All three of them stood for a moment gazing at the stars.''And all these are worlds,'' said Hagen.''Or else,'' said Clements with a yawn, ''a frightful mess. I suspect it is really a fluorescent corps...
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other...
According to my almond-eyed little spy, the great surgeon, may his own liver rot, lied to me when he declared yesterday with a deathhead's grin that the had been . Well, it had been so in the sense E...
A cluster of stars palely glowed above us, between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct...
In this very special self-hypnotic state there can be no question of getting out of touch with on[e]self and floating into a normal sleep (unless you are very tired at the start)
Our imagination flies -- we are its shadow on the earth.
No jewels, save my eyes, do I own, but I have a rose which is even softer than my rosy lips. And a quiet youth said: 'There is nothing softer than your heart.' And I lowered my gaze...
Realidade (uma das poucas palavras que só fazem sentido entre aspas)
At night, in his drugged sleep, something more significant would burst through. Together with naked Martha, he would be sawing off the head of Piffke in a public toilet, even though in the first place...
A shoe-shaped bath tub, within which I felt like Marat but with no white-necked maiden to stab me.
You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholy... in order to discern at once, by ineffable signs... the little deadly demon among the wholesome children; she stands unrecogn...
We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.
Vladimir Nabokov... one cannot read a book: one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader. And I shall tell you why. When we read a book for the fi...
Vivian Bloodmark, a philosophical friend of mine, in later years, used to say that while the scientist sees everything that happens in one point in space, the poet sees everything that happens in one...
There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child.
The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes.
Tenderness rounds out true triumph, gentleness lubricates genuine liberation: emotions that are not diagnostic of glory or passion in dreams.
Stirless, I stand at the window,and in the black bowl of the sky
Sometimes, though, angels smoke-in their sleeves. But when the archangel goes by, they throw their cigarettes away: This is what falling stars are.
She had imagination — the muscle of the soul — and her imagination was of a particularly strong, almost masculine quality. She possessed, too, that real sense of beauty which has far less to do with a...