James Salter
James Salter
James Arnold Horowitz, better known as James Salter, his pen name and later-adopted legal name, was an American novelist and short-story writer. Originally a career officer and pilot in the United States Air Force, he resigned from the military in 1957 following the successful publication of his first novel, The Hunters...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth10 June 1925
CountryUnited States of America
writing internet flowering
On the Internet, everyone is writing. There is a great flowering of writing.
zero writing way
If you write enough, you begin to learn to do things. But in a way, you do start from zero each time.
writing decided
In 1957, I decided: write or perish.
writing views trying
I write down portions, maybe fragments, and perhaps an imperfect view of what Im hoping to write. Out of that, I keep trying to find exactly what I want.
feelings aristocracy
I like aristocracy. I like the beauty of aristocracy. I like the hierarchical feeling.
solitude benefits difficult
Solitude. One knows instinctively it has benefits that must be more deeply satisfying than those of other conditions, but still it is difficult.
spills our-lives moderates
We were moderate, we will never know what it is to spill out our lives...
successful men
I am afraid of him, of all men who are successful in love.
dream struggle hands
There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands. And yet, this pouring, this flood of encounters, struggles, dreams...
accidents
It is always an accident that saves us. It is someone we have never seen.
morning two long
Age doesn't arrive slowly, it comes in a rush. One day nothing has changed, a week later, everything has. A week may be too long a time, it can happen overnight. You are the same and still the same and suddenly one morning two distinct lines, ineradicable, have appeared at the corners of your mouth.
oxygen vacuums steel
You lived and died alone, especially in fighters. Fighters. Somehow, despite everything, that word had not become sterile. You slipped into the hollow cockpit and strapped and plugged yourself into the machine. The canopy ground shut and sealed you off. Your oxygen, your very breath, you carried into the chilled vacuum, in a steel bottle.
moving games life-is-like
As I look back, I see that life is like a game of solitaire and every once in a while there is a move.
firsts satanic lovers
Now they are lovers. The first, wild courses are ended. They have founded their domain. A satanic happiness follows.