Hugh concentrated upon different objects in the camión; the driver’s small mirror with the legend running round it—Cooperación de la Cruz Roja, the three picture postcards of the Virgin Mary pinned be...
Black Flowers is the name of that song. Cervantes was about to beckon the man to come in. It say:—I suffer, because your lips say only lies and they have death in a kiss.
All of them, you see, misfits, all good for nothing, cowards, baboons, meek wolves, parasites, every man jack of them, people afraid to face their own responsibilities, fight their own fight, ready to...
Ah, in how many rooms, upon how many studio couches, among how many books, had they found their own love, their marriage, their life together, a life which, in spite of its many disasters, its total c...
Ah, guilt and sorrow had dogged Juan's footsteps too, for he was not a Catholic who could rise refreshed from the cold bath of confession. Yet the banality stood: that the past was irrevocably past. A...
Adiós, she added in Spanish, I have no house only a shadow. But whenever you are in need of a shadow, my shadow is yours.Thank you.Sank you.Not sank you, Señora Gregorio, thank you.Sank you.
When I should have been producing obscure volumes of verse entitled the Triumph of Humpty Dumpty or the Nose with the Luminous Dong! Or at best, like Clare, weaving fearful vision ... A frustrated poe...
Under the volcano! It was not for nothing the ancients had placed Tartarus under Mt. Aetna, nor within it, the monster Typhoeus, with his hundred heads and—relatively—fearful eyes and voices.
To-night, as ages hence, people would say this, or shut their doors on them, turn in bereaved agony from them, or toward them with love saying: That is our star up there, yours and mine; steer by them...
The dead. Do they sleep? Why should they, when we cannot?
The Consul felt a pang. Ah, to have a horse, and gallop away, singing, to someone you loved perhaps, into the heart of all the simplicity and peace in the world; was that not like the opportunity affo...
Never think that by releasing me you will be free. You would only condemn us to an ultimate hell on earth. You would only free something else to destroy us both.
McGoff didn't have much use for modern Vancouver. According to him, it has a sort of Pango Pango quality mingled with sausage and mash and generally a rather Puritan atmosphere. Everyone fast asleep a...
He felt rather like someone lying in a bath after all the water has run out, witless, almost dead.
Haven’t you got any tenderness or love left for me at all? Yvonne asked suddenly, almost piteously, turning round on him, and he thought: Yes, I do love you, I have all the love in the world left for...
And in the town too were innumerable white cantinhas, where one could drink forever on credit, with the door open and the wind blowing.
Yes, it struck her now that this whole business of the bull was like a life; the important birth, the fair chance, the tentative, then assured, then half-dispairing circulations of the ring, an obstac...
Why am I here, says the silence, what have I done, echoes the emptiness, why have I ruined myself in this wilful manner, chuckles the money in the till, why have I been brought so low, wheedles the th...
Voda je još cureći u bazen - Bože, kako umrtvljujuće sporo - ispunjavala tišinu između njih...Bilo je tu još nešto: Konzulu se činilo da još čuje glazbu plesa što mora da je već davno prestao, i kao d...
Under the Volcano embraces everything from Dante to Freud to the cabala. Here it shambles like Cervantes, there it rages like Ahab, and every page of it pulsates on Out of Body Auto-Reply, that style...