These things that were between us, these and a myriad others, a myriad myriad, these remain of her, but what will become of them when I am gone, I who am their repository and sole preserver?
These days I must take the world in small and carefully measured doses. It is a sort of homeopathic cure I am undergoing, though I am not certain what this cure is meant to mend. Perhaps I am learning...
Imágenes del pasado remoto se agolpan en mi cabeza, y la mitad de las veces soy incapaz de distinguir si son recuerdos o invenciones. Tampoco es que haya mucha diferencia, si es que hay alguna. Hay qu...
I think he is losing heart in his attempts to woo her. In that bright-yellow waistcoat, the bottom button always punctiliously undone and the pointed flaps open over his neat little paunch, he is as i...
I often ask myself whether my decision to pursue a life of scholarship -- if decision is the right word -- was a result of an essential poverty of the soul, or if the desiccation which I sometimes sus...
Happiness was different in childhood. It was so much then a matter simply of accumulation, of taking things - new experiences, new emotions - and applying them like so many polished tiles to what woul...
Guilt is the only affect I know of that does not diminish with time. Nor does the guilty conscience have any sense of priority or right proportion.
Თითი უნებურად ტუჩებზე მოვისვი, იმ ტუჩებზე ცოტა ხნის წინ მას რომ კოცნიდნენ. ეტყობა, ველოდი რაღაც ჯადოს წყალობით, ტუჩებიც უნდა შეცვლილიყვნენ, თუნდაც სულ ოდნავ, სხვებისთვის თითქმის შეუმჩნევლად. საერთოდ,...
What is my purpose here? I may say, I just sat down to write, but I am not deceived. I have never done anything in my life that did not have a purpose, usually hidden, sometimes even from myself.
What did I brood on, sitting there in the classic pose with my elbows on my knees and my chin on my hands? We do not need to go to the Greeks, our tragic predicament is written out on rolls of lavator...
I would have made her a part of me. If I could, I would have had a notch cut in my already aging side and a slip of her, my young rose, inserted there and lashed to me with twine.