Saul Bellow
Saul Bellow
Saul Bellowwas a Canadian-American writer. For his literary work, Bellow was awarded the Pulitzer Prize, the Nobel Prize for Literature, and the National Medal of Arts. He is the only writer to win the National Book Award for Fiction three times and he received the National Book Foundation's lifetime Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters in 1990...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth10 June 1915
CityLachine, Canada
CountryUnited States of America
If I had a child of school age, I would send him to one of the Waldorf Schools.
We mustn't forget how quickly the visions of genius become the canned goods of intellectuals.
In an age of enormities, the emotions are naturally weakened. We are continually called upon to have feelings - about genocide, for instance, or about famine or the blowing up of passenger planes - and we are all aware that we are incapable of reacting appropriately. A guilty consciousness of emotional inadequacy or impotence makes people doubt their own human weight.
Our society, like decadent Rome, has turned into an amusement society, with writers chief among the court jesters
Unfortunately for the betterment of mankind it is not always the fair-minded who are in the right.
It would not be practical for her to hate herself. Luckily, God sends a substitute, a husband.
Erotic practices have become diversified. Sex used to be a single-crop farming, like cotton or wheat; now people raise all kinds of things.
Take our politicians: they're a bunch of yo-yos. The presidency is now a cross between a popularity contest and a high school debate, with an encyclopedia of clichés the first prize.
There is much to be said for exotic marriages. If your husband is a bore, it takes years longer to discover.
Associate with the noblest people you can find; read the best books; live with the mighty; but learn to be happy alone.
Unexpected intrusions of beauty. This is what life is.
Readiness to answer all questions is the infallible sign of stupidity.
Losing a parent is something like driving through a plate-glass window. You didn't know it was there until it shattered, and then for years to come you're picking up the pieces -- down to the last glassy splinter.
In the greatest confusion there is still an open channel to the soul. It may be difficult to find because by midlife it is overgrown, and some of the wildest thickets that surround it grow out of what we describe as our education. But the channel is always there, and it is our business to keep it open, to have access to the deepest part of ourselves.