“Depressed I went out into the heat that lay on the neighborhood like a hand swollen with fever in that season, and made my way to the library.” — Elena Ferrante Copy Share Image
The circle of an empty day is brutal and at night it tightens around your neck like a noose — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“Quanto a mim, várias vezes ao dia me acontece de gostar de alguém. Você não? Durante pouco tempo, depois passa.” — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“Svakog dana sam sebi ponavljala: to sam što sam, i nema mi druge nego da se s tim pomirim; takva sam rođena, u ovom… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“To be born in that city is useful for only one thing: to have always known, almost instinctively, what today, with endless fine distinctions,… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
As a girl - twelve, thirteen years old - I was absolutely certain that a good book had to have a man as its… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“Religion will disappear from men's consciousness when, finally, we have constructed a world of equals, without class distinctions, and with a sound of scientific… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
Elena Ferrante is the author of several novels. There is nothing mysterious about her, given how she manifests herself - perhaps even too much… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
Women, in all fields - whether mothers or not - still encounter an extraordinary number of obstacles. They have to hold too many things… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“Once, she closed the book abruptly and said with annoyance, "That's enough." "Why?" "Because I've had it, it's always the same story: inside something… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“She became transparent skin over bones, her eyes drowning in violet wells, her hands damp spider webs.” — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“When you haven’t been in the world long, it’s hard to comprehend what disasters are at the origin of a sense of disaster: maybe… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“As long as one writes only for oneself, writing is a free act by means of which, to use an oxymoron, one secretly opens… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
“We had the same sensitivity to beautiful things, the same need to enjoy them, the same need to search for the right words to… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
Writers, because they write, are condemned never to be readers of their own stories...The memory of first putting a story into words will always… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share
