Robin Oliveira Quotes & Sayings

Why is it that voices break hearts? — Robin Oliveira

Love and war, it seemed, worked by the same rules. One had to hurry, before the fires flared out. — Robin Oliveira

Both carried, despite their martial postures, an aura of sorrow, though ghosts of smiles flickered across their faces. They would have recognized one another from a mere turn of the head observed from hundreds of yards away on a moonless night in January. — Robin Oliveira

Once in a rare while, you get to read a story of such breathtaking beauty and intelligence that you remember why you love to read. The Anatomy Lesson is just such a novel. In stunning prose, Nina Siegal animates Rembrandt's first masterpiece, spinning a deeply affecting tale of love, loss and redemption as she reveals the secrets of the human soul. It is a gorgeous literary page turner of immense sympathy and elegance, equal in artistic lan to its inspiration. Brava! — Robin Oliveira

For all the things we say to our children for their own good, very little good ever comes of it. — Robin Oliveira

But I will only be able to claim it if I am offered it. Tell me, Dr. Blevens, in your opinion, is there a limit to how much knowledge one person is allowed to accumulate? Have I reached my quota? — Robin Oliveira

Mary thought that the art of love might just be blindness: the willingness not to see the truth of anything, to blur life's sharp edges and drift on an impression of one's own making, to act as if the life you lived was the life you wanted. — Robin Oliveira

In some ways I liked the struggle better, I think. It clarified what was important. — Robin Oliveira

If you are going to abandon your work because someone speaks ill of it, then it has never been your work, has it? It becomes theirs. You give it up. — Robin Oliveira

How women defeat one another; how need defeats women. — Robin Oliveira

And even if something had once been committed to paper, did it mean that it was still true? Always true? Unlike the relative permanence of paint, words were temporal. You uttered them and they evanesced, but if you wrote them, they remained, though whether the written word was any more truthful than the spoken was a mystery to her. Only paint was honest. — Robin Oliveira