They smiled, reading each other’s thoughts. An exquisite shudder, like the touch of a cool hand, ran through her. Her legs felt weak beneath her. She lowered her eyes, conscious of desire… guilty for the first time.
‘East Wind’, Daphne Du Maurier, 1980.
…but caught in the pull of the outward tide of anger and the inward one of hurt. He had no idea what caused it all but, stooping a little, he opened his arms to her and held her against him. She was so tiny.
Oscar and Lucinda, Peter Carey, 1988, p.377.
One of the most romantic literary lines *ever*.
Peter, always Peter…
How much faith a person requires in order to flourish, how much “fixed opinion” he requires which he does not wish to have shaken, because he holds himself thereby – is a measure of his power (or more plainly speaking, his weakness).
The Gay Science. Friedrich Nietzsche, 1882, p. 160.
In a world thronged with monsters and with gods, we know little peace of mind. There is hardly a single action we perform in that phase which we would not give anything, in later life, to be able to annul. Whereas what we ought to regret is that we no longer possess the spontaneity which made us perform them.
Within a Budding Grove, In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust, 1992, p. 423.
I don’t think I’m an adult yet.
I’ve decided the three most disgusting words on a workday morning are “Instant Decaf Coffee.”
Source: world-shaker
It offered me that prolongation, that possible multiplication of oneself, which is happiness.
Within a Budding Grove, In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust, 1992, p. 511.
And now
I want to be left
without words. To know how to lose
what is being lost.
Source: awritersruminations
Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1926, p. 7.
A brilliant beginning to a brilliant book.
A bit afraid to say that I can’t wait to watch it in the cinema!
The hard and fast lines with which we circumscribe love arise solely from our complete ignorance of life.
In Search of Lost Time, Within a Budding Grove, Marcel Proust, p. 468
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London based Brazilian writer, editor and translator.
