One loses the capacity to grieve as a child grieves, or to rage as a child rages: hotly, despairingly, with tears of passion. One grows up, one becomes civilized, one learns one's manners, and consequently can no longer manage these… — 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… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
“It seemed to me that I, rather than he, had brought this about, and my despair was extreme. For now that I knew that… — Anita Brookner Copy Share Image
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
