“They sat islanded in their foreignness, irrelevant now that the holiday season had ended, anachronistic, outstaying their welcome, no longer necessary to anyone's plans. Priorities had shifted; the little town was settling down for its long uninterrupted hibernation. No one… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
If I were happy, married with six children, I wouldn't be writing. And I doubt if I should want to. — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
You have no idea how promising the world begins to look once you have decided to have it all for yourself. And how much… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
I never learnt Hebrew because my health was fragile, and it was thought that learning Hebrew would be an added burden. I regret it,… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
You can never betray the people who are dead, so you go on being a public Jew; the dead can't answer slurs, but I'm… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
The essence of romantic love is that wonderful beginning, after which sadness and impossibility may become the rule. — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
I need noise and interruptions and irritation: irritation and discomfort are a great starter. The loneliness of doing it any other way would kill… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
I am not a romantic. I am a domestic animal. I do not sigh and yearn for extravagant displays of passion, for the grand affair, the world well lost for love. I know all that, and know that it leaves you lonely. No, what I crave is the simplicity of routine. An evening walk, arm in arm, in fine weather.… — Anita Brookner Copy Share
“It seemed to me that I, rather than he, had brought this about, and my despair was extreme. For now that I knew that I loved him, it was his whole life that I loved. And I would never know that life. Changes would no doubt take place, and I would not even know what they were. 'How is he?'… — Anita Brookner Copy Share
I was brought up to look after my parents. My family were Polish Jews, and we lived with my grandmother, with uncles and aunts… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
“We shall none of us ever make love again, she thought, and did not much care. Life had not been too harsh; the sea… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
