Suddenly at the end of the great couloir my vision is sharpened by a pale disjunctive shudder as a bar of buttercup-yellow thickening gradually to a ray falls slowly through the dark masses of cloud t...
Landscape-tones: brown to bronze, steep skyline, low cloud, pearl ground with shadowed oyster and violet reflections. The lion-dust of desert: prophets’ tombs turned to zinc and copper at sunset on th...
In the great quietness of these winter evenings there is one clock: the sea. Its dim momentum in the mind is the fugue upon which this writing is made. Empty cadences of sea-water licking its own woun...
I meant of course the whole portentous scrimmage of sex itself, the act of penetration which could lead a man to despair for the sake of a creature with two breasts and le croissant as the picturesque...
I have been thinking about the girl I met last night in the mirror: dark on the marble-ivory white: glossy black hair: deep suspiring eyes in which one's glances sink because they are nervous, curious...
He would wake to see the towers and minarets printed on the exhausted, dust-powdered sky, and see as if en montage on them the giant footprints of the historical memory which lies behind the recollect...
He hablado de la inutilidad del arte, pero no he dicho la verdad sobre el consuelo que procura.
ويكتب بورسواردن: فى البداية نسعى كى نملأ بالحب فراغ ذواتنا ونستمتع لحظة قصيرة بوهم الكمال. لكن ذلك ليس إلا وهما. حيث إن هذا المخلوق الغريب الذى أعتقدنا أنه سيصلنا بجسد العالم، قد نجح فى النهاية، فى فص...
Разве не зависит все на свете от нашей интерпретации царящего вокруг нас молчания?
Годами тебе приходится мириться с тем, что людям, в сущности, нет до тебя дела; и вот в один прекрасный день в тебе прорастает тревога, и ты понимаешь, что тот, которому нет дела, — не кто иной, как Б...
He had discovered for himself the uselessness of having opinions and in consequence made a habit of usually saying the opposite of what he thought in a joking way. He was an ironist, hence he appeared...
Autonomous act of growing up. And the sensation is of something having noiselessly exploded inside each of them. Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining his or her own expe...
With all its imperfections lying heavy on its head, I can’t help being attached to it because in the writing of it I first heard the sound of my own voice, lame and halting perhaps, but nevertheless m...
Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me and then show me the place where he was hanged.
This world represents the promise of a unique happiness which we are not well-enough equipped to grasp.
This is what is meant by possession - to be passionately at war for the qualities in one another to contend for the treasures of each other’s personalities. But how can such a war be anything but dest...
These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their kind, dredged up from the floors of s...
No one thing can explain everything; though everything can illuminate something. God, I must be still drunk. If God were anything he would be an art. Sculpture or medicine. But the immense extension o...
For years one has to put up with the feeling that people do not care, really care, about one; then one day with growing alarm, one realizes that it is God who does not care; and not merely that he doe...
Я говорил о бесполезности искусства, но ничего не сказал о том облегчении, которое оно способно принести. Утешение, которое я нахожу в такого рода работе ума и сердца, состоит в следующем: только , в...