A.P. Quotes & Sayings

Love is about giving, about caring for the other person's welfare. Love is treating someone, in the Kantian sense, never as a means but as an end in themselves. Love is sacrifice, love is something you work at, something you build like a house or tend like a plant, brick by brick, drop by drop, day by day. Nonsense. Old wives' tales, old husbands' tales. That is affection they are talking about, that is companionship, that is charity, that is tickets for the Cancer Research Ball. You must ask the young if you want to know what love is. Only they are deep enough in it to describe. We older ones have clues and simulacra, we base our judgement, like pathologists do, on the dents and scars and sediments of hearts long kept in formaldehyde. It is the pulsing heart you want to probe: the pulsing, beating, leaping, dipping, fluttering heart of a seventeen-year-old. — A.P.

An hour would be enough. An hour with my head on the pillow beside yours, foreheads touching, eyes locked with eyes (just the two of us, mind you, minus that sodding cat); an hour to smell the smell of you - garlic and all, I wouldn't mind, no, I wouldn't mind. An hour to press you close the whole length of our bodies and feel the shudder of your laugh. An hour to tell you I'm so glad I knew you. An hour, just an hour. I have time now like hedgehogs have fleas: I an lose it, waste it, squander it, kill it, and there will still be more to follow, but that hour I'll never have. Never. — A.P.

Nothing more excruciating when you are fighting for your life than to have healthy people round you, squabbling over futilities. Who do you love best, and who most do you want with you? Blithering idiots: it's life itself, can't you see? It's life I love best, and life I want with me. Go hang yourselves, all of you, you're only sapping my strength when most I need it. Leave me in peace and let me grapple. — A.P.

Where is the pain when your pride is wounded? And why do we say that: wounded? There is no gash, no blood, not even a scratch. Which part of us hurts? The brain cells? The neurons? What, for goodness' sake, what? — A.P.

Even the biggest blaze, though, has to start somewhere, with a tiny spark, or arsonists would be out of business. — A.P.

Music, music, records, records, noise to cover silence. — A.P.

(But does time honour things? Sabine would teach me to ask. How? Why? And if it does, ought it to go on doing so? And for how long?) — A.P.

All eyes turned to look at us' would be a slipshod way of putting it; eyes don't turn anyway, heads do, but as our little group joined the fringe of the assembly, there was a discernible swivelling of attention in our direction. — A.P.

don't try to minimize what god said — A.P.

I say sister because we were never too alike, too competitive with one another, ever to bond as friends: like the projecting pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, our characters, by reason of their similar cuts, could never really lock. — A.P.

Enemy number one was now the disease. It had a presence as solid as that of a person - I think all serious illnesses do. — A.P.

Sickening, the way the youngest de Vibrey girl, to humour the whim of her kinky old father, is actually riding side-saddle today. Twisted round like a blooming corkscrew. Hymen be blowed, think of what it's doing to her innards, poor wretch, think of the strain on her spine when she goes over the fences. — A.P.

Serena had to cross her legs: in moments of dire amusement her bladder tended to play tricks. — A.P.

Sabine used to maintain that preparation for a dance is comparable to what goes on in the back room of a butcher's shop: the meat for consumption is sliced and dressed and put in nice little paper packages, ready for the kitchen. — A.P.

Forewarned is not forearmed, it is foreshadowed. — A.P.

What's that she's fiddling with when she ought to be listening? I do believe it's a pair of tweezers. She's plucking the hairs off her arms. Off her arms, of all places. Not even legs or face, which is bad enough, but arms. Holy shit, what pathetic geisha behaviour - pain in order to please the male; has no one ever told her she has the right to be hairy if that's the way she's made? — A.P.

Day by day, I am becoming lonely. — A.P.

Love is never a problem, he said. Where there is love there is never a problem. — A.P.

Love is that as well, I was forgetting: it is taking a huge gamble, staking your all on a single improbable throw, jumping off a cliff and trusting an unknown person to catch you before you hit the ground. — A.P.

Shape? Does a fog have shape? Does the twilight? Does the onset of darkness? — A.P.

Obscenity is a function of culture - a function in the mathematical sense, I mean, its value changing with that of the variables on which it depends. — A.P.