Date: 1998

"Every second of playing time involved writing out, note by note, the parts of up two dozen instruments, playing them back, making adjustments to the score, playing again, rewriting, then sitting in silence, listening to the inner ear synthesize and orchestrate the vertical array of scribbles and...

— McEwan, Ian (b. 1948)

Date: 1998

"Rose Garmony woke at six-thirty, and even before her eyes were open the names of her three children were on her mind, on her mind's tongue: Leonora, John, Candy."

— McEwan, Ian (b. 1948)

Date: 1998

"Though he sounded it guiltily on his inner ear, he would not let the word reach his lips."

— McEwan, Ian (b. 1948)

Date: 1999

"It occurred to me that there was not much difference between a real thing that existed in memory, and something that was born in the mind from the start."

— Budnitz, Judy (b. 1973)

Date: 2001

"in you the in moon / its rays entwined in my mind's / hair hangs down right in"

— Hollo, Anselm (b. 1934)

Date: 2001

"When Austerlitz had brought the tea tray in and was holding slices of white bread on a toasting fork in front of the blue gas flames, I said something about the incomprehensibility of mirror images, to which he replied that he often sat in this room after nightfall, staring at the apparently mot...

— Sebald, W. G. (1944-2001)

Date: 2001

"The Swiss boy with the apple on his head appeared in my mind's eye, Vera continued."

— Sebald, W. G. (1944-2001)

Date: 2001

"I can just see them in my mind's eye, said Marie, a set of very corpulent men disregarding their doctors' advice and giving themselves up to the pleasures of the table, which even at a spa were lavish at the time, in order to suppress, by dint of their increasing girth, the anxiety for the secur...

— Sebald, W. G. (1944-2001)

Date: 2002

A landscape may poise like "A postcard in front of us / As though we'd settled it there, just so, / Halfway between the mind's eye and the mind, just halfway."

— Wright, Charles (b. 1935)

Date: 2002

"And anyway, whether mad or miserable, how can one write when tiredness is like a gloved hand gripping one's brain and squeezing?"

— Coetzee, J. M. (b. 1940)