Alexandra Fuller Quotes

Surely Until All Of Us Own And Honor One Another's Dead, Until We Have Admitted To Our Murders And Forgiven One Another And Ourselves For What We Have Done, There Can Be No Truce, No Dignity And No Peace.

I Listen Mostly To Classical Music.

Until I Read Anne Frank's Diary, I Had Found Books A Literal Escape From What Could Be The Harsh Reality Around Me. After I Read The Diary, I Had A Fresh Way Of Viewing The Both Literature And The World. From Then On, I Found I Was Impatient With Books That Were Not Honest Or That Were Trivial And Frivolous.

Fbi Girl Is A Gorgeous, Sumptuous Book. Conlon-mcivor Takes A Subject (herself And Her Family) That Might Have Sunk In Other Hands, Beats Egg White Under Her Words And The Whole Thing Rises Like A Dream. It's A Love Story For Her People And For A Time And Place. Read It.

In General, I Almost Always Watch Foreign Films.

In Ways I Don't Entirely Have The Words For An Experience, Thought Or A Lesson Isn't Real For Me Until I've Written Down.

People Who Disagree With His Excellency, The President For Life And 'chief Of Chiefs,' Are Frequently Found To Be The Victims Of Car Crashes (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets); Or Dead In Their Beds Of Heart Attacks (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets); Or The Recipients Of Some Not-quite-fresh Seafood (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets).

I Had The Constitution Of A Missionary.

I Am Becoming Increasingly Difficult To Please As A Reader, But I Adore Being Surprised By A Really Wonderful Book, Written By Someone I've Never Heard Of Before.

Once, I Discovered The Skulls Of Two Impala Rams, Their Horns Locked Into An Irreversible Figure-of-eight; The Two Animals Had Been Trapped In Combat, Latched To Each Other During The Battle Of The Rut. The Harder They Had Pulled To Escape From Each Other, The More Intractably Stuck They Were, Until They Had Fallen Exhausted, To Their Knees, In An Embrace Of Hatred That Had Killed Them Both.

You Can't Rewind War. It Spools On, And On, And On, Looping And Jumping, Distorted And Cracked With Age, And The Stories Contract Until Only The Nuggets Of Hatred Remain And No One Can Even Remember, Or Imagine, Why The War Was Organized In The First Place.

It's A Long Day's Drive Any Way You Look At It. With A Man Who Has Taken Your Sins - Real And Imagined - And Stitched Them Onto The Sackcloth Of His Own Soul, It Is Endless.