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Beatlebone Quotes
Beatlebone
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Kevin Barry3,726 ratings, 3.48 average rating, 583 reviews
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Beatlebone Quotes
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“It's about what you've got to put yourself through to make anything worthwhile. It's about going to the dark places and using what you find there.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“He sits in his tomb up top of the Newport hotel. It contains a crunchy armchair, a floppy bed, several arrogant spiders, a mattress with stains the shapes of planets and an existential crisis. But he wouldn’t want to sound too French about it.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“Never name the moment for happiness or it will pass by.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“He stops up—he’s had a stunning thought. Is there such a thing, he wants to know, as a positive crack-up? Where the mind breaks down and re-forms again but only to show the world more clearly than before. A mind left calm as a settled pool.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“He has a set of nerves on like a sack of fucking snakes.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“No...I knew a Martin.
And was he wiley?
If there was one thing he wasn't was wiley, John.
Oh?
Poor Martin was an inordinately stupid man. He could barely tie his shoelaces.
A ha'penny short?
Ah listen. Martin kept animals had more wile in them.
What kind of animals?
He'd sheep. A few cattle, I suppose. Though they'd have been wind-bothered up that way.
They'd have been...
Bothered, John. By the wind coming in. The way it would unseat cattle.
Unseat them?
Cornelius lowers his sad eyes -
In the mind.
You mean you'd have a cow'd take a turn?
Cornelius squares his jaw.
Do you realise you're looking at a man who's seen a cow step in front of a moving vehicle? Purposefully.
On account of?
Wind coming easterly. That's the kind of thing that can leave a beast beyond despair. Because of the pure evil sound of it, John. The way it would play across the country in an ominous way. An easterly? If it was to come across you for a fortnight and it might? Sleep gone out the window and a horrible black feeling racing through your fucken blood. Day and night. All sorts of thoughts of death and hopelessness. This is what you'd get on the tail end of an easterly wind. Man nor animal wouldn't be right after it.”
― Beatlebone
And was he wiley?
If there was one thing he wasn't was wiley, John.
Oh?
Poor Martin was an inordinately stupid man. He could barely tie his shoelaces.
A ha'penny short?
Ah listen. Martin kept animals had more wile in them.
What kind of animals?
He'd sheep. A few cattle, I suppose. Though they'd have been wind-bothered up that way.
They'd have been...
Bothered, John. By the wind coming in. The way it would unseat cattle.
Unseat them?
Cornelius lowers his sad eyes -
In the mind.
You mean you'd have a cow'd take a turn?
Cornelius squares his jaw.
Do you realise you're looking at a man who's seen a cow step in front of a moving vehicle? Purposefully.
On account of?
Wind coming easterly. That's the kind of thing that can leave a beast beyond despair. Because of the pure evil sound of it, John. The way it would play across the country in an ominous way. An easterly? If it was to come across you for a fortnight and it might? Sleep gone out the window and a horrible black feeling racing through your fucken blood. Day and night. All sorts of thoughts of death and hopelessness. This is what you'd get on the tail end of an easterly wind. Man nor animal wouldn't be right after it.”
― Beatlebone
“There is a show tonight in the Highwood, John. There will be all sorts of people to play music there. We must go tonight to the Highwood, john. we'll breathe in the music and the cold-starred air.
*
And Cornelius has taken down the moon - hasn't he? - with gleam-of-eye and giddying snout and his touch on the wheel is delicate as the spring, here a soft tip, there a glanced tap for each swerve of the road as it runs the country and turns.
Oh this is the knack of it - John can see clearly now - the carefree life, and he envies him the spring.
And before we know it, John? The summer proper will be in on top of us and the woods will be whispering.
Fuck the whispering woods, Cornelius. Just get me to my fucking island.
But he is snagged again; he turns helplessly.
How'd you mean, about the woods?
Cornelius beams -
There are things we can't describe, he says.
Go on?
What we see around us is only at the ten per cent level, John.
Of?
The reality.
And what's the leftover?
Unseen.
How'd you mean?
Well, he says. The way sometimes you'd walk across a field and a sense of elation would come over you. Are you with me?
Okay...
You're half risen from the skin. the feet are not touching the stones. The little heart is about to hop out of your chest from the sheer fucken joy. And the strange thing about it?
Go on.
That patch of happiness could be floating around the field for the last ten years. Or for the last three hundred and fifty years. Out of love that was had there or a child that was playing or an old friend that was found again after a long time lost. Whatever it was, it caused a great happy feeling and it was left there in the field. You're after walking into it. And for half a minute you're lifted and soaring but then you're out the far side again and back into your own poor stride and woes.
You'd find a sadness just the same?
Or an evil, John. Or a blackness. Or terror, John, or fucken terror, because there's plenty of terror in the world. Always was and has been.
A soft whisper -
I mean take a look out the window.
A sweep of the arm for the greys and sea-greens of the moonful hills, the pale night as they pass by -
I mean why'd you think I've the fucken foot down, John?”
― Beatlebone
*
And Cornelius has taken down the moon - hasn't he? - with gleam-of-eye and giddying snout and his touch on the wheel is delicate as the spring, here a soft tip, there a glanced tap for each swerve of the road as it runs the country and turns.
Oh this is the knack of it - John can see clearly now - the carefree life, and he envies him the spring.
And before we know it, John? The summer proper will be in on top of us and the woods will be whispering.
Fuck the whispering woods, Cornelius. Just get me to my fucking island.
But he is snagged again; he turns helplessly.
How'd you mean, about the woods?
Cornelius beams -
There are things we can't describe, he says.
Go on?
What we see around us is only at the ten per cent level, John.
Of?
The reality.
And what's the leftover?
Unseen.
How'd you mean?
Well, he says. The way sometimes you'd walk across a field and a sense of elation would come over you. Are you with me?
Okay...
You're half risen from the skin. the feet are not touching the stones. The little heart is about to hop out of your chest from the sheer fucken joy. And the strange thing about it?
Go on.
That patch of happiness could be floating around the field for the last ten years. Or for the last three hundred and fifty years. Out of love that was had there or a child that was playing or an old friend that was found again after a long time lost. Whatever it was, it caused a great happy feeling and it was left there in the field. You're after walking into it. And for half a minute you're lifted and soaring but then you're out the far side again and back into your own poor stride and woes.
You'd find a sadness just the same?
Or an evil, John. Or a blackness. Or terror, John, or fucken terror, because there's plenty of terror in the world. Always was and has been.
A soft whisper -
I mean take a look out the window.
A sweep of the arm for the greys and sea-greens of the moonful hills, the pale night as they pass by -
I mean why'd you think I've the fucken foot down, John?”
― Beatlebone
“He sleeps a long, unquiet sleep disturbed by quick dreams of woodland places. These come as no great surprise. He meets elves and sprites and clowning devils. Anxiety? He wakes at last to a new world and to a morning lost in heavy mist. Sorely his bones ache - he traces the length of the soreness with a long, dull, luxurious sighing. Which is very pleasant, as it happens. Though also he feels about ninety fucking six.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“As a ten-year-old, what I seemed to find most distressing about the fact of a recently dead mother was the seeming mawkishness of having to admit to one.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“Whatever it is that you’re most scared of surfacing in your work, you can be sure that it’s nearby.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“It is the moment itself that contains all riches.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“We are all terrified, John. There is no mystery to it. If you weren't terrified, there would be something wrong with you...I'll tell you what matters. How you hold yourself is what fucken matters.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“But no harm sometimes to have a bit of arrogance in yourself.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“I am not in control, Cornelius, of the way my fucking brain turns. You know where I’m at sometimes? Just by way of hysterical fucking example? I’m in nineteen twenty fucking dot. I’m in the Bluecoat orphanage. How fucking cruel and how fucking lonely? To lie awake at night in the middle of the city. No brothers here, no sisters. A kid awake in the city and lonely. It’s the winter and deep in. This gimpy fucking kid in the corner bed. This snot-faced raggedy limpy kid. The best part of you’s dripped down your dad’s leg, hasn’t it, Freddie?
Ah John
And I will not wipe these tears away. My old man? He was like me without the spark plug in. I could have been a fucking disaster as easy. It’s like aunt always said – I’m just the idiot that got lucky.
Can you not go easy on yourself the one time, John?
No I fucking cannot.”
― Beatlebone
Ah John
And I will not wipe these tears away. My old man? He was like me without the spark plug in. I could have been a fucking disaster as easy. It’s like aunt always said – I’m just the idiot that got lucky.
Can you not go easy on yourself the one time, John?
No I fucking cannot.”
― Beatlebone
“What’s the latest, John? As a matter of fact, Cornelius, I think I’ve come loose of my fucking bean completely. No wonder. The wind is after shifting east. There’s none of us right when the wind shifts east. But I’m having vision-type fucking things, Cornelius! It would surprise me if you weren’t.”
― Beatlebone
― Beatlebone
“The van stops on the coast road.
Ho-ho, Cornelius says.
Cornelius? Please. Let's just get to the fucking island.
Patience a small while.
Cornelius kills the engine. He climbs from the van. The wind comes harder now from the sea. He gestures for John to follow; he does. They walk the scalp of a hill together, descending.
You're not to be afraid, John.
They approach a great fall-away to the sea; far below, it flashes its green teeth, the ever-welcoming sea.
Right, Cornelius says.
He steps up to the edge; the fall is sheer - it's a great distance to fall and to a certain ending there.
Come on, John.
He steps with Cornelius to the edge of the sheer fall; the wind pulses hard against them.
Lean into it, Cornelius says. Like so.
He does and he is held there.
Fucking hell. . .
Be fierce, John.
The wind comes hard and Cornelius leans in closer again to its great force; he is held there.
Cornelius?
Now, John.
John tips his toes up close to the edge and closer again to the sheer fall and closer.
Cornelius?
Go on.
He leans over the edge and the wind holds him perfectly there.
Do you see, John?
Maybe.
Do you see the trick of it, John?
I think so.
No fear.”
― Beatlebone
Ho-ho, Cornelius says.
Cornelius? Please. Let's just get to the fucking island.
Patience a small while.
Cornelius kills the engine. He climbs from the van. The wind comes harder now from the sea. He gestures for John to follow; he does. They walk the scalp of a hill together, descending.
You're not to be afraid, John.
They approach a great fall-away to the sea; far below, it flashes its green teeth, the ever-welcoming sea.
Right, Cornelius says.
He steps up to the edge; the fall is sheer - it's a great distance to fall and to a certain ending there.
Come on, John.
He steps with Cornelius to the edge of the sheer fall; the wind pulses hard against them.
Lean into it, Cornelius says. Like so.
He does and he is held there.
Fucking hell. . .
Be fierce, John.
The wind comes hard and Cornelius leans in closer again to its great force; he is held there.
Cornelius?
Now, John.
John tips his toes up close to the edge and closer again to the sheer fall and closer.
Cornelius?
Go on.
He leans over the edge and the wind holds him perfectly there.
Do you see, John?
Maybe.
Do you see the trick of it, John?
I think so.
No fear.”
― Beatlebone
