Leave your incidental Dick.
Antes de conocernos ya habíamos tenido los mismos sueños. Comparamos anotaciones. Encontramos extrañas afinidades.
I have often noticed that we are inclined to endow our friends with the stability of type that literary characters acquire in the reader's mind. No matter how many times we reopen 'King Lear,' never s...
Good by-aye!" she chanted, my American sweet immortal dead love; for she is dead and immortal if you are reading this.
There was no Lo to behold.
I could not kill , of course, as some have thought. You see, I loved her. It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else.
We are now ready to tackle Dickens. We are now ready to embrace Dickens. We are now ready to bask in Dickens. In our dealings with Jane Austen we had to make a certain effort to join the ladies in the...
One last word,' I said in my horrible careful English, 'are you quite, quite sure that—well, not tomorrow, of course, and not after tomorrow, but—well—some day, any day, you will not come to live with...
Queer, how I misinterpreted the designations of doom.
I confess, I do not believe in time.
My little cup brims with tiddles.
Why did I hope we would be happy abroad? A change of environment is that traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.
We all have such fateful objects — it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a number in another — carefully chosen by the gods to attract events of specific significance for us: here shall John al...
At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.
I recall certain moments, let us call them icebergs in paradise, when after having had my fill of her –after fabulous, insane exertions that left me limp and azure-barred–I would gather her in my arms...
No free man needs a God; but was I free?How fully I felt nature glued to meAnd how my childish palate loved the tasteHalf-fish, half-honey, of that golden paste!My picture book was at an early ageThe...
[S]urely the Cupid serving him was lefthanded, with a weak chin and no imagination.
We who burrow in filth every day may be forgiven perhaps the one sin that ends all sins.
He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying the two he has.
