Standing on your own feet, naturally, is as tiresome and dangerous as standing your ground; and when the wild dogs begin to circle grinning round you with their dripping tongues hanging out and you kn...
As a certain classical slaveholder once wrote, nothing is more painful than days of joy recollected in days of misery. So
Well let the gentlemen of the bourgeoisie remember Berlin any way they please. As Comrade Khruschev promised us, we will bury them.
23 He dreamed that a bomb was singing to him. From far away, the bomb was coming to marry him. The bomb was his destiny, falling on him, screaming.
Bones, murdered or merely perished, ought to stay silent. That's the law. But, quick and shrill as a violin-screech, they come back, to the terror of all who stand guilty of living, and then they danc...
The skin of her naked throat was as perfect as a political idea. She
By your command, sir, I said. But Elena was still the one I loved. Knowing that I loved her, I knew who I was.
E. Kruglikova, who in real life might never have met him (I have no confirmed information on this), smiled lustrously; she was wearing a formal black dress and a necklace of frozen tears. Their friend...
Excuse me, my sweetest little Tatianochka, sometimes I forget how time ticks! Well,
The reformed addict who feels the craving almost believes in it, then merely smiles…
Her breasts were big and sad like owls' eyes.
I’m sure you’ve noticed, continued Comrade Luria, how much aestheticians like to prate about the impotence of form without content, or content without form. But in music, perfect form and content toge...
Self-deception is a pessimistic definition of optimism.
After all, one of life’s best pleasures is reading a book of perfect beauty; more pleasurable still is rereading that book; most pleasurable of all is lending it to the person one loves:
All that's happened is inconsequential; it cannot hurt us anymore; there's only music, which lives within us and beyond us, needing us to express it but capable of surviving forever between expression...
And so we all write stories to suit ourselves, and I wish happy endings, happy landings to all of us
Best listened to in a windowless room, better than best in an airless room—correctly speaking, a bunker sealed forever and enwrapped in tree-roots—the Eighth String Quartet of Shostakovich (Opus 110)...
But the remarkable thing about the beetles was their sensitivity to all the grammar and directives and slogans and even unstated desires of the ant world, which they learned to manipulate. They first...
But, as I have said, the bugs had no interest in getting us…and no great curiosity or enthusiasm about us as such; from the cowardly cockroaches to the blind stolid ants they wanted only to be left al...
Those T-34s? Better not to look! I see you shining, my beloved, chaotic, all-knowing, heartless Russia. Stalin’s daughter Svetlana wrote that.
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