The summer night was starless and stirless, with distant spasms of silent lightning.
There was a time in my demented youthWhen somehow I suspected that the truthAbout survival after death was knownTo every human being: I aloneKnew nothing, and a great conspiracyOf books and people hid...
They come and go, without the drowsy observer’s participation, but are essentially different from dream pictures for he is still master of his senses. They are often grotesque. I am pestered by roguis...
Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés.
We hasten to alienate the very fates we intended to woo.
What I heard was but the melody of children at play, nothing but that, and so limpid was the air that within this vapor of blended voices, majestic and minute, remote and magically near, frank and div...
What chatty Madam Shpolyanski mentioned had conjured up Mira's image with unusual force. This was disturbing. Only in the detachment of an incurable complaint, in the sanity of near death, could one c...
When stripped and shiny in the mist of the bath house, his bold virilia contrasted harshly with his girlish grace. He was a regular faunlet.
Where the devil did you get her?I beg your pardon?I said: the weather is getting better.Seems so.Who's the lassie?My daughter.You lie - she's not.
Why not leave their private sorrows to people? Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?
Without any wind blowing, the sheer weight of a raindrop, shining in parasitic luxury on a cordate leaf, caused its tip to dip, and what looked like a globule of quicksilver performed a sudden glissan...
You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.
[...] leaving for a day or two that hopeless sense of loss which makes beauty what it is: a distant lone tree against golden heavens; ripples of light on the inner curve of a bridge; a thing impossibl...
[T]his is how it will remain until ... literary criticism discards its sociological, religious, philosophical and other textbooks, which only help mediocrity to admire itself. Only then will you be fr...
For better or worse, it is the commentator who has the last word.
In a sense, all poetry is positional: to try to express one's position in regard to the universe embraced by consciousness, is an immemorial urge. The arms of consciousness reach out and grope, and th...
Беше тъмно; киша и безнадеждност. Фаровете ми бяха надвиснали над широка канавка, пълна с вода. Околността, ако имаше такава, се свеждаше до черна пустиня. Мъчих се да се измъкна, обаче задните ми кол...
– Tudod, a halálban az a legrettenetesebb, hogy az ember olyan tökéletesen magára marad.
(T)here exist friendships which develop their own inner duration, their own eons of transparent time.
. . and in the end the logical thing would be to give up and I would give up if I were laboring for a reader today, but as there is in the world not a single human who can speak my language; or, more...
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