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Salman Rushdie Quotes
Salman Rushdie- Salman Rushdie quotes are valuable in our daily life.We have a good collection of quotes of Salman Rushdie and other quotes messages from various quotes message categories in various language.
List of Salman Rushdie Quotes
Showing Salman Rushdie quotes 1 - 12 of 296 Salman Rushdie quotes, Page 1 of 25 pages.
Enquanto você estava anestesiada para a tragédia de sua vida, você foi capaz de sobreviver. Quando a clareza lhe voltou, quando lhe foi cuidadosamente restaurada, podia ter deixado você louca. Sua memória redespertada podia enlouquecer você, a memória da humilhação, de tanta manipulação, de tantas intrusões, a memória de homens. Não um palácio, mas um bordel de memórias, e por trás dessas memórias a certeza de que aqueles que amavam você estavam mortos, que não havia saÃda. Essa certeza podia fazer você se pôr em pé, se refazer e fugir. Se corresse depressa podia escapar de seu passado e da lembrança de tudo que havia sido feito você, e do futuro também, da inescapável desolação à frente. Haveria irmãos para resgatá-la? ão, seus irmãos estavam mortos. Talvez o próprio mundo estivese morto. Sim, estava, Para ser parte do mundo, você precisava morrer também. Precisava correr o mais depressa possÃvel até encontrar o limite entre mundos, e você não pararia, correria através dessa fronteira como se não estivesse ali, como se vidro fosse ar e ar fosse vidro, o ar estilhaçando à sua volta como vidro, e você caiu. O ar cortando você em pedaços como se fosse uma lâmina. Era bom cair. Era bom cair para fora do mundo. Era bom.


Also, on account of the odd relationship between time and space, the people who do manage to time-jump sometimes space-jump at the same time and end up in places where they simply don't belong. Over there, for example," he said as a raucous DeLorean sports car roared into view from nowhere, "is that crazy American professor who can't seem to stay put in one time, and, I must say, there is an absolute plague of of killer robots from the future being sent to change the past. Sleeping there under that banyan tree is a certain Hank Morgan of Hartford, Connecticut, who was accidentally transported one day back to King Arthur's Court, and stayed there until Merlin put him to sleep for thirteen hundred years. He was supposed to wake up back in his own time, but look at this lazy fellow! He's still snoring away, and has missed his slot.


No princÃpio, eram três amigos: Antonino Argalia, Niccolò 'il Macchia' e Ago Vespucci. O mundo de sua meninice era uma floresta mágica.
Então - Niccolò concluiu - depois de longos anos de feitos traiçoeiros contra seu paÃs e seu Deus, que condenaram sua alma ao Inferno e fizeram seu corpo digno da roda de suplÃcio, Argália, o paxá - Arcalia, Arqalia, al - Ghaliya, até seu nome se tornou uma mentira - voltou ao que não era mais seu lar.


Family history, of course, has its proper dietary laws. One is supposed to swallow and digest only the permitted parts of it, the halal portions of the past, drained of their redness, their blood. Unfortunately, this makes the stories less juicy...


Things aren't like this," he kept repeating. "It shouldn't be this way." As if he had access to some other plane of existence, some parallel, "right" universe, and had sensed that our time had somehow been put out of joint. Such was his vehemence that I found myself believing him, believing, for example, in the possibility of that other life in which Vina had never left and we were making our lives together, all three of us, ascending together to the stars. Then he shook his head, and the spell broke. He opened his eyes, grinning ruefully. As if he knew his thoughts had infected mine. As if he knew his power. "Better get on with it," he said. "Make do with what there is.


The self may be royal, but it hungers like a pauper. [...] And it is a king imperilled, a sovereign forever at the mercy of many insurgents, of fear, for example, and anxiety, of isolation and bewilderment, of a strange unspeakable pride and a wild, silent shame. The self is beset by secrets, secrets eat at it constantly, secrets will tear down its kingdom and leave its sceptre broken in the dust.


A book is a product of a pact with the Devil that inverts the Faustian contract, he'd told Allie. Dr Faustus sacrificed eternity in return for two dozen years of power; the writer agrees to the ruination of his life, and gains (but only if he's lucky) maybe not eternity, but posterity, at least. Either way (this was Jumpy's point) it's the Devil who wins.


There is a thing that lives in us, eating our food, breathing our air, looking out through our eyes, and when it comes out to play nobody is immune; possessed, we turn murderously upon one another, thing-darkness in our eyes and real weapons in our hands, neighbour against thing-ridden neighbour, thing-driven cousin against cousin, brother-thing against brother-thing, thing-child against thing-child.


She saw him fracture into rainbow colors through the prism of her love.

