“Yes, this is what I thought adulthood would be, a kind of long indian summer, a state of tranquillity, of calm incuriousness, with nothing left of the barely bearable raw immediacy of childhood, all the things solved that had puzzled me when I was small, all mysteries settled, all questions answered, and the moments dripping away, unnoticed almost, drip by golden drip, towards the final, almost unnoticed, quietus.” – Max, in The Sea by John Banville

When I was a child, I believed that there were things adults just knew, and that I would know them too when I grew up. No effort in learning required. The world doesn’t work that way, gaining knowledge always requires time, effort and inquisitiveness. The feeling of being puzzled, of having questions never really goes away. The secret is that adulthood means only added responsibilities in addition to freedoms that are different than those of a child. It’s a gradual process, one that never really ends.

In other news: Holy longest sentence ever, Banville! And repeating the ‘unnoticed almost’/’almost unnoticed’ is unnecessary and should have been caught by the editor.

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  • […] while reading it, but I am having the urge to sometimes write a blogpost like this one (and the last one) because of something I’ve read in The Sea. So while it is taking me a long time to read this […]

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