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There are no clear borders, Only merging invisible to the sight.
Dejan Stojanovic
The eyesight for an eagle is what thought is to a man.
Dejan Stojanovic
From everything, nothing looks to nothing.
Dejan Stojanovic
Digressions are part of harmony, deviations too.
Dejan Stojanovic
There is a pledge of the big and of the small in the infinite.
Dejan Stojanovic
Death swallows death.
Dejan Stojanovic
Vandals listen only when others are stronger.If vandals are equal or strongerTheir word is the last word.
Dejan Stojanovic
In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.
Dejan Stojanovic
Every star was once darker than the night, before it awoke.
Dejan Stojanovic
If emptiness is empty, how can something be borne or awaken from it?
Dejan Stojanovic
Nothing is part of everything.
Dejan Stojanovic
What does infinity mean to you? Are you not infinity and yourself?
Dejan Stojanovic
Will the day tell its secret Before it disappears, Becomes timeless night.
Dejan Stojanovic
From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.
Dejan Stojanovic
I can see myself before myself—A being through dark scenery.
Dejan Stojanovic
Through everything I have passed but nowhere I have been.
Dejan Stojanovic
All dust is the same dust. Temporarily separated To go peacefully And enjoy the eternal nap.
Dejan Stojanovic
And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.
Dejan Stojanovic
Life eats life to live.
Dejan Stojanovic
Mathematics doesn’t care about those beyond the numbers.
Dejan Stojanovic
Neither alive nor dead; No one lets up, No one wins.
Dejan Stojanovic
He awaits himself while walking, out of the icy circle to escape.
Dejan Stojanovic
Instead of imitating me, you simply loiter.
Dejan Stojanovic
To jump over centuries In one step is impossible. Jump too high or far, You’ll be way too late.
Dejan Stojanovic
In the end, the world returns to a grain.
Dejan Stojanovic
Poirot, watching him, felt suddenly a doubt--an uncomfortable twinge. Was there, here, something that he had missed? Some richness of the spirit? Sadness crept over him. Yes, he should have become acquainted with the classics. Long ago. Now, alas, it was too late....
Agatha Christie
The man is in his work,read it if you want to know about him.
R.M. Engelhardt (TALON)
It's a special form of scholarly neurosis,´ said Camel. `He's no longer able to distinguish between life and literature.´
David Lodge
Literary style is like crystal-ware: the cleaner the wineglass, the brighter the brilliance. As a reader, I agree with those who believe that a colour of the dress, which a character has on, as well as any enumeration and description of dishes at dinner or in the kitchen should be mentioned only in case if all this has a strong consequent relation to the plot, but as an author, I can’t help mentioning all this, with no particular reason, just for love for my characters, desiring to give them something nice and pleasant. Melancholy grows a platinum rose. Affection grows a double rose.
Lara Biyuts
The castle? The monster? The man of learning? I only just thought of it. Surely you know that just as the momentous events of the past cast their shadows down the ages, so now, when the sun is drawing toward the dark,our own shadows race into the past to trouble mankind's dreams.
Gene Wolfe
The Anglican service today was more familiar to me from movies. Like one of the great Shakespeare speeches, the graveside oration, studded in fragments in the memory, was a succession of brilliant phrases, book titles, dying cadences that breathed life, pure alertness, along the spine.
Ian McEwan
One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.
Dejan Stojanovic
I travel, always arriving in the same place.
Dejan Stojanovic
My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.
Dejan Stojanovic
We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.
Dejan Stojanovic
What you gain here, you lose on the other side.
Dejan Stojanovic
Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.
Dejan Stojanovic
It can also be useful to politics, enabling that science to discover how much of it is no more than verbal construction, myth, literary tops. Politics, like literature, must above all know itself and distrust itself. As a final observation, I should like to add that it is impossible today for anyone to feel innocent, if in whatever we do or say we can discover a hidden motive - that of a white man, or a male, or the possessor of a certain income, or a member of a given economic system, or a sufferer from a certain neurosis - this should not induce in us either a universal sense of guilt or an attitude of universal accusation. When we become aware of our disease or of our hidden motives, we have already begun to get the better of them. What matters is the way in which we accept our motives and live through the ensuing crisis. This is the only chance we have of becoming different from the way we are - that is, the only way of starting to invent a new way of being.
Italo Calvino
In greatness, life and death merge.
Dejan Stojanovic
From one bell all the bells toll.
Dejan Stojanovic
Long ago an uncalled rain fell and a called-upon God stayed equally distant.
Dejan Stojanovic
I drove all night, northeast, and once again I felt it was literature I had been confronting these past days, the archetypes of the dismal mystery, sons and daughters of the archetypes, images that could not be certain which of two confusions held less terror, their own or what their own might become if it ever faced the truth. I drove at insane speeds.
Don DeLillo
If you have a big heart, you will live a large life.
Yvonne Jayne
I gather," he added, "that you've never had much time to study the classics?""That is so.""Pity. Pity. You've missed a lot. Everyone should be made to study the classics, if I had my way."Poirot shrugged his shou
Agatha Christie
They are both spectacular, Life and death.
Dejan Stojanovic
If I understand you rightly, you had formed a surmise of such horror as I have hardly words to-- Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what is passing around you. Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing, where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay everything open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?"They had reached the end of the gallery, and with tears of shame she ran off to her own room.
Jane Austen
I was beginning to understand something I couldn't articulate. It was a jazzy feeling in my chest, a fluttering, a kind of buzzing in my brain. Warmth. Life. The circulation of blood. Sanguinity. I don't know. I understood the enormous risk of telling the truth, how the telling could result in every level of hell reigning down on you, your skin scorched to the bone and then bone to ash and then nothing but a lingering odour of shame and decomposition, but now I was also beginning to understand the new and alien feeling of taking the risk and having the person on the other end of the telling, the listener, say: Bad shit at home? You guys are running away? Yeah, I said. I understand, said, Noehmi.
Miriam Toews
She regretted the explanation immediately, but that was because she always regretted everything
Nick Hornby
Irma, she said. But I had started to walk away. I heard her say some more things but by then I had yanked my skirt up and was running down the road away from her and begging the wind to obliterate her voice. She wanted to live with me. She missed me. She wanted me to come back home. She wanted to run away. She was yelling all this stuff and I wanted so badly for her to shut up. She was quiet for a second and I stopped running and turned around once to look at her. She was a thimble-sized girl on the road, a speck of a living thing. Her white-blond hair flew around her head like a small fire and it was all I could see because everything else about her blended in with the countryside. He offered you a what? she yelled. An espresso! I yelled back. It was like yelling at a shorting wire or a burning bush. What is it? she said. Coffee! I yelled. Irma, can I come and live--I turned around again and began to run.
Miriam Toews
While gazing at myself from yourself, I was beautiful.
Dejan Stojanovic
He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.
Dejan Stojanovic
Literature is humanity's broad-minded alter-ego, with room in its heart for monsters, even for you. It's humanity without the judgement.
Glen Duncan
Looking back on my life, I sigh. The caprice of youth goes with the wind, I’ve no regrets.
Roman Payne
There was no sense to life, to the structure of things. D.H. Lawrence had known that. You needed love, but not the kind of love most people used and were used up by. Old D.H. had known something. His buddy Huxley was just an intellectual fidget, but what a marvelous one. Better than G.B. Shaw with that hard keel of a mind always scraping bottom, his labored wit finally only a task, a burden on himself, preventing him from really feeling anything, his brilliant speech finally a bore, scraping the mind and the sensibilities. It was good to read them all though. It made you realize that thoughts and words could be fascinating, if finally useless.
Charles Bukowski
[N]othing about a book is so unmistakable and so irreplaceable as the stamp of the cultured mind. I don't care what the story is about or what may be the momentary craze for books that appear to have been hammered out by the village blacksmith in a state of intoxication; the minute you get the easy touch of the real craftsman with centuries of civilisation behind him, you get literature.
Dorothy L. Sayers
Elgin himself looked ten years younger, now that he’d cast the die, but I thought exuberance had got the better of him when he strode into the saloon later, threw The Origin of Species on the table and announced:"It’s very original, no doubt, but not for a hot evening. What I need is some trollop."I couldn’t believe my ears, and him a church-goer, too. "Well, my lord, I dunno,” says I. "Tientsin ain’t much of a place, but I’ll see what I can drum up —""Michel’s been reading Doctor Thorne since Taku," cried he. "He must have finished it by now, surely! Ask him, Flashman, will you?" So I did, and had my ignorance, enlightened.
George MacDonald Fraser
It is difficult when reading the description of certain fictional characters not at the same time to imagine the real-life acquaintances who they most closely, if often unexpectedly, resemble.
Alain de Botton
Watson is a cheap, efficient little sod of a literary device. Holmes doesn't need him to solve crimes any more than he needs a ten-stone ankle weight. The audience, Arthur. The audience needs Watson as an intermediary, so that Holmes's thoughts might be forever kept just out of reach. If you told stories from Holmes's perspective, everyone would know what the bleeding genius was thinking the whole time. They'd have the culprit fingered on page one.
Graham Moore
Experience, then, was something that enabled you to do nothing with a clear conscience. Experience was an overrated quality.
Nick Hornby
Sometimes, in the course of my hopeless quest, I would pick up and dip into one of the ordinary books that lay strewn around the castle. Whenever I did, it seemed so insipid and insubstantial that I flew into a rage and hurled it at the wall after reading the first few sentences. I was spoilt for any other form of literature, and the mental torment I endured was comparable to the agony of unrequited love compounded by the withdrawal symptoms associated with a severe addiction.
Walter Moers
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