Oh, how good it is to be with someone, sometimes.
Sometimes your gaze alone scares me. Sometimes I've never seen you before. I no longer know what you're doing here, in this popular seaside resort, in this dull, crowded season, where you are even mor...
It has been my face. It's got older still, or course, but less, comparatively, than it would otherwise have done. It's scored with deep, dry wrinkles, the skin is cracked. But my face hasn't collapsed...
Don’t be afraid anymore. Not of anyone. Not of anything. Nothing. Ever again. Listen to me: not ever again.
He says he’s lonely, horribly lonely because of this love he feels for her. She says she’s lonely too. She doesn’t say why.
You think of outside your room, of the streets of the town, the lonely little squares over by the station, of those winter Saturdays all alike.
Writing was the only thing that populated my life and made it magic.
What could Maria call the time that opened ahead of her? The certainty of her hope? This rejuvenated air she was breathing? This incandescence, this bursting of a love at last without object?
And modern houses don't have passages, either, for children to play and run about in, and for dogs, umbrellas, coats and satchels. And don't forget that passages and corridors are where the young ones...
« L'écrit ça arrive comme le vent, c'est nu, c'est de l'encre, c'est l'écrit, et ça passe comme rien d'autre ne passe dans la vie, rien de plus, sauf elle, la vie. »
Sometimes we have to avoid thinking about the problems life presents. Otherwise we'd suffocate. - Hiroshima Mon Amour, Marguerite Duras
You ask: Why is the malady of death fatal? She answers: Because whoever has it doesn't know he's a carrier, of death. And also because he's like to die without any life to die to, and without even kno...
Nos permitíamos el lujo de no querer comer
Hélène Lagonelle’s body is heavy, innocent still, her skin’s as soft as that of certain fruits, you almost can’t grasp her, she’s almost illusory, it’s too much. She makes you want to kill her, she co...
The best way to fill time is to waste it.
Esos ríos fluyen depreisa, se derraman como si la tierra se inclinara
I know it's not clothes that make women beautiful or otherwise, nor beauty care, nor expensive creams, nor the distinction of costliness of their finery. I know the problem lies elsewhere. I don't kno...
Il ne cherche pas à savoir où la rejoindre. Il ne pense pas à la rejoindre. Il veut rester seul pour savoir, pour penser à elle, l’aimer. Ils
Започнах да пиша в обкръжение, което твърде силно ме тласкаше към целомъдрие. Писането тогава беше морален акт. Писането сега като че ли често е лишено от смисъл. Понякога осъзнавам следното: че ако п...
Très vite dans la vie il a été trop tard. À dix-huit ans il était déjà trop tard.