He tried to give his wife pleasure in little ways, because he had come to realize, after nearly two decades together, how often he disappointed her in big things. It was never intentional. They simply had very different notions of what ought to take up most space in life.
Hell is to be dead and to realize that you did not care for life while you had the chance to do so.
The hours are numerous and the clock seldom measures the time that passes inside us, the real lifetime, and because of this many days can fit into a few hours, and vica versa, and numbers of years can be an imprecise measure of a man's lifetime, he who dies at forty has perhaps actually lived much longer than he who dies at ninety.
We might not need words to survive; on the other hand, we do need words to live.
..........the sea captain and his hoarse voice, his cutting words and those dead eyes beneath his high, wrinkled forehead that contains remarkable thoughts, or should have done, must do, because he owns at least four hundred books, .........
He and Petur are likely the only ones whom Einar respects in this world, sometimes Jesus, but that respect was not as unconditional, a man who offers his other cheek wouldn't last long in the mountains here.
"Classic - a book which people praise and don't read", er Mark Twain's (kanskje) mest kjente munnhell, men Ernest Hemingway var jo også en beundrer av Twain - så da så! ;)
Hyggelighyggelig - takk skal du ha! :)
What makes lovemaking and reading resemble each other most is that within both of them times and spaces open, different from measurable time and space.
"Reading", he says, " is always this: there is a thing that is there, a thing made of writing, a solid, material object, which cannot be changed, and through this thing we measure ourselves against something else that is not present, something else that belongs to the immaterial, invisible world, because it can only be thought, imagined, or because it was once and is no longer, past, lost, unattainable, in the land of the dead....."
I like to know that books exist that I will still be able to read......
Do you want to demonstrate that the living also have a wordless language, with which books cannot be written but which can only be lived, second by second, which cannot be recorded or remembered?
Hakkespettboka!
Jeg registrerer at lesingen av Middlemarch er ved veis ende hos bokelskerne, men her er allikevel en artikkel om Rebecca Mead og hennes forhold til George Eliot og Middlemarch.
Kunne ikke dy meg - her er Pessoa's heteronymer:
Pessoa's Persons
He was one, he was many, he was everyone, he was no one.
Fernando Pessoa, sad bureaucrat, prisoner of the clock, solitary author of love letters never sent, carried an insane asylum around himself.
Of the denizens, we know their names, the dates and even hours of their births, their astrological signs, weights, and heights.
And their works, because they were all poets.
Alberto Caeiro, pagan, mocker of metaphysics and other intellectual acrobatics that reduce life to concepts, wrote burps.
Ricardo Reis, monarchist, Hellenist, child of classical culture, who was born several times and had several astrological signs, wrote constructions.
Alvaro de Campos, engineer from Glasgow, vanguardist, who studied energy and feared losing his zest for life, wrote sensations.
Bernardo Soares, master of the paradox, prose poet, scholar, who claimed to be an unwilling aide in some Library, wrote contradictions.
And Antonio Mora, psychiatrist and nutcase, interned Cascais, wrote lucubrations and locobrations.
Pessoa also wrote. When the others slept.
-Eduardo Galeano
What a smug, moralising bastard he was. He wore ethics the way tarts wear make-up.
Den berget vårsemesteret. :)
Beklager så mye, Bjørg. Jeg skal vente på deg neste gang! :)
Jeg solgte for øvrig en førsteutgave av Den afrikanske farm (på dansk) i 1973, boken var utgitt under pseudonymet Isak Dinesen og Karen Blixen hadde signert den med sitt eget navnetrekk - Karen Blixen.
Jeg har lagt boken til side - men tar den igjen når eventyret og den laaange gode historie lokker.
Som du kan se av denne listen - så har mange forfattere brukt pseudonymer i årenes løp.
Karen Blixens mest kjente pseudonym er sannsynligvis Isak Dinesen, men hun skrev også under navnene Pierre Andrezel og Osceola.
Virginia Woolf ble kjent under navnet E V Odle i starten på sin karriere.
Blant dagens krimforfattere finnes det mange pseudonymer - jeg vet knapt hvor jeg skal starte og overlater derfor den jobben til andre. :)