Someone once said that his favourite times in history were when things were collapsing, because that meant something new was being born. Does this make any sense if we apply it to our individual lives...
Sav taj napor - čemu? Nema formalnog odgovora glavnom talasu slike, baš kao što nema odgovora ni većini ljudskih osećanja. Ne samo nadi, već bilo kakvoj tegobnoj čežnji: častoljublju, mržnji, ljubavi...
Posterity will jump to conclusions: that is its nature.
Poets don’t run out of material the way novelists do because they don’t depend on material in the same way.
Perhaps love could never be captured in a definition; it could only ever be captured in a story.
Perhaps I just feel safer with the history that’s been more or less agreed upon.
People prefer to get what they want rather than what they deserve.
One way of legitimising coincidences, of course, is to call them ironies. That
Old love is a row of beach huts in November.
Novels tell us the most truth about life: what it is, how we live it, what it might be for, how we enjoy and value it, and how we lose it.
Nature is so exact, it hurts exactly as much as it is worth, so in a way one relishes the pain, I think. If it didn't matter, it wouldn't matter.
Music escapes from words: that is its purpose, and its majesty.
May you be ordinary, as the poet once wished the newborn baby.
Louise Colet was a proto-feminist who committed the sin of wanting to make someone else happy.
Life is like invading Russia. A blitz start, massed shakos, plumes dancing like a flustered henhouse; a period of svelte progress recorded in ebullient despatches as the enemy falls back; then the beg...
Khrennikov had an average ear for music, but perfect pitch when it came to power.
It would be comforting if love were an energy source which continued to glow after our deaths.
Isn’t there something between stagnation and heading somewhere? Like? Like having a nice time. Enjoy the day and all that?
In those days, we imagined ourselves as being kept in some kind of holding pen, waiting to be released into our lives. And when the moment came, our lives -- and time itself -- would speed up. How wer...
If you're an old geezer in his rocker on the porch, you don't play basketball with the kids. Old geezers don't jump. You sit and make a virtue of what you have. And what you do is this: you make the k...