“I mean, I'm not naive enough to imagine that anyone can be satisfied indefinitely by memories, especially if he's young and full of life, like you. I did my best to help you build up a reserve to keep going… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“George makes himself remembers. He is afraid of forgetting. Jim is my life, he says. But he will have to forget, if he wants to go on living. Jim is death.” — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“From his angle, the curtain seems to form itself into a shrouded, wavering figure, indescribably terrifying in its very indistinctness. Something waiting, hovering on… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“If you really have talent, you know, you'll go on writing - whatever people say to you.” — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
But seriously, I believe I'm a sort of Ideal Woman, if you know what I mean. I'm the sort of woman who can take… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
If it’s going to be a world with no time for sentiment, it’s not a world that I want to live in. — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“By the time it has gotten dressed, it has become he; has become already more or less George — though still not the whole… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“George feels that, even if all this double talk hasn't brought them any closer to understanding each other, the not-understanding, the readiness to remain… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“Now, for example, people with freckles aren’t thought of as a minority by the nonfreckled. They aren’t a minority in the sense we’re talking… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“Even when they are geniuses in spite of it, their masterpieces are invariably warped.” — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
“Here, in their midst, George feels a sort of vertigo. Oh God, what will become of them all? What chance have they? Ought I… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
We must remember that nothing in this world really belongs to us. At best, we are merely borrowers. — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
In the eternal lazy morning of the Pacific, days slip away into months, months into years; the seasons are reduced to the faintest nuance… — Christopher Isherwood Copy Share Image
