Best 62 of Sara Baume quotes - MyQuotes

Follow
Sara Baume
By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

It makes me wonder if living under tragic circumstances inflects a person's sentences, irresistibly, with poetry.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

This is what the best of art does: uncovers an unrecoverable view of the world.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

But no, now I see I never meant to Ben what Ben meant to me. If there was anything I said which resonated in return, he found a better speech elsewhere. My romance went no further than his coat.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

There's a table with some catalogues and a guest book in the corner; there are artworks. Today, I need so badly to be inspired by them, even though I hate that word: inspiration. It crops up in too many advertisements, politcians' speeches, Disney films, its meaning obliterated. I refuse to be 'inspired' in the same insipid way that ad executives and politicians and Hollywood producers suggest I should be. What I need from these works is to be reminded of why I used to care about art—so much that I'd try and make it for myself.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

At first I wonder if they are brothers; now I remember to wonder if they are robbers or rapists or murderers who've hired suits and photocopied leaflets in a cunning ploy to insinuate themselves into the quiet bungalows of defenceless strangers on hills in middles-of-nowhere, and I realise it would be very stupid to invite them in so they can see for themselves there's no garda here.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I think: by the time I'm old, nobody will be able to die any more.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

So it's as if,' I say, 'I'm okay in my own bones, but I know that my bones aren't living up to other people's version of what a life should be, and I feel a little crushed by that, to be honest, a little confused as to how to align the two things: to be an acceptable member of society but to be able to be my own bones both at once.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Sara Baume

My only chance is to pretend it's a day like any other; to keep the despair only as great as on all the others.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

Art, and sadness, which last forever.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

Though I am naturally curious about people, I'm also naturally uneasy when they are right in front of me; when I am right in front of them.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

There really isn't much wrong with me,' I say, 'it's just that, well, I'm not like other people; I don't want the things they want. And this is not right, I mean, in other people's eyes, and I feel as though they feel they are duty-bound to normalise me, that it isn't okay just to not want the things they want, you know?

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

But I know I will do neither; nothing. I have all the time in the world, and yet, I can't be bothered.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

See how community is only a good thing when you're a part of it.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

But I have never wanted to be perceived as chatty and bright. I have always wanted to be solemn and mysterious.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

Sometimes things happen that give me cause to believe I no longer exist. Car park barriers which do not lift when I drive towards them, automatic doors which do not open automatically as I approach.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

In the face of immense tragedy—yet again—unexpected beauty.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

Only the lighted houses remaining, the lemon blush of their inhabited windows.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

This morning, I see the lead in my glass tumbler. A slim, bright glint, a silverfish. I feel it collecting in my blood, papercutting the lining of my veins.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I see foxes often, but always they are crossing fallow fields in the distance. Gold flecks on faraway expanses of green. Magnetic to the meandering eye. Enigmatic, unreachable.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

But nowadays I feel guilty that I am granted the immunity of the artistically gifted, having never actually achieved anything to prove myself worthy.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Sara Baume

My mother says: 'People who suffer from anxiety are usually those with the most vivid imaginations.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

And I felt like such a failure. I thought: I can't even do mental illness properly.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

Everything is very nearly over. And so none of the normal rules of behavior apply. And so none of my actions can have consequences.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I never went downstairs to join my housemates around the television. I cooked dinner later than everyone else and carried the plate up to my bedroom. I knew they must have thought me aloof, or a little bit eccentric, or maybe even unkind, but I didn't care. Once the kitchen door swung shut behind me, I was alone, and so everything was okay.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I've always longed to have a patch of personal wilderness. Of waist-high grass entwined with wildflowers through which I can prance; within which I can lie down and disappear from sight.

By Anonym 20 Sep

Sara Baume

Why is it only now that I can see how many ordinary things are actually grotesque?

By Anonym 20 Sep

Sara Baume

You can't dance to paintings. This is something Ben said, during one of our White Cube conversations, back when I was still wrong about him. He said it even though, at the time, he was desperately trying to be a painter. He said it because it was true and not because it was something either of us wanted to hear.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Sara Baume

No matter how far I try to travel from people, people always appear. Either they follow me, or they're already there, and I followed them, unwittingly.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

The last time I went out at night in the city was almost a year ago. It began with anxiety, then I was pleasantly pissed for a couple of hours, and finally, around the point at which people started taking to the dance floor, I sobered and saddened and the old chant returned: I want to go home.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

But now I remember, of course, I'm never going to be old.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

Our toys were sixteen or seventeen; only the very eldest were in their early twenties, because, apparently, I didn't envision anything of particular interest in life beyond twenty-five. And now I am a greater age than any of the toys were allowed to reach, older than I even cared to imagine as a child.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I lie down and think about how this whole long, strange summer ought to end in a substantial event. But, probably, won't. For the first time I acknowledge the possibility that nothing will die, or change, or even happen.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

How easy to be electrocuted. How fine the line between beauty and peril.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I look at the cake in my mother's arms and think: here stands the only person in the whole world who'd go to such trouble for fractious, ungrateful me.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I can't remember the name of the piece, or the artist. Maybe it wasn't even an artwork. Why must I automatically assume that every strange object is a sculpture, that every public display of unorthodox behavior is an act of performance.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

And yet, here I am. Perceiving everything that is wonderful to be proportionately difficult; everything that is possible an elaborate battle to achieve. My happy life was never enough for me. I always considered my time to be more precious than that of other people and almost every routine pursuit—equitable employment, domestic chores, friendship—unworthy of it. Now I see how this rebellion against ordinary happiness is the greatest vanity of them all.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Sara Baume

Now I wonder if each artwork is in fact utterly inaccessible to everybody but the person to whom it is secretly addressed?

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

It happens so seldom; I must catch and keep this slender yearning, a rare beetle in a jam-jar trap. But mustering will is not the same as wanting. I lie in the garden and think about all the footsteps between my body on the grass and my pencil-case and notebook on the table in the sun room. All the muscles I have to flex and relax to get myself there.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I open my eyes to find the morning adjourned.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

Did it do me any good, early in life, to believe so many things which were not true? Or did it damage me? Pouring a foundation of disappointment, of uncertainty.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

The director of the Road Safety Authority comes on the radio to tell me that today is the day of the year upon which more people die in car accidents than on any other, as though if he tells me this I might postpone the car accident I had scheduled; I might remember not to be so common, so vulgar, as to die today.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

What bothered me was all of the time he wasted by drumming, and all the time I wasted by listening to him drum, by taking pleasure in it, for pleasure is almost always a waste of time.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

And out the bus window, here is my dead world come true, my whole dead world in motion.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I remember the book I was reading. Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector. I remember because there were so many things in Hour of the Star with which I found kinship that I'd brought along a stub of pencil in case I urgently needed to underline.

By Anonym 19 Sep

Sara Baume

The old summer's-end melancholy nips at my heels. There's no school to go back to; no detail of my life will change come the onset of September; yet still, I feel the old trepidation.

By Anonym 18 Sep

Sara Baume

People don't like it when you say real things.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I don't want to say hello, nor do I want him to know that I've seen him and failed to say hello.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Sara Baume

After college, I started working in the gallery and found myself surrounded by a whole new set of people who had not yet grown accustomed to my antisocial tendencies, who had not yet learned to expect me to say no, and stopped asking. I was invited to go drinking and dancing again, and so, I tried.

By Anonym 17 Sep

Sara Baume

My mother likes odd numbers and is suspicious of the even ones. She reads a new book every week and is bewitched by black holes in the universe. She describes herself as an optimist but she worries about everything—worries incessantly—worries on behalf of others when she feels they are not worrying adequately for themselves. And my mother misses her own mother, my grandmother, immensely, who only has a past now; who is only allowed to be as we remember her.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Sara Baume

I know with unqualified certainty that I want to die. But I also know with equivalent certainty that I won't do anything about it. That I will only remain here and wait for death to indulge me.