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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave A complying memory has obliterated many of them and edited my childhood down to a brief cinematic blur. - Quote by V.S. Naipaul

A complying memory has obliterated many of them and edited my childhood down to a brief cinematic blur.

V.S. Naipaul
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For years and years, even during the time of my first visit in 1962, it has been said that Calcutta was dying, that its port was silting up, its antiquated industry declining, but Calcutta hadn't died. It hadn't done much, but it had gone on; and it had begun to appear that the prophecy has been excessive. Now it occurred to me that perhaps this was what happened when cities died. They don't die with a bang; they didn't die only when they were abandoned. Perhaps, they died like this: when everybody was suffering, when transport was so hard that working people gave up jobs they needed because the fear the suffering of the travel; When no one had clean water or air; No one could go walking. Perhaps city died when they lost amenities that cities provided, the visual excitement, the heightened sense of human possibility, and became simply places where there were too many people, and people suffered.
V.S. Naipaul
The chaos lies all within.
V.S. Naipaul
Most people are not really free. They are confined by the niche in the world that they carve out for themselves. They limit themselves to fewer possibilities by the narrowness of their vision.
V.S. Naipaul
Certain emotions bridge the years and link unlikely places.
V.S. Naipaul
The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it.
V.S. Naipaul
To go back home was to play with impressions in this way, the way I played with the first pair of glasses I had, looking at a world now sharp and small and not quite real, now standard in size and real but blurred.
V.S. Naipaul
I could meet dreadful people and end up seeing the world through their eyes, seeing their frailties, their needs. You refer to yourself in order to understand other people. That's the novelist's gift, isn't it?
V.S. Naipaul
How we flounder when emotion overtakes us.
V.S. Naipaul
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