Frasi di John Cheever
Data di nascita: 27. Maggio 1912
Data di morte: 18. Giugno 1982
Altri nomi:جان چیور
John Cheever è stato uno scrittore statunitense.
William John Cheever è stato chiamato il Čechov dei sobborghi. I suoi romanzi e racconti sono per massima parte ambientati nell'Upper East Side di Manhattan, i sobborghi della Contea di Westchester, i sei stati del New England , intorno a Quincy, suo luogo natale, e in Italia, soprattutto a Roma.
È riconosciuto come uno degli scrittori più importanti del Novecento statunitense, e ricordato soprattutto per i racconti brevi, misura in cui eccelle, ma è stato anche autore di romanzi, tra cui il famoso Falconer.
Ha vinto il National Book Award per la narrativa , e ha vinto il Premio Pulitzer per la narrativa per la raccolta The Stories of John Cheever , che è stata premiata anche con il National Book Critics Circle Award per la narrativa nel 1978 e il National Book Award per la narrativa nel 1981, ex aequo con il romanzo Plains Song di Wright Morrison.
Frasi John Cheever
„Merrill poteva essere paragonato a una giornata d’estate, in particolare alle sue ultime ore, e anche se non aveva una racchetta da tennis né una borsa da vela, evocava un’immagine di gioventù sportiva e di tempo clemente. Aveva appena finito di nuotare e ora respirava profondamente, come se volesse mandar giù nei polmoni tutte le componenti di quel momento, il calore del sole e l’intensità del suo piacere; sembrava che tutte venissero aspirate dentro il suo petto. Abitava a Bullet Park, una quindicina di chilometri a sud, dove le sue quattro splendide figlie dovevano aver terminato di pranzare e stavano forse giocando a tennis. In quel momento gli venne l’idea che, seguendo un percorso ad angolo in direzione sudovest, sarebbe potuto arrivare a casa sua a nuoto.“
— John Cheever
„Our country is the best country in the world. We are swimming in prosperity and our President is the best president in the world. We have larger apples and better cotton and faster and more beautiful machines. This makes us the greatest country in the world. Unemployment is a myth. Dissatisfaction is a fable. In preparatory school America is beautiful. It is the gem of the ocean and it is too bad. It is bad because people believe it all. Because they become indifferent. Because they marry and reproduce and vote and they know nothing.“
„For me a page of good prose is where one hears the rain. A page of good prose is when one hears the noise of battle.... A page of good prose seems to me the most serious dialogue that well-informed and intelligent men and women carry on today in their endeavor to make sure that the fires of this planet burn peaceably.“
„But I awoke at three, feeling terribly sad, and feeling rebelliously that I didn't want to study sadness, madness, melancholy, and despair. I wanted to study triumphs, the rediscoveries of love, all that I know in the world to be decent, radiant, and clear. Then the word "love", the impulse to love, welled up in me somewhere above my middle. Love seemed to flow from me in all directions, abundant as water--love for Cora, love for Flora, love for all my friends and neighbors, love for Penumbra. This tremendous flow of vitality could not be contained within its spelling, and I seemed to seize a laundry marker and write "luve" on the wall. I wrote "luve" on the staircase, "luve" on the pantry, "luve" on the oven, the washing machine, and the coffeepot, and when Cora came down in the morning (I would be nowhere around) everywhere she looked she would read "luve", "luve", "luve." Then I saw a green meadow and a sparkling stream. On the ridge there were thatched-roof cottages and a square church tower, so I knew it must be England. I climbed up from the meadow to the streets of the village, looking for the cottage where Cora and Flora would be waiting for me. There seemed to have been some mistake. No one knew their names. I asked at the post office, but the answer here was the same. Then it occurred to me that they would be at the manor house. How stupid I had been! I left the village and walked up a sloping lawn to a Georgian house, where a butler let me in. The squire was entertaining. There were twenty-five or thirty people in the hall, drinking sherry. I took a glass from a tray and looked through the gathering for Flora and my wife, but they were not there. Then I thanked my host and walked down the broad lawn, back to the meadow and the sparkling brook, where I lay on the grass and fell into a sweet sleep.“
„She cried for herself, she cried because she was afraid that she herself might die in the night, because she was alone in the world, because her desperate and empty life was not an overture but an ending, and through it all she could see was the rough, brutal shape of a coffin.“
— John Cheever, The Stories of John Cheever