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Bernard Malamud

Дата рождения: 26. Апрель 1914
Дата смерти: 18. Март 1986

Берна́рд Мала́муд — американский писатель.


„Без героев мы были бы обычными людьми и не знали бы, на что способны.“

„There comes a time in a man's life when to get where he has to go--if there are no doors or windows--he walks through a wall.“


„Where to look if you've lost your mind?“ The Fixer

„We have two lives... the life we learn with and the life we live after that. Suffering is what brings us towards happiness.“ The Natural

„Without heroes we're all plain people and don't know how far we can go.“

„What suffering has taught me is the uselessness of suffering.“

„The purpose of a writer is to keep civilisation from destroying itself."

(Interview,, September 14, 1958)“

„Teach yourself to work in uncertainty.“


„Of course it would cost something, but he was an expert in cutting corners; and when there were no more corners left he would make circles rounder.“ The Magic Barrel

„There are no wrong books. What's wrong is the fear of them.“ The Fixer

„You could not pity anything if you weren't a man; pity was a surprise to God. It was not his invention.“ The Fixer

„If the stories come, you get them written, you're on the right track. Eventually everyone learns his or her own best way. The real mystery to crack is you.“


„Revision is one of the exquisite pleasures of writing.“

„A man is an island in the only sense that matters, not an easy way to be. We live in mystery, a cosmos of separate lonely bodies, men, insects, stars. It is all loneliness and men know it best.“ Dubin's Lives

„I fix what's broken - except in the heart.“ The Fixer

„Her face deeply moved him. Why, he could at first not say. It gave him the impression of youth--spring flowers, yet age--a sense of having been used to the bone, wasted; this came from the eyes, which were hauntingly familiar, yet absolutely strange. He had a vivid impression that he had met her before, but try as he might he could not place her although he could almost recall her name, as he had read it in her own handwriting. No, this couldn't be; he would have remembered her. It was not, he affirmed, that she had an extraordinary beauty--no, though her face was attractive enough; it was that something about her moved him. Feature for feature, even some of the ladies of the photographs could do better; but she lapsed forth to this heart--had lived, or wanted to--more than just wanted, perhaps regretted how she had lived--had somehow deeply suffered: it could be seen in the depths of those reluctant eyes, and from the way the light enclosed and shone from her, and within her, opening realms of possibility: this was her own. Her he desired. His head ached and eyes narrowed with the intensity of his gazing, then as if an obscure fog had blown up in the mind, he experienced fear of her and was aware that he had received an impression, somehow, of evil. He shuddered, saying softly, it is thus with us all. Leo brewed some tea in a small pot and sat sipping it without sugar, to calm himself. But before he had finished drinking, again with excitement he examined the face and found it good: good for Leo Finkle. Only such a one could understand him and help him seek whatever he was seeking. She might, perhaps, love him. How she had happened to be among the discards in Salzman's barrel he could never guess, but he knew he must urgently go find her.“ The Magic Barrel

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