Paris, 1920. Joyce and Sylvia Beach
September 7th, 2012
July 26th, 2012
“It’s everybody, I mean. Everything everybody does is so—I don’t know—not wrong, or even mean, or even stupid, necessarily. But just so tiny and meaningless—and sad-making. And the worst part is, if you go bohemian or something crazy like that, you’re conforming just as much as everybody else, only in a different way.”
J.D. Salinger - Franny and Zooey
July 23rd, 2012
“Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Dylan Thomas
July 22nd, 2012
Joseph Conrad
June 11th, 2012
“The very young have, properly speaking, no moments. It is the privilege of early youth to live in advance of its days in all the beautiful continuity of hope which knows no pauses and no introspection.”
Joseph Conrad - The Shadow line
May 19th, 2012
It is the vice of a vulgar mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand square miles are a thousand times more wonderful than one square mile, and that a million square miles are almost the same as heaven.
E.M. Forster - Howards End
May 9th, 2012
Mark Twain
May 8th, 2012
“At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.”
Garcìa Màrquez, One hundred years of solitude
May 5th, 2012
“I put a piece of paper under my pillow, and when I could not sleep I wrote in the dark.”
Henry David Thoreau
May 3rd, 2012
#44. One hundred years of solitude
“What does he say?” he asked.
“He’s very sad,” Ursula answered, “because he thinks that you’re going to die.”
“Tell him,” the colonel said, smiling, “that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.”Gabriel Garcìa Màrquez
May 1st, 2012
“You’re not Dostoevsky,” said the citizeness, who was getting muddled by Koroviev.
“Well, who knows, who knows,” he replied.
“Dostoevsky’s dead,” said the citizeness, but somehow not very confidently.
“I protest!” Behemoth exclaimed hotly. “Dostoevsky is immortal!”
“Well, who knows, who knows,” he replied.
“Dostoevsky’s dead,” said the citizeness, but somehow not very confidently.
“I protest!” Behemoth exclaimed hotly. “Dostoevsky is immortal!”
Mikhail Bulgakov - The master and Margarita
April 30th, 2012
Read it while you are watching the world outside
April 6th, 2012
“The writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man’s proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit — for gallantry in defeat — for courage, compassion and love. In the endless war against weakness and despair, these are the bright rally-flags of hope and of emulation.
I hold that a writer who does not passionately believe in the perfectibility of man, has no dedication nor any membership in literature.”
John Steinbeck
April 5th, 2012
Hungry man, reach for the book: it is a weapon.
Bertolt Brecht
April 3rd, 2012
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
Henry David Thoreau
