Quotes By The Garden of Eden

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”

“Everybody has strange things that mean things to them. You couldn't help it.”

“I'm with you. No matter what else you have in your head I'm with you and I love you.”

“I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word.”

“You’ll ache. And you’re going to love it. It will crush you. And you’re still going to love all of it. Doesn’t it sound lovely beyond belief?”

“Remember everything is right until it's wrong. You'll know when it's wrong.”

“Never, never tell them. Try and remember that. Never tell anyone anything ever. Never tell anyone anything again.”

“You're awfully dark, brother," he said. "You don't know how dark.”

“There is nothing you can do except try to write it the way that it was. So you must write each day better than you possibly can and use the sorrow that you have now to make you know how the early sorrow came. And you must always remember the things you believed because if you know them they will be there in the writing and you won’t betray them. The writing is the only progress you make.”

“Please understand and love me.”

“Everything that's innocent to us is crazy to them.”

“Do you always get so hungry when you make love?”
“When you love somebody.”

“Remember, everything is right until it’s wrong. You’ll know when it’s wrong.”
- “You think so?”
- “I’m quite sure. If you don’t it doesn’t matter. Nothing will matter then”

“They are strong,” David said. ”But there’s a strong wind today and we drink according to the wind.”

“It had been wonderful and they had been truly happy and he had not known that you could love anyone so much that you cared about nothing else and other things seemed inexistent.”

“He was completely detached from every thing except the story he was writing and he was living in it as he built it. The difficult parts he had dreaded he now faced one after another and as he did the people, the country, the days and the nights, and the weather were all there as he wrote. He went on working and he felt as tired as if he had spent the night crossing the broken volcanic desert and the sun had caught him and the others with the dry gray lakes still ahead. He could feel the weight of the heavy double-barreled rifle carried over his shoulder, his hand on the muzzle, and he tasted the pebble in his mouth. Across the shimmer of the dry lakes he could see the distant blue of the escarpment. Ahead of him there was no one, and behind was the long line of porters who knew that they had reached this point three hours too late.
It was not him, of course, who had stood there that morning, nor had he even worn the patched corduroy jacket faded almost white now, the armpits rotted through by sweat, that he took off then and handed to his Kamba servant and brother who shared with him the guilt and knowledge of the delay, watching him smell the sour, vinegary smell and shake his head in disgust and then grin as he swung the jacket over his black shoulder holding it by the sleeves as they started off across the dry-baked gray, the gun muzzles in their right hands, the barrels balanced on their shoulders, the heavy stocks pointing back toward the line of porters.
It was not him, but as he wrote it was and when someone read it, finally, it would be whoever read it and what they found when they should reach the escarpment, if they reached it, and he would make them reach its base by noon of that day; then whoever read it would find what there was there and have it always.”

“Now we have done it. Now we really have done it.”
Yes, he thought. Now we have really done it. And when she went to sleep suddenly like a tired young girl and lay beside him lovely in the moonlight that showed the beautiful new strange line of her head as she slept on her side he leaned over and said to her but not aloud, “I’m with you. No matter what else you have in your head I’m with you and I love you.”

“He felt as though he were hailing a ship.”

“He lay there and felt something and then her hand holding him and searching lower and he helped with his hands and then lay back in the dark and did not think at all and only felt the weight and the strangeness inside and she said, “Now you can’t tell who is who can you?”
“You are changing,” she said. “Oh you are. You are. Yes you are and you’re my girl Catherine. Will you change and be my girl and let me take you?”
“You’re Catherine.”
“No. I’m Peter. You’re my wonderful Catherine. You’re my beautiful lovely Catherine. You were so good to change. Oh thank you, Catherine, so much. Please understand. Please know and understand. I’m going to make love to you forever.”

“In that way they really were friends, understanding in their basic disagreement, trusting in their complete distrust and enjoying one another’s company.”

“He held her close and hard and inside himself he said goodbye and then goodbye and goodbye.”

“When it’s right you can’t remember. Every time you read it again it comes as a great and unbelievable surprise. You can’t believe you did it. When it’s once right you never can do it again. You only do it once for each thing. And you’re only allowed so many in your life.”

“Os nomes penetram-nos até aos ossos.”