All these are true and none. The place is thereIs what we name it, and is not. It .
A metamorphosis... The shining butterfly of the soul from the pupa of the body. Larva, pupa, imago. An image of art.
A man is the history of his breaths and thoughts, acts, atoms and wounds, love, indifference and dislike; also of his race and nation, the soil that fed him and his forebears, the stones and sands of...
I have always believed I cd diagnose this state of which they regard as as inspired by one pair of black eyes or indifferent blue, one graceful attitude of body or mind, one female history of som...
Бяха деца на такова време и такава култура, която се отнасяше с недоверие към любовта, влюбването, романтичната любов, романтиката изобщо, и въпреки това, сякаш за да си отмъсти, не спираше да бълва с...
Ls the Conjugial Angel stoneThat here he stands with heavy headThe backward-looking pillared deadInert, moss-covered, aIl alone?The Holy Ghost trawls ln the Void,With fleshly Sophy on His HookThe Sons...
Here George Eliot had progressed through the bookshelves. Roland saw her black silk skirts, her velvet trains, sweeping compressed between the Fathers of the Church, and heard her firm foot ring on me...
Why do you go cold? He kept his voice gentle. I - I've analysed it. Because I have the sort of good looks I have. People treat you as a kind of ;possession; if you have a certain sort of good looks. N...
Well, I would hardly say I do write as yet. But I write because I like words. I suppose if I liked stone I might carve. I like words. I like reading. I notice particular words. That sets me off.
We two remake our world by naming it / Together, knowing what words mean for us / And for the other for whom current coin / Is cold speech--but we say, the tree, the pool, / And see the fire in the ai...
We run with milk and bloodWhat we would give we spillThe hungry mouths are raisedWe spill we fail to fillThis cannot be restoredThis flow cannot redeemThis white's not wiped awayThough blanched we see...
Think of me if you will as the Lady of Shalott . . . who chooses to watch diligently the bright colours of her Web - to ply an industrious shuttle - to make - something - to close the Shutters and the...
The words men used to describe the gods were the words they used for fetters or bonds, things which held the world together, within bounds, preventing the breakout of chaos and disorder.
The truth is, said Florence, that the women we are—have become—are not fit to do without men, or to live with them, in the world as it was. And if change, and don’t, there will be no help for us.
She was looking for a husband, partly because she was afraid no one might want her, partly becauseshe couldn't decide what to do with herself until that problem was solved, partly because everyone els...
One of you needs food,' said the Old Woman, 'and three of you need healing.'So the Princess sat down to good soup, and fresh bread, and fruit tart with clotted cream and a mug of sharp cider, and the...
Dorothy did feel threatened. Whose child was or wasn’t she? Almost unconsciously, she detached her-self a little from love. She would be canny. She would not invest too much passion in loving her pare...
Don't you find it rather heavy, to have everything really in front of you – all the people who are going to matter, whom you haven't met yet, all the choices you are going to have to make, everything...
All old stories, my cousin, will bear telling and telling again in different ways. What is required is to keep alive, to polish, the simple clean forms of the tale which be there - in this case the a...
A beautiful woman, Simone Weil said, seeing herself in the mirror, knows This is I. An ugly woman knows with equal certainty, This is not I. Maud knew this neat division represented an over-simplifica...