June 2011
190 posts
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Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but...
– Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 1929
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As if thought plunged into a sea of words and came up dripping.
– Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader, 1925
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The Panther
Jardin des Plantes, Paris
His vision, from the constantly passing...
– Rainer Maria Rilke, Der Panther, 1903, Translated by Stephen Mitchell
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Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and...
– T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1915
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With youthful fancy reinspired,
We may hold converse with all forms
Of the...
– Alfred Tennyson, Ode to Memory, 1830
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You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I...
– Rainer Maria Rilke, You Who Never Arrived, Translated by Stephen Mitchell, 1913-1914
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You know, you’re a little complicated after all.”
“Oh no,” she assured him...
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night, 1934
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