Soon enough the tears came but of course nobody came down to see if she was all right, it was just the slut in the kitchen who'd ruined their lives, getting drunk of neat gin and howling for her lost...
Various pieces of huge dark furniture constricted the passage, and the place smelled of boiled fish. I was shown into the parlor, where the gloom of that overcast day was filtered through windows curt...
I often wondered how it would be to tramp off into the mountains and keep going until I was exhausted, then simply sink into the snow and fall asleep. Then the wolves could have me.To want to die in t...
Perhaps that's the whole point about infidelity, I suggested, not that one has sex but that by doing so one puts at risk someone else's happiness?
Strange how reluctant I was to acknowledge that control of my fate lay beyond my own conscious will. Habit of a lifetime, I suppose.
Isolated people, those who live alone, are always conscious of their condition in the homes of families.
We coexisted in a state of mutual detachment.
We see nobody clearly. We see only the ghosts of absent others, and mistake for reality the fictions we construct from blueprints drawn up in early childhood. This is the problem.
Люблю сырость таких дней, сырость, сумрак и густые серые тучи, потому что лишь в такую погоду чувствую себя в ладу с миром.
Solitude is a terrible thing, for it permits the imagination to picture, in detail, that which perhaps should never be articulated.
Our conversations were like sex, our sex like conversation.
Être éveillé, c’est souffrir; voila le sens profond de la vie.
There is something I have learned since being paralyzed, and that is that in the absence of sensory information,
Hugo, she said, in a certain hurt tone that I knew well and enjoyed provoking, you can be most horribly rude when you choose. Why do you choose?
Her mouth was smeared with lipstick and her throat swung bagged and cross-hatched from a wrinkled knob of chin flanked by rouged jowls loosely depending from lumpy cheekbones. Powerful gusts of stale...
Harry's voice had matured like old port wine, it was deep and rich and liquid.
A tissue of small sounds filled the room, a bird, a clock, a voice from another garden. What we call silence.
Le donne romantiche, riflettei: non pensano mai al male che fanno in quella loro forsennata ricerca di esperienze forti. In quella loro infatuazione per la libertà.!
He wished only to live as a free man upon the fruits of his labor, and grow old in the natural rhythms of the earth; instead of which he was cursed, so he felt, always to be an object of disgust, or h...
In quelle settimane invecchiai di parecchi anni, imparai molte cose sullo spirito e su quella sacca simile a una pera, grossa come un pugno e divisa in quattro cavità che chiamiamo cuore.