John Fante citations

John Fante, né le 8 avril 1909 à Denver et mort le 8 mai 1983 à Los Angeles , est un romancier, nouvelliste et scénariste américain. Wikipedia  

✵ 8. avril 1909 – 8. mai 1983   •   Autres noms جان فانته, Џон Фанте, جون فانتي, ჯონ ფანტე
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John Fante: 116   citations 0   J'aime

John Fante citations célèbres

John Fante: Citations en anglais

“Nor did he give a damn for the world either, or the universe, or heaven or hell. But he liked women.”

John Fante livre The Brotherhood of the Grape

Source: The Brotherhood of the Grape (1977)
Contexte: Nobody crossed him without a battle. He disliked almost everything, particularly his wife, his children, his neighbors, his church, his priest, his town, his state, his country, and the country from which he emigrated. Nor did he give a damn for the world either, or the sun or the stars, or the universe, or heaven or hell. But he liked women.

“I went up to my room, up the dusty stairs of Bunker Hill, past the soot-covered frame buildings along that dark street, sand and oil and grease choking the futile palm trees standing like dying prisoners, chained to a little plot of ground with black pavement hiding their feet. Dust and old buildings and old people sitting at windows, old people tottering out of doors, old people moving painfully along the dark street. The old folk from Indiana and Iowa and Illinois, from Boston and Kansas City and Des Moines, they sold their homes and their stores, and they came here by train and by automobile to the land of sunshine, to die in the sun, with just enough money to live until the sun killed them, tore themselves out by the roots in their last days, deserted the smug prosperity of Kansas City and Chicago and Peoria to find a place in the sun. And when they got here they found that other and greater thieves had already taken possession, that even the sun belonged to the others; Smith and Jones and Parker, druggist, banker, baker, dust of Chicago and Cincinnati and Cleveland on their shoes, doomed to die in the sun, a few dollars in the bank, enough to subscribe to the Los Angeles Times, enough to keep alive the illusion that this was paradise, that their little papier-mâché homes were castles. The uprooted ones, the empty sad folks, the old and the young folks, the folks from back home. These were my countrymen, these were the new Californians. With their bright polo shirts and sunglasses, they were in paradise, they belonged.”

John Fante livre Ask the Dust

Ask the Dust (1939)

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