Writing for me is a dragnet that carries everything away with it: expressions and figures of speech, postures, feelings, thoughts, troubles. In… — Elena Ferrante Copy Share Image
In order not to cut out a large part of one's private life, the creative work should not swallow up every other… — 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 Image
“Quanto a mim, várias vezes ao dia me acontece de gostar de alguém. Você não? Durante pouco tempo, depois passa.” — Elena Ferrante Copy Share Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
“She became transparent skin over bones, her eyes drowning in violet wells, her hands damp spider webs.” — Elena Ferrante Copy Share Image
“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 Image
