All novelists should live in two different worlds: a real one and an unreal one.
John FowlesRead
The bowed head, the buried face. She is silent, she will never speak, never forgive, never reach a hand, never leave this frozen present tense. All waits, suspended. Suspended the autumn trees, the autumn sky, anonymous people. A blackbird, poor fool, sings out of season from the willows by the lake. A flight of pigeons over the houses; fragments of freedom, hazard, an anagram made flesh. And somewhere the stinging smell of burning leaves.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects a sense of stillness and contemplation amidst the complexities of life.
John Fowles' quote captures a moment of profound stillness and despair, where the subject is depicted as immobile and silent, symbolizing the deep emotional pain and stagnation one can experience. The imagery of nature, such as the autumn trees and the singing blackbird, evokes feelings of both beauty and loss, suggesting that even in stillness there is a struggle for freedom and expression amidst the weight of emotional turmoil.
Themes
SilenceStillnessPainNatureFreedom
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about mental health awareness, one could use this quote to emphasize the importance of acknowledging feelings of stillness and despair.
More from John Fowles
All quotes →There are many reasons why novelists write, but they all have one thing in common - a need to create an alternative world.
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I love making, I love doing. I love being to the full, I love everything which is not sitting and watching and copying and dead at heart.
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Do you know that every great thing in the history of art and every beautiful thing in life is actually what you call nasty or has been caused by feelings that you would call nasty? By passion, by love, by hatred, by truth. Do you know that?
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It came to me…that I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world at that moment, that what I was feeling at that moment justified all I had been through, because all I had been through was my being there. I was experiencing…a new self-acceptance, a sense that I had to be this mind and this body, its vices and its virtues, and that I had no other chance or choice.
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It's like the day you realize dolls are dolls. I pick up my old self and I see it's silly. A toy I've played with too often. It's a little sad, like an old golliwog at the bottom of the cupboard. Innocent and used-up and proud and silly.
John FowlesRead
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