en
Arundhati Roy

The God of Small Things

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  • Zara Azmatmembuat kutipantahun lalu
    “If I were you,” he said, “I’d go home quietly.” Then he tapped her breasts with his baton. Gently. Tap tap. As though he was choosing mangoes from a basket. Pointing out the ones that he wanted packed and delivered. Inspector Thomas Mathew seemed to know whom he could pick on and whom he couldn’t. Policemen have that instinct.

    Behind him a red and blue board said:

    Politeness.

    Obedience.

    Loyalty.

    Intelligence.

    Courtesy.

    Ironic

  • almembuat kutipantahun lalu
    Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories
  • almembuat kutipantahun lalu
    kathakali discovered long ago that the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in.
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    This was the trouble with families. Like invidious doctors, they knew just where it hurt.
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    The Audience was a Big Man. Estha was a Little Man, with the tickets.
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    The sky was orange, and the coconut trees were sea anemones waving their tentacles, hoping to trap and eat an unsuspecting cloud.
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    His mind was full of cupboards, cluttered with secret pleasures.
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    ‘Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter.’
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    Estha could see the bedroom window reflected in his
  • b7811406104membuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    smooth, purple balls. And the sky beyond. And once a bird that flew across. To Estha—steeped in the smell of old roses, blooded on memories of a broken man—the fact that something so fragile, so unbearably tender had survived, had been allowed to exist, was a miracle. A bird in flight reflected in an old dog’s balls. It made him smile out loud.
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