-carey
Our prime minister could embrace and forgive the people who killed our beloved sons and fathers, and so he should, but he could not, would not, apologise to the Aboriginal people for 200 years of murder and abuse. The battle against the Turks, he said in Gallipoli, was our history, our tradition. The war against the Aboriginals, he had already said at home, had happened long ago. The battle had made us; the war that won the continent was best forgotten
Peter Carey
our-prime-minister-could-embrace-forgive-people-who-killed-our-beloved-sons-fathers-he-should-but-he-could-not-would-not-apologise-to-aboriginal-peter-carey
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Glass is a thing in disguise, an actor, is not solid at all, but a liquid?an old sheet of glass will not only take on a royal and purplish tinge but will reveal its true liquid nature by having grown fatter at the bottom and thinner at thetop, and? It isinvisible, solid, in short a joyous and paradoxical thing, asgood a material as any tobuild a life from.
Peter Carey
glass-is-thing-in-disguise-actor-is-not-solid-at-all-but-liquid-old-sheet-glass-will-not-only-take-on-royal-purplish-tinge-but-will-reveal-its-peter-carey
glass quotesthing quotesdisguise quotesactor quotessolid quotesliquidan quotessheet quotesglass quotesroyal quotespurplish quotestinge quotesreveal quotestrue quotesliquid quotesnature quotesgrown quotesfatter quotesbottom quotesthinner quotesthetop quotesisinvisible quotessolid quotesshort quotesjoyous quotesparadoxical quotesthing quotesasgood quotesmaterial quotestobuild quoteslife quotes
nostalgia-is-something-we-think-as-fuzzy-but-its-pain-pain-concerning-past-peter-carey
i-dont-think-you-have-right-to-shout-about-other-peoples-private-life-peter-carey
the-declared-meaning-spoken-sentence-is-only-its-overcoat-real-meaning-lies-underneath-its-scarves-buttons-peter-carey
 He said nothing. He was mildly annoyed at her presumption: that he had not thought this many, many times before. With perfect misunderstanding she interpreted his passivity as disdain. Wishing to hurt him, she slapped his face. Wishing to hurt her, he smiled brilliantly.)
(From the story The Last Days of a Famous Mime) He said nothing. He was mildly annoyed at her presumption: that he had not thought this many, many times before. With perfect misunderstanding she interpreted his passivity as disdain. Wishing to hurt him, she slapped his face. Wishing to hurt her, he smiled brilliantly.
Peter Carey
from-story-the-last-days-famous-mime-he-said-nothing-he-was-mildly-annoyed-at-her-presumption-that-he-had-not-thought-this-many-many-times-before-peter-carey
i-never-base-characters-on-real-people-there-are-people-who-do-that-but-i-really-dont-know-how-to-do-it-peter-carey
people-do-not-love-those-whose-eyes-show-that-they-are-somewhere-else-peter-carey
good-writing-course-requires-talent-no-one-can-teach-you-to-have-talent-peter-carey
its-like-standing-on-edge-cliff-this-is-especially-true-first-draft-every-day-youre-making-up-earth-youre-going-to-stand-on-peter-carey
you-could-not-tell-story-like-this-a-story-like-this-you-could-only-feel-peter-carey
Faulkner's 'As I Lay Dying' had an immense effect on me, and most of my novels bear the burn marks of this experience, those short chapters with their conflicting points of view, truth expressed by multiple perspectives. The other attractive thing about 'As I Lay Dying' was the way it gave rich voices to the poor.
Peter Carey
faulkners-as-i-lay-dying-had-immense-effect-on-me-most-my-novels-bear-burn-marks-this-experience-those-short-chapters-with-their-conflicting-points-view-truth-expressed-by-multip
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i-think-that-thing-about-destruction-world-is-there-all-time-its-there-every-day-when-we-look-out-window
writers-at-least-writers-fiction-are-always-full-anxiety-worry
