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Book: Drood
Quotes of Book: Drood
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  1. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    No tengo que contarle que Martha siguió engordando durante cada embarazo y posteriormente. Después de que naciera William, ella ya no fingió que pudiera despojarse del enorme peso que colgaba de su cuerpo como grandes masas de grasa. Parecía que había abandonado el cuidado de su aspecto. Una vez escribí de Martha R. que era un bello espécimen del tipo de chica que me gustaba: "La auténtica chica carnosa inglesa, alimentada con carne de buey". Pero todo aquel buey que la alimentaba tuvo un efecto predecible. Si me hubiesen pedido que reescribiese aquella frase en 1874, habría dicho: "Es el perfecto espécimen de enorme buey inglés carnoso y alimentado con carne de chica".
    book-quotedrood

  2. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    Si un escritor se pone muy enfermo, todo se detiene. Si se muere, su "negocio" se acaba para siempre. En este sentido, la carrera de un escritor popular se parece más a la de un famoso actor, pero hasta el actor más famoso tiene un suplente. Un escritor no. Nadie puede sustituirle. Su voz personal lo es todo. Y esto es especialmente cierto en el caso de una escritor popular que ya está en proceso de ser publicado por entregas en una revista de tirada nacional.
    book-quotedrood

  3. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    {...} Poco después del enorme éxito de "La mujer de blanco", se me preguntó cuál era el secreto de mi éxito; yo, modestamente, le dije a mi interlocutor: 1. Busca una idea central. 2. Idea unos personajes. 3. Deja que los personajes desarrollen los incidentes. 4. Empieza la historia por el principio.
    book-quotedrood

  4. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    The day before the Queen's Ball, Father had a visitor--a very young girl with literary aspirations, someone Lord Lytton had recommended visit Father and sent over–and while Father was explaining to her the enjoyment he was having in writing this Drood book for serialisation, this upstart of a girl had the temerity to ask, 'But suppose you died before all the book was written?' {...} He spoke very softly in his kindest voice and said to her, 'One can only work on, you know--work while it is day.
    book-quotewritingdeathwork

  5. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    Finding a woman like that amidst the herd of half-feeling, half-caring, half-responding, females in our society of 1860's England was not so much like finding a diamond in the rough as it was finding a warm responsive body amidst the cold dead forms on slabs in the Paris morgue that Dickens had so enjoyed taking me to.
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  6. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    I doubt if he ever confronted and acknowledged his own deeper motivations, except when they were as pure as spring water.
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  7. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    He was, in other words, a careful man with careless impulses.
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  8. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    Very few conversations with Charles Dickens did not include a laugh from him. I had never met a man so given to laughter. Almost no moment or context was too serious for this author not to find some levity in it, as some of us had discovered to our embarrassment at funerals.
    book-quotehumor

  9. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    His imagination was always more real than the reality of daily life.
    book-quotereality

  10. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    ...speaking as a novelist myself, I know that members of our profession live in our imaginations as much or more as we inhabit what people call 'the real world'...
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  11. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    This is every writer's nightmare--the sudden breakdown of meaning in the language that sustains and supports us...
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  12. Dan Simmons _ Drood

    When the last autumn of Dickens's life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with scratches and squiggles on them. And when Death calls, how many of us would trade all those pages, all that squandered lifetime-worth of painfully achieved scratches and squiggles, for just one more day, one more fully lived and experienced day? And what price would we writers pay for that one extra day spent with those we ignored while we were locked away scratching and squiggling in our arrogant years of solipsistic isolation?Would we trade all those pages for a single hour? Or all of our books for one real minute?
    book-quotelifewritingdeath
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