99+ Patricia Highsmith Quotes on Conversations, The Price of Salt and The Talented Mr. Ripley - Quotes.pub

Here you will find all the famous Patricia Highsmith quotes. There are more than 99+ quotes in our Patricia Highsmith quotes collection. We have collected all of them and made stunning Patricia Highsmith wallpapers & posters out of those quotes. You can use this wallpapers & posters on mobile, desktop, print and frame them or share them on the various social media platforms. You can download the quotes images in various different sizes for free. In the below list you can find quotes in various categories like Conversations, The Price of Salt and The Talented Mr. Ripley

The tragedy was not even the first drink, because the first drink was not the first resort but the last. There’d had to be first the failure of everything else – of her and Sam, of his friends, of his hope, of his interests, really.

He realised what a horrible mistake, crime even, he had been guilty of in demanding such a barbaric thing as a girl’s hand.

I’ve thought of a wonderful way to start a forest fire,′ Tom said musingly as they were having coffee.

You either let some event ruin your life or not. The decision is yours.

Writing is a craft and needs constant practice.

She wished the tunnel might cave in and kill them both, that their bodies might be dragged out together.

Each person carries around in himself a terrible other world of hell and the unknown. It is an enormous pit reaching below the deepest crater of the earth, or it is the thinnest air far beyond the moon. But it is frightening and essentially “unlike” man as he knows himself familiarly, so we spend all our days living at the other antipodes of ourself.

Finally, Carol said in a tone of hopelessness, ‘Darling, can I ask you to forgive me?’ The tone hurt Therese more than the question. ‘I love you, Carol.

He robs everyone.

If the writer thinks about his material long enough, until it becomes a part of his mind and wakes up thinking about it- then at least when he starts to work, it will flow out as if by itself.

And she wondered, as she had often wondered before, if Richard liked her only because she was more sympathetic with his ambitions than anyone else he happened to know now, and because he felt her criticism was a help to him.

It was the seventh or eighth floor, she couldn’t remember which. A streetcar crawled past the front of the hotel, and people on the sidewalk moved in every direction, with legs on either side of them, and it crossed her mind to jump.

She wanted two weeks of working among people she didn’t know, doing the kind of work a million other people did. She wanted to step into someone else’s shoes. She.

I’m not melancholic,′ she protested, but the thin ice was under her feet again, the uncertainties. or was it that she always wanted a little more than she had, no matter how much she had?

I think there’s a definite reason for every friendship just as there’s a reason why certain atoms unite and others don’t – certain missing factors in one, or certain present factors in the other.

Death was only one more adventure untried.

She had the kind of face that must be seen in action to be attractive.

It is then good to remember that artists have existed and persisted, like the snail and coelacanth and other changing forms of organic life since long before governments were dreamed of.

A book is not a thing of one sitting, like a poem, but a longish thing which takes time and energy and since it takes skill, too, the first effort or maybe the second may not find a market.

A classic is something with a human situation.

There is no moral to my life – I have none – except: ‘Stand up and take it’. The rest is sentiment.

How indifferent he was to Carol after all, Therese thought. She felt he didn’t see her, as he sometimes hadn’t seen figures in rock or cloud formations when she had tried to point them out to him.

Fantasy, an unflagging optimism is necessary for a writer at all stages of this rough game. A kind of madness is therefore necessary, when there is every logical reason for a state of depression and discouragement. Perhaps the fact that I can react with utter gloom to this is what keeps me from being psychotic and keeps me merely neurotic. I am doing quite a good day’s work today. But I am also aware of the madness that actually sustains me, and I am not made more comfortable or happy by it.

He seems to be making you that way too – enough to tolerate people like him. And once you start tolerating them, you’re going to end up being like them yourself.

Vic didn’t mind at all being considered odd. In fact, he was proud of it in a country in which most people aimed at being exactly like everybody else.

I have been sadder than any man could be: for nothing in the world was made for me.

Perhaps identity, like hell, was merely other people.

Therese leaned closer toward it, looking down at her glass. She wanted to thrust the table aside and spring into her arms, to bury her nose in the green and gold scarf that was tied close about her neck. Once the backs of their hands brushed on the table, and Therese’s skin there felt separately alive now, and rather burning.

I have a definite psychosis in being with people. I cannot bear it very long.

Once a person has become detached from his possessions, his customary duties, his moments of solitude, where is he? What is he?

Something always turned up. That was Tom’s philosophy.

Perhaps it was a statement after all: I don’t want to die without knowing you. Do you feel the same way, Carol? She could have said the last question, but she could not have said all that went before it.

I create things out of boredom with reality and with the sameness of routine and objects around me.

One interesting thing is that a stage is reached when nothing hurts any more. Things cannot become any worse, finally, for the one who is really depressed.

Caviar. How very nice of them,” Carol said, looking inside a sandwich. “Do you like caviar?” “No. I wish I did.” “Why?” Therese watched Carol take a small bite of the sandwich from which she had removed the top slice of bread, a bit where the most caviar was. “Because people always like caviar so much when they do like it,” Therese said. Carol smiled, and went on nibbling, slowly. “It’s an acquired taste. Acquired tastes are always more pleasant – an hard to get rid of.

Look at it, like a rat,′ she said. ‘A portrait of Harge.

My story can move fast, as I can’t, it can have a reasonable and perhaps perfect solution, as mine can’t. A solution that is somehow satisfying, as my personal solution never can be.

It shook Therese in the profoundest part of her where no words were, no easy words like death or dying or killing Those words were somehow future, and this was present. An inarticulate anxiety, a desire to know, know anything for certain, had jammed itself in her throat for a moment she felt she could hardly breathe.

I was in New York. Hitchcock was in California. He rang me to make a report on his progress and said, I’m having trouble. I’ve just sacked my second screenwriter.

Love was supposed to be a kind of blissful insanity.

I didn’t hang around films. I don’t know if I’d ever seen Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes.

The law was not society, it began. Society was people like himself and Owen and Brillhart, who hadn’t the right to take the life of another member of society. And yet the law did. “And yet the law is supposed to be the will of society at least. It isn’t even that. Or maybe it is collectively,” he added, aware that as always he was doubling back before he come to a point, making things as complex as possible in trying to make them certain.

She’s everything that should be loathed,” he went on, staring in front of him. “Sometimes I think I hate everything in the world. No decency, no conscience. She’s what people mean when they say America never grows up, America rewards the corrupt. She’s the type who goes to the bad movies, acts in them, reads the love-story magazines, lives in a bungalow, and whips her husband into earning more money this year so they can buy on the installment plan next year, breaks up her neighbor’s marriage –.

I’d had a little feeling of destiny. Because, you see, what I mean about affinities is true from friendships down to even the accidental glance at someone on the street-there’s always a definite reason somewhere. I think even the poets would agree with me.

It was a kind of arrogance, perhaps, to believe so in one’s destiny. But, on the other hand, who could be more genuinely humble than one who felt compelled to obey the laws of his own fate?

I have Graham Greene’s telephone number, but I wouldn’t dream of using it. I don’t seek out writers because we all want to be alone.

The conversation seemed just as boring and forgettable as details of American history around 1805, for example.

Robert Walker as Bruno was excellent. He had elegance and humor, and the proper fondness for his mother.

Odd, Tom thought, that some girls meant sadness and death. Some girls looked like sunlight, creativity, joy, but they really meant death, and not even because the girls were enticing their victims, in fact one might blame the boys for being deceived by – nothing at all, simply imagination.

The way to see the world was to see it drunk. Everything was created to be seen drunk.

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