Steve Toltz
Steve Toltz
Steve Toltzis an Australian novelist...
NationalityAustralian
ProfessionNovelist
CountryAustralia
memories past thinking
After all, memory may be the only thing on earth we can truly manipulate to serve us, so we don't have to look back at ourselves in the receding past and think, What an arsehole!
memories jehovah looks
… she gave me a look that deftly combined tenderness with revulsion. To this day the memory of that look still visits me like a Jehovah’s Witness: uninvited and tireless.
half moments endless
The moment seemed endless, but it was probably only half that.
regret empty ifs
Regrets came up and asked me if I’d like to own them. Declined them for the most part but took a few just so I wouldn’t leave this relationship empty handed.
rain heart looks
[I'll teach you] how not to leave the windows of your heart open when it looks like rain and how everyone has a stump where something necessary was amputated.
enjoy
I enjoy being influenced by other writers.
laughing optimism pessimism
Optimism isnt funny unless you are laughing at the person, whereas extreme pessimism is extremely funny. Its exaggeration.
arbitrary prize
There is something so arbitrary about prizes.
eye airplane moon
I was so happy I wanted to fold all the people into paper airplanes and fly them into the lidless eye of that big yellow moon.
memories language easy
Negotiating with memories isn't easy: how to choose between those panting to be told, those still ripening, those already shriveling, and those destined to be mangled by language and come out pulverized?
office shrubs bangs
There's nothing perplexing to me about a leafy shrub evolving out of the big bang, but that the post office exists because carbon exploded out of a supernova is a phenomenon so outrageous it makes my head twitch.
burden
Friendships are an unforseeable burden.
rainbow kitsch ifs
...I wondered if it was blasphemous to tell God that rainbows are kitsch.
love-you dozen might
You experience life alone, you can be as intimate with another as much as you like, but there has to be always a part of you and your existence that is incommunicable; you die alone, the experience is yours alone, you might have a dozen spectators who love you, but your isolation, from birth to death, is never fully penetrated.