Do you ever read any of the books you burn?’ He laughed. ‘That’s against the law!’ ‘Oh. Of course.’ ‘It’s fine work. Monday burn Millay, Wednesday Whitman, Friday Faulkner, burn ’em to ashes, then bur...
En tanto que la mayoría de la población no ande por ahí recitando la Carta Magna y la Constitución, no hay peligro.
Es war eine kleine Stadt an einem kleinen Fluß und einem kleinen See in einem kleinen Teil eines Staates im mittleren Westen.
Everyone must leave something behind when he dies...A child or a book or a painting or a...garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when...
Everywhere you look in the literary cosmos, the great ones are busy loving and hating. Have you given up this primary business as obsolete in your own writing? What fun you are missing, then. The fun...
Faber sniffed the book. Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy.
For John was running, and this was terrible. Because if you ran, time ran. You yelled and screamed and raced and rolled and tumbled and all of a sudden the sun was gone and the whistle was blowing and...
For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ's birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoi...
Give a man a few lines of verse and he thinks he's the Lord of all Creation.
Going away from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapors for dinner.
Have you ever watched the jet cars race on the boulevard?...I sometimes think drivers don’t know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly...If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh...
He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now collapsing and now blown out. Darkness. He was not ha...
He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now collapsing and now blown out.
He had written books of a lifetime, on the airs of vast rooms in vast buildings, and had it all fly out the vents.
He held both hands over his eyes and applied a steady pressure there as if to crush memory into place.
He hung up his black beetle-colored helmet and shined it; he hung his flameproof jacket neatly; he showed luxuriously, and then, whistling, hands in pockets, walked across the upper floor of the fire...
He knew it would take as many years as he could think of now to forget the tracks, no matter how deeply buried. Some morning in autumn, spring, or winter he knew he’d wake and, if he didn’t go near th...
He realized that all men were like this; that each person was to himself one alone. //In this instant it was an individual problem seeking an individual solution. He must accept being alone and work o...
I am not one thing. I am many things that America has been in my time. I had enough sense to keep moving, learning, growing. And I have never reviled or turned my back on the things I grew out of.
I lie here sleeping, and these people are the fragments of my bloodless dreaming.
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