Best 10 quotes of Sylvia Brownrigg on MyQuotes

Sylvia Brownrigg

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    Flannery craved a cigarette. Her nerves were so tense that only nicotine could soothe them, and for the first time, she genuinely understood how the drug worked. It wasn't just a prop or an affectation. It was a tool for mental health.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    In fiction, I have been on a Zweig kick. In England over December, I noticed that many British newspapers' year-end recommenders were praising the Pushkin Press for reissuing several works by Stefan Zweig, a brilliant Austrian writer whose work brings to mind that of his compatriot Joseph Roth... these fictions are a treat of prewar European literature

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    It could not always be love in the afternoon and passion in the night, gifts given, notes written, meals fed to each other. It can't all be like that.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    No wonder you want to be a writer. How can you not, with all that behind you? You practically are a novel already.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    The gap between the inner and outer self is one I've found interesting, even essential, about the way we move through the world. In The Delivery Room, I enjoyed traveling back and forth between the perspectives of the patients and that of the therapist - with the irony that with your therapist, you are at least supposed to be your most authentic self.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    This was another item about growing up: you encountered all the cliches of love and loss and heartbreak.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    Those who are apparently absent can feel more present than the people right in front of you.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    Flannery never forgot this. Anne Arden, a woman who meant more to Flannery than Flannery felt she could ever have meant to Anne, had found the person she was intended for; so Flannery need not be bitter, and never was. Anne loved Jasper, and was loved. What more could you want for someone who mattered to you?

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    I plan to learn enough to read you like a book.

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    Sylvia Brownrigg

    I've been called promiscuous. Not a pretty word, is it? Makes you think of the gloop that comes out of your nose or what comes up your throat when you're gagging, if you're trying to swallow down something you didn't necessarily mean to swallow. Promiscuous: your face has to pucker when you say it. I prefer to think of myself as an adventurer. Charting the souls of so many of god's creatures, and of the floaty beings that populate the land of notions. It's a job. It's a calling. It takes strong thigh muscles, intelligence, cunning, a good pair of boots. It takes heart, in fact. The heart to stay on. To not be defeated.