Sometimes it seems' said Grok, 'that the faces exist of themselves, in a disembodied somewhere, waiting for the clown who will wear them, who will bring them to life. Faces that wait in the mirrors of...
She was too young, too soft and new, to come to terms with these wild beings whose minds veered at crazy angles from the short, straight, smooth lines of her own experience.
Que yo y otras muchas mujeres vayamos buscando heroínas de cuento de hadas en los libros es otra versión del mismo proceso: deseo validar mi reivindicación a poseer una parte equitativa del futuro, y...
Morris wondered what domestic catastrophe would make a man sell even the plaster gnomes from his garden.It was a horrid piece of evidence for mutability; Mutability, goddess of the auction room, dusty...
It was an event of too massive arbitrariness for me to comprehend but, as the rain-washed light fell more and more wistfully on the gigantic tip of sandstone that killed my bearded lady, my reptilian...
In a state of mental tumult, conflict and disorientation, he wanders the freezing city night, now gazing at the ice thickening on the dark waters of the Neva, now peering at the great horseman on his...
If one sexual partner is economically dependent on the other, then the question of sexual coercion, of contractual obligation, raises its ugly head in the very abode of love and inevitably colours the...
I toppled off my pyrotechnic tiger and, as I plunge downwards, endlessly as Lucifer, I ask myself: What is the most miraculous event in the world? And I answer myself: I am going to fall into my own a...
The world exists only as a medium in which we execute our desires. Physically, the world itself, the actual world - the real world, if you like - is formed of malleable clay; its metaphysical structur...
The heart’s egoism sees itself suffering when it sees another suffering and so it learns sympathy, because it can put itself into another’s place; then the heart comes a little way out of its egoism a...
Sometimes he lays his head on my lap and lets me comb his lovely hair for him; his combings are leaves of every tree in the wood and dryly susurrate around my feet.
Old wives' tales — that is, worthless stories, untruths, trivial gossip, a derisive label that allots the art of storytelling to women at the exact same time as it takes all value from it.
NU S-AR FI AȘTEPTAT CA SUFLETUL LUI SĂ CUNOASCĂ ASTFEL DE TRĂIRI.[…]MELANIE SE SIMȚEA UȘOR VINOVATĂ CĂ NU-I PUTEA ÎMPĂRTĂȘI SENTIMENTELE CU ACEEAȘI INTENSITATE.
Marianne had sharp, cold eyes and she was spiteful but her father loved her.
His Raskolnikov eyes, like dead coals, were altogether of too fine cast – speaking too much blighted and heroic romanticism – for a poor shivering wretch such as himself.
Finn is Daddy,' said Victoria with fat satisfaction.'Not yet,' said Finn. 'But we'll christen the first one Proximity.'Melanie choked on a mouthful.
Even if it is the dream made flesh, the real, once it becomes real, can be no more than real.
ESCAPING SLOWLY
And I could believe that it has been the same with him; he was alive from the desire of the woods.
Wherein does a woman’s honour reside, old chap? In her vagina or in her spirit?