You can sign your own name to anything you think and write, but you aren't allowed to publish any of those things, particularly if you have signed them.
Travel, indeed, struck him as being a waste of time, since he believed that the imagination could provide a more-than-adequate substitute for the vulgar reality of actual experience.
Every photographed subject becomes a sign of disappearance because it belongs to the past.That's why each family photo, even if it was taken last week, carries in it a quality of bereavement, of loss.
Writing fiction is like remembering what never happened.
They wished to exercise over him the most intolerable of all tyrannies, the tyranny of love.
.....I even know an archdeacon guite well. He has a great gift of humour; a man wants it when he wears a silk apron.
They were both of them little, dried-up persons, with an earnest manner and no sense of humour, quite excellent in a rather unpleasant way, they resembled one another like peas, but none knew whether the likeness had grown from the propinquity of twenty years, or had been the original attraction.
Fabian was sitting in a cafe, by name Spalteholz, reading the headlines of the evening papers: English Airship Disaster near Beauvais, Strychnine Stored with Lentils, Girl of Nine Jumps from Window, Election of Premier - Another Fiasco, Murder in Lainz Zoo, Scandal of Municipal Purchaing Board, Artificial Voice in Waistcoat Pocket, Ruhr Coal-Sales Falling, National Railways - Presentation to Director Neumann, Elephants on Pavement, Coffee Markets Uncertain, Clara Bow Scandal, Expected Strike of 140,000 Metal Workers, Chicago Underworld Drama, Timber Dumping - Negotiations in Moscow, Revolt of Starhemberg Troops. The usual things. Nothing special.
Going to the Dogs: The Story of a Moralist by Erich Kastner.
What he liked was not what he was reading, but rather, the reading itself, or, better said, the actual process of reading, the fact that out of the letters some word would always emerge, sometimes meaning the Devil only knew what.
Through the gate of a hostelry in a provincial capital that will remain nameless rolled a small, rather handsome britska on springs, of the kind in which bachelors travel: retired lieutenant-colonels, landowners possessing a hundred or so peasant souls - in a word, all those who are known as gentleman of the middling sort. Seated in the britska was a gentleman - not good looking, but not uncomely in appearance either, not overly fat, nor overly thin. You couldn't say that he was old, yet you could not say he was overly young either.
Dead Souls by Nikolay Gogol
Den som aldri får høre sannheten, får heller aldri mulighet til å forholde seg til virkeligheten.
It takes two people to make you, and one people to die.
Å være oppmerksom er å la virkeligheten gi gjenklang i oss. Oppmerksomhet er respons: svar, tilsvar og ansvar.
Poet's love's this (as in these words I
prove thee):
I love my love for thee more than I
love thee.
And, when a thought would unmask
our soul's masking,
Itself goes not unmasked to the
unmasking
Anything is something. Not coming to anything is something. Loving is something. Needing coming to something is something. Not needing coming to something is something, Loving is something. Anything is something.
Monsieur Ernest Comeliau
Examining Magistrate
22 bis Rue de Seine
Paris
Your Honour:
I should like one man , just one, to understand me. And I would like that man to be you.
We spent many long hours together during all the weeks of the preliminary investigations.
But at that time it was too soon. You were a judge, you were my judge, and I would have seemed to be trying to justify myself. But now you know, don't you, it has nothing to do with that?
Act of Passion by Georges Simenon
However, blaming your parents for your life's difficulties finally leads nowhere.
First, I'll tell about the robbery our parents committed. Then about the murders, which happened later. The robbery is more importent part, since it served to set my and my sister's lives on the courses they eventually followed. Nothing would make complete sense without that being told first.
Our parents were the least likely two people in the world to rob a bank. They weren't strange people, not obviously criminals. No one would've thought they were destined to end up the way they did. They were just regular - although , of course, that kind of thinking became null and void the moment they did rob a bank.
Canada by Richard Ford
Hjortetakk er verdens lønn.
Fredrik Stabel