“He was rather clumsy and shy and looked as if he’d spent the last ten years of his life locked up in a library – hardly the kind of man any girl your age dreams of …”
– Carlos Ruiz Zafón.
“His life was a constant war with insensate objects that fell apart, or attacked him, or refused to function, or viciously got themselves lost as soon as they entered the sphere of his existence.”
– Vladimir Nabokov.
“I can do everything with ease on the stage, whereas in real life I feel too big and clumsy. So I didn’t choose acting. It chose me.”
“I’m not clumsy, I’m just accident prone.”
– Daniel Radcliffe.
“I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don’t answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I’m still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers.
Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun?
I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you’re far away and can’t sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can’t live without.”
― Charlotte Eriksson.
“All forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.”
– Roman Payne.
“I reached my full height at age 11, and I was clumsy as all get-out – all elbows and knees, couldn’t get up a flight of stairs without falling down. I wanted to be a cute, petite blonde, but I’m a big ol’ strapping thing, so I just accept it.”
– Jeannette Walls.
“Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance.”
“A book is a fragile creature, it suffers the wear of time, it fears rodents, the elements and clumsy hands. so the librarian protects the books not only against mankind but also against nature and devotes his life to this war with the forces of oblivion.”
“But this first clumsy attempt showed her that the imagination itself was a source of secrets: once she had begun a story, no one could be told. Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know. Even writing out the she saids, the and thens, made her wince, and she felt foolish, appearing to know about the emotions of an imaginary being. Self-exposure was inevitable the moment she described a character’s weakness; the reader was bound to speculate that she was describing herself. What other authority could she have?”
“We’re not destroying the world because we’re clumsy. We’re destroying the worldbecause we are, in a very literal and deliberate way, at war with it.”
“Dreams are fragile. Reality is a clumsy postman.”