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TransAtlantic
Book:
TransAtlantic
Quotes of Book: TransAtlantic
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
... she wondered if she owned a faint idea of many things, and a strong idea of only a few. As if she had developed an immunity to depth. That she only, now, skimmed the surface.
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opinion
depth
Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
Bushmills was a Protestant whiskey. Jameson for Catholics.
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
They inherited it all. The curse of privilege. Janitors for the ambitions of the dead.
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privilege
Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
He was aware that the essence of proper intelligence was the embrace of contradiction. And the recognition of complexity was to be balanced against the need for simplicity
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
When a great truth gets abroad in the world, no power on earth can imprison it, or prescribe its limits, or suppress it. She could see an orchestra in him, a whole range of instruments and sound. His voice was loud and booming. It is bound to go on until it becomes the thought of the world.
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
In their familiarity, they had developed a dislike for each other.
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
They will have to live with it for the rest of the trip now, but Alcock knows how the engine roar can make a pilot fall asleep, that the rhythm can lull a man into nodding off before he hits the waves. It is fierce work--he can feel the machine in his muscles. The sheer tug through his body. The exhaustion of the mind. Always avoiding cloud. Always looking for a line of sight. Creating any horizon possible. The brain inventing phantom turns. The inner ear balancing the angles until the only thing that can truly be trusted is the dream of getting there.
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
When a great truth gets abroad in the world, no power on earth can imprison it, or prescribe its limits, or suppress it.
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
She expected no judgement and wanted no pity.
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pity
Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
He would not become soft. It was exhaustion he wanted-it helped him write. He needed each of his words to appreciate the weight they bore. He felt like he was lifting them and then letting them drop to the end of his fingers
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
How far from real the truth is. I wanted then to take every murdering bastard in Northern Ireland, and have them sleep for a night in my boy's blue rowboat, out on the lough, in the dark, among the reeds, turning in primal celtic patterns.
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Colum McCann
_
TransAtlantic
Every man with his own peculiar vice. His will hardly rock heaven or hell.
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