But that is what islands are for; they are places where different destinies can meet and intersect in the full isolation of time.
How grudging memory is, and how bitterly she clutches the raw material of her daily work.
Pensaba y sufría mucho, pero le faltaba la fuerza necesaria para atreverse, primer requisito del que hace algo.
Old age is an insult. It's like being smacked.
Travel can be one of the most rewarding forms of introspection.
Music was invented to confirm human loneliness.
I imagine, therefore I belong and am free.
Underneath an artist's preoccupations with sex, society, religion, etc. (all the staple abstractions that allow the forebrain to chatter) there is a soul tortured beyond endurance by the lack of tende...
I love the French edition with its uncut pages. I would not want a reader too lazy to use a knife on me.
Gamblers and lovers really play to lose.
Truth disappears with the telling of it.
You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect.
History is an endless repetition of the wrong way of living.
It is not love that is blind, but jealousy.
There is nothing stranger than to love somebody who is mad, or who is intermittently so. The weight, the strain, the anxiety is a heavy load to bear – if only because among these confusional states an...
And I saw her as a sad thirtieth child of Valentine that fell, not as Lucifer rebelling against God, but because she too passionately wanted to be united with him! All things in excess become sin.
Yet the presence of death always refreshes experience thus--that is its function: to help us deliberate on the novelty of time.
Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will - whatever we may think. They flower spontaneously ou...
إن الأحداث البعيدة تكتسب وقد حولتها وغيرتها الذاكرة لمعاناً مصقولا لأنها ترى في عزلتها، مفصولة عن التفاصيل السابقة واللاحقة عن خيوط الزمن ولفافاته. إن ممثلي الأحداث يعانون أيضاً التحويل والتغير، ويغطس...
It was cold in the street and I crossed to the lighted blaze of shops in Rue Fuad. In a grocer’s window I saw a small tin of olives with the name Orvieto on it, and overcome by a sudden longing to be...