We lay on the ground and kissed. Perhaps you smile. That we only lay on the ground and kissed. You young people can lend your bodies now, play with them, give them as we could not. But remember that y...
You do not even think of your own past as quite real; you dress it up, you gild it or blacken it, censor it, tinker with it...fictionalize it, in a word, and put it away on a shelf - your book, your r...
You're not me. You can't feel like I feel.I can feel.No you can't. You just choose not to feel or something and everything's fine.It's not fine. It's just not so bad.
Как отметил в своей монографии Пятидесятые на распутье доктор Кончис, бунтарю, который не обладает даром бунтаря от природы, уготована судьбы трутня; но и эта метафора неточна, ибо у трутня всегда ост...
Как-то он показал мне сосуд. Называется морилка. Усыплятьбабочек. Вот я и сижу в такой морилке. Бьюсь крыльями о стекло. Оттого, чтооно прозрачно, мне кажется, что побег возможен. Что есть надежда. То...
ليست المسألة هى أننا لا نؤمن وانما هى أننا لا نستطيع أن نؤمن
There are times when silence is a poem.
Between skin and skin, there is only light.
Beware of the waiting room. He closed the door at once, as if he had rehearsed that moment. I opened it quickly, and leaned out to call after him, The what? He turned, but only to give a sharp wave, t...
He said, men are vile.I said, the vilest thing about them is that they can say that with a smile on their faces.
I mean I never feel I feel what I ought to feel.
I mean most women just want to be good at something, they’ve got good-at minds, and they mean deftness and a flair and good taste and what-not. They can’t ever understand that if your desire is to go...
Ideeea ca ne plac oamenii este o iluzie pe care trebuie s-o pastram in noi daca vrem sa traim in societate. Dar eu am expulzat-o de mult, cel putin cat traiesc aici. Tu vrei sa fii iubit? Eu ma multum...
If anything might hurt her, silence would; and I wanted to hurt her.
I’ve been sitting here and thinking about God. I don’t think I believe in God any more. It is not onlyme, I think of all the millions who must have lived like this in the war. The Anne Franks. And bac...
La urma urmei, ce era eu? Ce ma fortase conchis sa spun era foarte aproape de adevar: nu eram altceva decat suma numeroaselor mele esecuri. Jargonul freudian din timpul procesului ma facea sa zambesc,...
Not that I will paint in my own way, live in my own way, speak in my own way—they don’t mind that. It even excites them. But what they can’t stand is that I hate them when they don’t behave in their o...
She argued. She cried. She took my faltering, my tortured refusals for something far finer than they really were. At the end of the afternoon, before we left the wood, and with a solemnity and sinceri...
She was a mirror that did not lie; whose interest in me was real; whose love was real.
Talking about acting is like boasting about pictures you're going to paint. The most terrible bad form.
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