....tired of artificial flowers aping real ones, he wanted some natural flowers that would look like fakes.
I have my block of stone
and my handful of chisels.
I gather up my will
like abandoned clothes,
shake old habits from their sleep
and once more take up the world.
Mye barnebarn, litt nobelprislitteratur og et glass portvin når voksenkvelden starter. :)
The other
I killed a woman in me:
one I did not love.
She was the blazing flower
of the mountain cactus;
she was drought and fire,
never cooling her body.
Madwoman: The Locas mujeres Poems of Gabriela Mistral
Gabriela Mistral ble tildelt Nobelprisen i litteratur i 1945.
Nineteen Hundred and Seven.
In the "strangers" room of the Porru house a woman sat crying. Crouched on the floor near the bed, her knees drawn up, her arms resting on her knees, and her forehead on her arms, she wept and sobbed continuously, shaking her head from time to time as though to indicate that there was no more hope, absolutely none at all; while her plump shoulders and straight young back rose and fell in tightly yellow bodice, like a wave of the sea.
After the divorce by Grazia Deledda.
Grazia Deledda ble tildelt Nobelprisen i litteratur i 1926.
Every mirror holds different news for me.
Life on Earth is quite a bargain.
Dreams, for one, don't charge
admission.
Illusions are costly only when lost.
The body has its own installment
plan.
Med et drømmende smil satt Munch og så på vinen i sitt glass. Som fra et evig opkomme steg fine perlesøiler op mot overflaten.
"Hvor en blir bedre og edlere ved å være mett, ved å sitte i stort lys, å se rike nydelige, ubekymrede mennesker rundt om. Å, hvor de er brutale som tuter oss inn i våre forpinte hjerner at kunstnerne skal ha det vondt. Torne- og tidselveien skal de gå. Hvilken romantisk, nederdrektig løgn! Fordi om Millet sultet og frøs og dog malte herlige bileder, så er Corot derfor ikke mindre stor med sin rikdom og sine renter.
Det gjelder en ting - under savn, sykdom og kritikkløs kritikk aldri å glemme, hvorfor vi er blitt malere."
I lengere tid hadde han villet male erindringen om en solnedgang. Rød som blod. Nei, det var levret blod. Men ikke en vilde føle det samme som han. Alle vilde tenke på skyer. Han snakket sig trist om dette som hadde grepet ham med redsel. Trist, fordi malerkunstens fattige midler strakk aldri til. "Han higer efter det umulige og har fortvilelsen til religion," tenkte jeg, men rådet ham til å male det. - Og han malte sitt "skrik".
Jeg vet hva jeg kan unnvære i 2014. :)
To pretend is to know ourselves.
Lykke til med kniplingen, jeg har forstått det slik at det er smått med "kniplingbøker" på norsk, men du er sikkert medlem av "kniplingforreningen" og en ivrig bruker av knipling.no :)
Love is a mortal sample of immortality.
All sensations are good, as long as we don't try to reduce them to action.
An action is a sentation that was thrown away.
The solutions found by citizens are often touted as "achievements of the system," when in reality they are desperate struggles for survival.
"It is not possible for a Cuban citizen to etablish her own web domain and house it on a server in Cuba; but it is illegal for her to establish a web domain hosted on a server in another country." " Cuba's "official" bloggers reflect the only true reality. We, the alternative bloggers, therefore, are puppets of some foreign power."
However, I fear for a nation that unconditionally rewards ideology rather than talent; where a student who participates in a political demonstration can be graded higher than one who masters his subjects; where educational institutions teach students that the way to succeed is to disse,ble.
My husband told him: " Teo, your uncle Adolfo is in jail because he's a very brave man," to which my son replied with his innocent logic: "Then you are free because you're a little bit cowardly."
The instilled fear of the "mole" - who could be anyone and from whom we must protect ourselves - is the most efficient trick, the most effective and successful path to disunity.
It is common to have to show ID when walking with a friend from another country. Common that buses are stopped in the middle of the street and bags inspected to see if we are carrying some cheese, a lobster, or some dangerous shrimp hidden among our personal belongings.