Timothy Findley

All of this happened a long time ago. But not so long ago that everyone who played a part in it is…

— Timothy Findley

“1915. The year itself looks sepia and soiled-muddied like its pictures. In the snapshots everyone at first seems timid-lost-irresolute. Boys and men…

— Timothy Findley

“Frederick? Had she really spoken? Certainly she'd tried, but her voice had failed to materialize and all she heard was the sound…

— Timothy Findley

“I can't work in a house where there's saints. The minute there's saints, the devil sends messengers”

— Timothy Findley

People can only be found in what they do.

— Timothy Findley

And what you do is you go into where your anger is, if you're writing anger, you go into where your hatred…

— Timothy Findley

Elizabeth Hay has intelligence coming out of her fingertips - integrity, insight, and wonder in every paragraph of her writing.She connects. She…

— Timothy Findley

... too much brooding, not enough doing.

— Timothy Findley

“Houses, trees and fields of flax once flourished here. Summers had been blue with flowers. Now it was a shallow sea of…

— Timothy Findley

Literature was intended to be dangerous. Art was meant to be dangerous. Ideas were nothing if they were not dangerous.

— Timothy Findley

“in a way being loved is like being told you never have to die.”

— Timothy Findley

Somehow, the painting soothed him. It verified his fears. But it also informed him that fear was wonderful.

— Timothy Findley

“...only one deaf God, who cannot see, remains—claiming all of creation as His own. If people would invest one hundredth of their…

— Timothy Findley

The spaces between the perceiver and the thing perceived can [...] be closed with a shout of recognition.

— Timothy Findley

“Me?" said Bragg. "I'm not alive. Revived, from time to time - maybe. but not alive." Liar." Try me." You forget, Mister…

— Timothy Findley

“Seulement, en supprimant l'assassin de son fils, on ne supprimait pas le meurtre. On le prolongeait.”

— Timothy Findley

“Master Stuart made his letters into paper darts and launched them page by page from the roof of the house-watching them descend…

— Timothy Findley

“...no one belongs to anyone. We're all cut off at birth with a knife and left at the mercy of strangers. You…

— Timothy Findley

I write against violence. I write against fascism. I write against one person dominating another.

— Timothy Findley

“As for the myths, take anyone's life and deny that most of it is deliberate self-delusion - an aggrandizement - a mixture…

— Timothy Findley