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Elliot Perlman Biography

Elliot Perlman (born 7 May 1964) is an Australian author and barrister. He has written three novels (Three Dollars, Seven Types of Ambiguity and The Street Sweeper) and one short story collection (The Reasons I Won't Be Coming). He has been called a post-grunge lit writer, a reference to his works being written following the 1990s genre of grunge lit.

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Elliot Perlman Quotes

I used to be a child. It came naturally to me. I was an adult for a time, too. That came less naturally.

Adults, Child, Children, Naturally, Used

He sits in his car at traffic lights on his way out sometimes and tries to estimate how many times he has sat here, waiting at these traffic lights on his way somewhere without you, hoping to meet someone with the capacity to consign you to an anecdote, to be eventually confused with others

Car, Confused, Consign, Hoping, Light

As my name might suggest, I'm Jewish. My grandparents were Polish and Russian Jews who came to Australia in the late 1920s, and had they not, we wouldn't be talking now.

Australia, Jewish, Name, Names, Russian, Talking

You don't need to be seeing someone to be in love with her. You can have lost touch with her, she can have hurt you, even inexplicably. If you ever felt that you really knew her and that it was what you knew that you loved, and if you remember what it was you once knew, why is it so crazy to retain that love still?

Crazy, Hurt, Loved, Needs, Remember, Retain

You know you're in love with somebody when you wake up next to them, comfortable despite your breath smelling like the week-old water at the bottom of a vase, when you are terribly excited to see them, to talk to them again, having missed them after all that sleep.

Excited, Sleep, Smelling, Wake Up, Water

When you're younger, you tend to be reckless about trying to find out who you are and what you can do and should do. But as you get older you become more accepting of yourself, and with that comes greater contentment.

Accepting, Age, Become, Contentment, Reckless, Trying

What is it about men that make women so lonely?

Lonely, Make, Men, Relationship, Women

Perhaps people ought to feel with more imagination.

Feels, Imagination, Ought, People, Perhaps

Hell is the special pain that dwells in that loss which you yourself have caused

Dwells, Hell, Loss, Pain, Special

At difficult times of my life, books have been an incredible comfort. When I was 12, I changed schools and my parents split up. It was then that I became addicted to reading. A great writer can attach themselves to your mind and heart, and you feel you understand the world better. As long as you have the capacity to read, you needn't be alone any more. I remember thinking as a child, "If I could give one person the comfort I keep getting from books, then I want to write. "

Art, Capacity, Child, Children, Mind, Motivation

Why did I start with them? Why do any of us choose one company over another as an employer? The money? At the beginning they all offer more or less the same and no one know how it will go after that. I guess it is often not so much your prospects at a particular firm, because these are essentially unknowable, but whether people will think you have done well to get the job there, that determines you choice. That was largely it in my case. It was really the prestige. They gave good letterhead.

Choose, Employer, Jobs, Particular, People, Thinking

I hold him to my chest. My love for him is the only unequivocally good thing I know is always there inside of me. It is the reason I should be spared all that is coming, the only reason.

Good Things, Hold, Love, Reason, Should, Unequivocally

It's like the smell of burned toast. You made the toast. You looked forward to it. You even enjoyed making it, but it burned. What were you doing? Was it your fault? It doesn't matter anymore. You open the window, but only the very top layer of the smell goes away. The rest remains around you. It's the walls. You leave the room, but it's on your clothes. You change your clothes, but it's in your hair. It's on the thin skin on the tops of your hand. And in the morning, it's still there.

Hair, Leave, Morning, Skin, Toast, Wall

Being an insomniac only slows me down. I try not to write at night, as I'm concerned that this will affect the quality.

Affect, Night, Slows, Trying, Writing

Combine a left-leaning upbringing with a family with direct experience of the Holocaust and someone with aspirations to write and I guess, sooner or later, that person will have a stab at writing something about the Holocaust.

Writing, Holocaust, Aspiration, Upbringing, Aspirations