A Quote by Kazuo Ishiguro
If I'm alone at home, I get increasingly restless, bothered by the idea that I'm missing some crucial encounter out there somewhere. But if I'm left by myself in someone else's place, I often find myself a nice sense of peace engulfing me. I love sinking into an unfamiliar sofa with whatever book happens to be lying nearby.
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When I finish a book, I get extremely restless; I have to aggressively find ways to occupy myself; going off into the woods alone, doing things that are physically or mentally demanding to keep myself busy until the next big idea comes.
Love is when I smile and breathe deeply down to my toes. I've given myself a gift of caring for myself and learned a new way to look at my issues. And I'm lying in some fresh sheets looking out the window at some visual beauty... a mountain, an ocean, a stream, a forest. A lovely man lying next to me or my babies sleeping.
When the lights don't glow the same way that they used to and I finally get a moment to myself, I will realize you were everything I'm missing and you'll tell me you're in love with someone else.
I'm not trying to get approval from anyone else. No one's approval matters to me - what matters is making myself happy for myself and no one else. And if I look good to someone else, I hope they take me as inspiration or whatever they want.
We're all looking for acceptance and love, beginning with our parents. And then when you find [that] out, you start working with yourself, you start to find out that the acceptance and love that you find somewhere else mirrors [you] in all kinds of different situations. That type of love you can only find in one place: in yourself. And many times we're all looking for it somewhere else.
There are some days that I have to remind myself, and I have to give myself affirmations, and I have to go to yoga or do something nice for myself. I get nervous about putting myself out there, but I want to encourage others to use their voices, too.
I find the idea that some kids go into acting because of their parents butt-clenchingly embarrassing. I've gone out of my way to prove myself as a separate being. I don't want to be seen as a subset of someone else.
I often find myself in situations where it seems to me like everyone else has read the instruction book
I truly find such a sense of peace and calm when I'm working, and it's an inner peace that I've never been ever to achieve, doing anything else. It's where I feel most myself. I can access my power and strength, as an artist, and I can't imagine not doing it. I love it!
I would never find myself or unlikely to find myself in a room where I have a skeptic who brought me in. But I very often am in a situation somebody who's there who didn't invite me was a skeptic. That happens all the time.
I can't say that I was my happiest on court, but I felt completely free. Free from family obligations, free from my own torment. In a real sense I was a different person. It was a place where I could not tolerate the idea of being beaten. I psyched myself up into a state where I felt something close to hatred towards my opponent, a state where I detested the idea of someone making his name at the expense of Jimmy Connors. I was in my element on court, measuring myself against someone else. I was not competitive for show. It came from deep within.
I've often said that there's no such thing as writer's block; the problem is idea block. When I find myself frozen-whether I'm working on a brief passage in a novel or brainstorming about an entire book-it's usually because I'm trying to shoehorn an idea into the passage or story where it has no place.
I still catch myself trying to become the object someone imagines me to be, but then there are other times, when I am free, when I am fluent, when I am unimaginable, that I start to feel like somewhere out there is the decolonized love for me, somewhere out there, there is a love that doesn't let any of us be so lonely.
The reason I did the book about holidays is that you're a different person on holiday. You're sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, knocking about with people you've never met and for 10 days you're someone else. You're out of your comfortable zone.
That's the thing: once it's in their hands, it's not my book anymore, it's theirs. I have no idea what happens when they start to digest it. So when someone writes me to explain how they read it, what it was like, what they enjoyed, there's a thrill. Writers who don't make their email addresses public are missing out on something wonderful.
I wasn't in love with her. And she didn't love me. For me the question of love was irrelevant. What I sought was the sense of being tossed about by some raging, savage force, in the midst of which lay something absolutely crucial. I had no idea what that was. But I wanted to thrust my hand right inside her body and touch it, whatever it was.
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