Alter | 76 Jahre (verstorben) |
Beruf | Dichter, Romancier, Schriftsteller |
Geburtsdatum | Freitag, 18. März 1932 |
Geburtsort | Reading, Pennsylvania, U.S. |
Todesdatum | Dienstag, 27. Januar 2009 |
Todesort | Danvers, Massachusetts |
Sternzeichen | |
Beschreibung | John Hoyer Updike (18. März 1932 - 27. Januar 2009) war ein amerikanischer Romancier, Dichter, Kurzgeschichtenschreiber, Kunst- und Literaturkritiker. Als einer von nur vier Schriftstellern, die den Pulitzer-Preis für Belletristik mehr als einmal gewonnen haben (die anderen sind Booth Tarkington, William Faulkner und Colson Whitehead), veröffentlichte Updike im Laufe seiner Karriere mehr als zwanzig Romane, mehr als ein Dutzend Kurzgeschichtensammlungen sowie Gedichte, Kunst- und Literaturkritiken und Kinderbücher. |
I love my government not least for the extent to which it leaves me alone.
Most of American life consists of driving somewhere and then returning home, wondering why the hell you went.
Government is either organized benevolence or organized madness its peculiar magnitude permits no shading.
Customs and convictions change respectable people are the last to know, or to admit, the change, and the ones most offended by fresh reflections of the facts in the mirror of art.
The first breath of adultery is the freest after it, constraints aping marriage develop.
What art offers is space - a certain breathing room for the spirit.
Writers may be disreputable, incorrigible, early to decay or late to bloom but they dare to go it alone.
Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant. Of a teacher and a learner.
The Founding Fathers in their wisdom decided that children were an unnatural strain on parents. So they provided jails called schools, equipped with tortures called an education.
A leader is one who, out of madness or goodness, volunteers to take upon himself the woe of the people. There are few men so foolish, hence the erratic quality of leadership in the world.
That a marriage ends is less than ideal but all things end under heaven, and if temporality is held to be invalidating, then nothing real succeeds.
Existence itself does not feel horrible it feels like an ecstasy, rather, which we have only to be still to experience.
We are most alive when we're in love.
