Imagining the end of things, when you are a child, is perhaps impossible. The thin child, despite the war that was raging, was more afraid of eternal boredom, of doing nothing that mattered, of day af...
What do you hope?Desire is a dowsed fireTrue love a lieTo a dusty shelf we aspire,I crave to die
What I speak of is the real decision as we experience it; and here the movement away from theory and generality is the movement towards truth. All theorizing is flight. We must be ruled by the situati...
The hands were ivory-coloured, the skin finely wrinkled everywhere, like the crust on a pool of wax, and under it appreared livid bruises, arthritic nodes, irregular tea-brown stains. ...The flesh und...
Metamorphoses he said, are our way of showing, in riddles, that we know we are part of the animal world
It is possible for a writer to make, or remake at least, for a reader, the primary pleasures of eating, or drinking, or looking on, or sex. Novels have their obligatory tour-de-force, the green-flecke...
Lists are a form of power.
He made the analogy, sometimes, almost bitterly, between Harald’s collection of wing-cases and empty ribcages, elephant’s feet and Paradise plumes, and Harald’s interminably circular book on Design, w...
Ze probeerde zich zondig te voelen. Maar haar geest wendde zich af, naar waar hij levend was.
This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now,...
Now and then there are readings that make the hairs on the neck, the non-existent pelt, stand on end and tremble, when every word burns and shines hard and clear and infinite and exact, like stones of...
It is as though our dreams were watching us and directing our lives with external vigour whilst we simply enact their pleasures passively, in a swoon.
Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish onesensation, fire, from the other, frost.
I hit on something I believe when I wrote that I meant to be a Poet and a Poem. It may be that this is the desire of all reading women, as opposed to reading men, who wish to be poets and heroes, but...
Ти коя си?Тук на най-високата полицааз стоя затворена, смаленав покрита с паяжини стъкленица,като древен прилеп изсушена.А каква била си?Златоликият бог ме разпалваше,пеех с крясъци, всъщност пищях,та...
He was always, as far as we can tell, the preux chevalier.
We rode back from Richmond decorously side by side on the top of a bus. It was as though my left side (her side) burned and was so to speak dissolving into steam, or gases. Other people may often have...
She remembered the tale she had told to herself of the young woman carrying the packet containing the deaths of Pete and Petey, the young woman walking endlessly in grim weather across the moors, with...
She is afraid of divorce, which will free her, as she was not enough afraid of marriage, which trapped her.
It is in the nature of the human frame to tire. Fortunately. Let us collude with necessity. Let us play with it.