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A photograph of his scrotum, the size of the biggest collective farm pumpkin, is also reprinted in foreign medical books, wherever elephantiasis elephantiasis nostras is mentioned, and as a moral for writers that to write one must have more than big balls. Diska Mikic-Mitchell. All of them, except Phineas, constructed at infinite cost to themselves these Maginot Lines against this enemy they thought they saw across the frontier, this enemy who never attacked that way—if he ever attacked at all; if he was indeed the enemy.

I spoke loudly and incessantly like the peasants and then like the city folk, as fast as I could, enraptured by the sounds that were heavy with meaning, as wet snow is heavy with water, confirming to myself again and again and again that speech was now mine and that it did not intend to escape through the door which opened onto the balcony.

Going along the sidewalk, dragging my tail. The others listened with interest, their naked genitals staring dully, sadly, listlessly at the yellow sand. Michael Henry Heim. Lawrence, The Rainbow John Thomas says good-night to lady Jane, a little droopingly, but with a hopeful heart. Why should you!

Lawrence, Women in Love He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly. Lawrence, Sons and Lovers But not everything fails. Standing on the backstairs of the Museum, looking up and down the river, you can believe, like the ancient Greek, that everything flows. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning. And behold the Geomancer, whose name measures the Valley, who shaped the hills and helped me sink half California, who went on the Salt Journey, caught the Train, and walked every step with Grey Bull—Heya Heggaia, han es im!

Amoud gewakwasur, yeshou gewakwasur. Le Guin, Always Coming Home Side by side, not truly quiet but quiescent, two gnarls of human scribble, human cipher, human dream. He fell back into the net, which rocked imperceptibly above them, and he sang quietly to himself, as if that helped him negotiate his exhaustion. He was, indeed, so confidently happy that he completely forgot Fran and he did not again yearn over her, for almost two days.

We shall yet make these United States a moral nation! Adria Frizzi. Capote When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack. Somebody threw a dead dog after him down the ravine. So the blind will lead the blind, and the deaf shout warnings to one another until their voices are lost.

Then for a moment in that cold Irish soul of mine, a glimmer of the joy of the flesh came toward me, rare as the eye of the rarest tear of compassion, and we laughed together after all, because to have heard that sex was time and time the connection of new circuits was a part of the poor odd dialogues which give hope to us noble humans for more than one night. Roger Foster waited in the shadow of a long-boughed two-trunked silver maple as Dubin ran up the moonlit road, holding his half-stiffened phallus in his hand, for his wife with love.

Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors or mirages would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.

Gregory Rabassa. The old man who will not laugh is a fool. Als ick kan. Very few castaways can claim to have survived so long at sea as Mr. Patel, and none in the company of an adult Bengal tiger. I put my left hand on his left hand and waved my other hand in front of him and realized that both his eyes were darkened now with his wonderful and perfect sight. He is sitting there cross-legged in front of the wall, and slowly his face bursts into a smile like flames.

Cabs and omnibuses hurried to and fro, and crowds passed, hastening in every direction, and the sun was shining. He told me what he was going to do when he won his money then I said it was time to go tracking in the mountains, so off we went, counting our footprints in the snow, him with his bony arse clicking and me with the tears streaming down my face. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die. Passed and paled into the darkening land, the world to come. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.

Everyone was looking up at me and Sub, and I was not sure what I had seen but I knew what we had done. He fits himself around her, her silk pyjamas, her scent, her warmth, her beloved form, and draws closer to her. Blindly, he kisses her nape. You will have to learn everything all over again. And thus, pursuers and pursued flew on, over an endless sea. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.

The body was burned to ashes; but for many days, the head, that hive of subtlety, fixed on a pole in the Plaza, met, unabashed, the gaze of the whites; and across the Plaza looked toward St. Something further may follow of this Masquerade. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner After all, tomorrow is another day. It was a fine cry—loud and long—but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.

For now she knew what Shalimar knew: If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it. By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what is down there. The rest is weather. Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves or spring ice thawing too quickly. Just weather. Certainly no clamor for a kiss. Now they will rest before shouldering the endless work they were created to do down here in Paradise.

From the roof there fluttered eggs and roses. The hands shadow themselves against the wall, large, touch in huge shadows on the wall, merge, move as one huge hand toward death. I am out the door and in the potholed and rutted driveway, scrambling ahead of Taylor, greedy with wants and reckless from hope. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But it was not until much later that I was able to get any real sleep. In a place far away from anyone or anywhere, I drifted off for a moment.

Jay Rubin. Gripping the receiver, I raised my head and turned to see what lay beyond the telephone booth. Where was I now? I had no idea. No idea at all.

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Where was this place? All that flashed into my eyes were the countless shapes of people walking by to nowhere. Again and again, I called out for Midori from the dead center of this place that was no place. You are part of a brand-new world. Philip Gabriel. I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art.

And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita. But whatever happens, wherever the scene is laid, somebody, somewhere, will quietly set out—somebody has already set out, somebody still rather far away is buying a ticket, is boarding a bus, a ship, a plane, has landed, is walking toward a million photographers, and presently he will ring at my door—a bigger, more respectable, more competent Gradus.

Collected Novels of Virginia Woolf | SpringerLink

The men began singing, a grave slow song that drifted away into the night. Soon the road was empty. All that remained of the German regiment was a little cloud of dust. Sandra Smith. McTeague remained stupidly looking around him, now at the distant horizon, now at the ground, now at the half-dead canary chittering feebly in its little gilt prison. Could the truth be so simple? So terrible? The Reddingtons always went to a hotel where the women guests were not permitted to smoke.

How they say the camera catches you, but how in point of fact you will always be able to get away. Milo Magnani glows with quiet pride, gives their thoughts back to these people, and, straightening his bowtie unnecessarily, rises to depart. Around him, throats clear, feet scrape, candy wrappers crinkle. The world grows brighter and brighter and brighter. Milo inhales and exhales. He waits. The film begins. Time longer than rope. But apart from seeing Jokey again, my life remained an uninflected one of stalking around unbothered, until finally one day a thought succeeded in forming itself: that what had been a lifelong irritant—that I walked around the world unseen, as if invisible—had now become a strange and beautiful blessing, freeing me to live my life all over again, as if the previous one had only been a rough draft, a vague outline to be crossed over, exceeded, to be transcended, as if that life was the earthly life and this one, the California one, with myself benumbed and calm and floating inside the bubble of mall after white mall—places that were like hospitals with their piped-in music and blanching light—as if this life, finally, was the heavenly one.

The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which. Have I betrayed them all again by telling the story? Or is it the other way around: would I have betrayed them if I had not told it? Nicholas de Lange. And then, in the blue light of Stockholm among zebra fumes, he grieved. Erdag M. For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing.

But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and bondage of fear, why, that is a secret. I watch her walk toward St Charles, cape jasmine held against her cheek, until my brothers and sisters call out behind me. Tell me how free I am. Famous next-to-last-words. Then they both looked up to the lifting sky—Lois followed their eyes—and found they were right. It was morning clear, cloudless, the oldest gift , would be morning oh six hours yet.

The room, though, is still. No one has breathed. And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery. Annie Proulx, The Shipping News Annie Proulx, Brokeback Mountain If, at least, there were granted me time enough to complete my work, I would not fail to stamp it with the seal of that Time the understanding of which was this day so forcibly impressing itself upon me, and I would therein describe men—even should that give the semblance of monstrous creatures—as occupying in Time a place far more considerable than the so restricted one allotted them in space, a place, on the contrary, extending boundlessly since, giant-like, reaching far back into the years, they touch simultaneously epochs of their lives—with countless intervening days between—so widely separated from one another in Time.

Frederick A. They were only a thin slice, held between the contiguous impressions that composed our life at that time; the memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years. Scott Moncrieff and Terence Kilmartin. Oedipa settled back, to await the crying of lot Why cant dogs go to Heaven?


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Thomas Jefferson was out of a job but that was O. Your most faithful and obedient servant, F. De la Tour. No one watching this woman smear her initials in the steam on her water glass with her first finger, or slip cellophane packets of oyster crackers into her handbag for the sea gulls, could know how her thoughts are thronged by our absence, or know how she does not watch, does not listen, does not wait, does not hope, and always for me and Sylvie. And me! This me who is me being me and none other! It was now an African Methodist Episcopal Church. To escape into what, Marietta? It may be as you say that this is no life, but use your enchanting, enrapturing brains: this life is as close to life as you, and I, and our child can hope to come.

He could not fucking die. How could he leave? How could he go? Everything he hated was here. If you do, you start missing everybody. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye Middle Ages! Castration, hypocrisy! Sebald, The Rings of Saturn ; trans. Michael Hulse. He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance. Now let me say something. This is the gleaming obsidian shard I safeguard above all the others. Ecstatic, he feels the world on the edge of obliteration.

He wants, even more than he wants to be alive again, to be dead with them, but he is dead with himself alone. This is the difference between this and that. She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously. She did not try in any way to shorten her life, but three days after Julien, she died while hugging her children.

Burton Raffel. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Pieces of eight! Not by combining together, to protect injustice and cruelty, and making a common capital of sin, is this Union to be saved, —but by repentance, justice and mercy; for, not surer is the eternal law by which the millstone sinks in the ocean, than that stronger law, by which injustice and cruelty shall bring on nations the wrath of Almighty God!

This was not judgment day—only morning. Morning: excellent and fair. I dwell the longer upon this subject from the desire I have to make the society of an English YAHOO by any means not insupportable; and therefore I here entreat those who have any tincture of this absurd vice, that they will not presume to come in my sight. Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out. Taking the pigtail in one of his paws, he pressed it warmly to his wet moustache. The sun arises. Gold-glowing child, it steps into the sky and sends a birth-song slanting down gray dust streets and sleepy windows of the southern town.

The Author now leaves him in the hands of his readers; not as a hero, not as a man to be admired and talked of, not as a man who should be toasted at public dinners and spoken of with conventional absurdity as a perfect divine, but as a good man without guile, believing humbly in the religion which he strives to teach, and guided by the precepts which he has striven to learn.

I been there before. As soon as the Governor understood the case, he pardoned Tom at once, and the creditors sold him down the river. We were doomed to die and we were no longer linked to life by any kind of responsibility. We could be as free as the pigs who ran in the field. Those were beautiful years, beautiful autumn days. Eric Dickens. Girls walk by me carrying their invisible bouquets from fields still steeped in grace, and I look up in the manner of one who follows with his eyes the passage of a hearse, and remembers what pierces him.

The Hanemas live in Lexington, where, gradually, among people like themselves, they have been accepted, as another couple. He had made it, he was here, in Heaven. Now what? Obsolete at their own ceremony, Joan and Richard stepped back from the bench in unison and stood side by side, uncertain of how to turn, until Richard at last remembered what to do; he kissed her —John Updike, Too Far to Go So the rumors of the days when they were solid among us, gorgeous and doing evil, have flavored the name of the town in the mouths of others, and for those of us who live here have left something oblong and invisible and exciting we do not understand.

We meet it turning the corner where Hemlock meets Oak; it is there when we walk the beach in off-season and the Atlantic in its blackness mirrors the dense packed gray of the clouds: a scandal, life like smoke rising twisted into legend. Whatever emotions had washed through her had left an amused glint, a hint or seed. Rabbit thinks he should maybe say more, the kid looks wildly expectant, but enough.

The more I think about the Ford Administration, the more it seems I remember nothing. But I knew that Catherine had kissed me because she trusted me, and that made me happy then but now I am sad because by the time my eyes close each night I suspect that as usual I have been fooling myself, that she, too, is in her grave. Vollmann, You Bright and Risen Angels Robert M. If I were a younger man, I would write a history of human stupidity; and I would climb to the top of Mount McCabe and lie down on my back with my history for a pillow; and I would take from the ground some of the blue-white poison that makes statues of men; and I would make a statue of myself, lying on my back, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You Know Who.

Matter of fact, I think this the youngest us ever felt. And when he came back to, he was flat on his back on the beach in the freezing sand, and it was raining out of a low sky, and the tide was way out. We shall come back, no doubt, to walk down the Row and watch young people on the tennis courts by the clump of mimosas and walk down the beach by the bay, where the diving floats lift gently in the sun, and on out to the pine grove, where the needles thick on the ground will deaden the footfall so that we shall move among the trees as soundlessly as smoke.

But that will be a long time from now, and soon now we shall go out of the house and go into the convulsion of the world, out of history into history and the awful responsibility of Time. The gun inside the package exploded and Miss Lonelyhearts fell, dragging the cripple with him.

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They both rolled part of the way down the stairs. For some reason this made him laugh and he began to imitate the siren as loud as he could. All his dithers, his fumbles, his loving, wished away by a bold, heroic thumbprint from his last adieu, which he makes with his fist held aloft, the thumb upright. And then, as if heeding the first mesmeric hint of a direction given, he walks back alone, unsteady but tranquil, toward the bed he was conceived in, waiting, if not for doom to crack, at least for the undernourished scurry of its tiny bell.

He knelt by the bed and bent over her, draining their last moment to its lees; and in the silence there passed between them the word which made all clear. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both. But the sky was bright, and he somehow felt he was headed in the right direction. White, Stuart Little It will come. She is never wrong. Never again. He turns to face whatever it is rumbling over the stones of Independence Square. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was.

The brave, eternal angle of her hip as she stands, in a light dress, melts his heart and he holds out his arms to her. The fingers loosened, and the book they had held moved slowly and then swiftly across the still body and fell into the silence of the room. The river runs from one country to another without stopping. And even the most solid of things and the most real, the best-loved and the well-known, are only hand-shadows on the wall. Empty space and points of light.

What is this terror? What is this ecstasy? What is it that fills me with this extraordinary excitement? It is Clarissa, he said. For there she was. Dalloway Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision. He heard the ring of steel against steel as a far door clanged shut. Site supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts, which believes a great nation deserves great art.

Ballard, Crash And by way of throwing down the glove to Society, Rastignac went to dine with Mme. Ellen Marriage Go, my book, and help destroy the world as it is. Except that I continue. Samuel Beckett No symbols where none intended. Chris Andrews At the edge of the Arab quarter the car, still loaded with people, made a wide U-turn and stopped; it was the end of the line.

Burroughs, Naked Lunch Yage may be the final fix. Burroughs, Junky He laughed. Archibald Colquhoun …seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, and make them endure, give them space. William Weaver For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

Mrs. Dalloway To the Lighthouse The Waves

Matthew Ward He knew what those jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillus never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years and years in furniture and linen-chests; that it bides its time in bedrooms, cellars, trunks, and bookshelves; and that perhaps the day would come when, for the bane and the enlightening of men, it would rouse up its rats again and send them forth to die in a happy city.

Stuart Gilbert Begin again! Constance Garnett But to us too it seems that this will be a good place to stop. Constance Garnett In your rocking-chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone. But I thought that perhaps that would not be quite English good form, so I trotted off with the telegram to Leonora.

Friedman, Watching Father Die , from Coming Close She came over, and it occurred to him that he would like to try something a little theatrical, just kneel there quietly with his arms protectively draped around his wife and child. Friedman, Stern No one remembers the whole story. Alfred MacAdam and Carlos Fuentes G back to top He was the only person caught in the collapse, and afterward, most of his work was recovered too, and it is still spoken of, when it is noted, with high regard, though seldom played.

Ralph Manheim Over in England they were married and lived happily ever after. Hinton, Rumble Fish Stil I wunt have no other track. Diska Mikic-Mitchell All of them, except Phineas, constructed at infinite cost to themselves these Maginot Lines against this enemy they thought they saw across the frontier, this enemy who never attacked that way—if he ever attacked at all; if he was indeed the enemy.

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Lawrence, The Rainbow John Thomas says good-night to lady Jane, a little droopingly, but with a hopeful heart. Lawrence, Women in Love He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly. Lawrence, Sons and Lovers But not everything fails. Adria Frizzi P.

Capote When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack. But something of the intensity, and something in herself, was too much for Woolf, and her suffering from powerful mood swings was deeply affected by tragic family circumstances.

Her half-sister was institutionalised; there are suggestions of abuse from her half-brothers; and the death of her mother in and sister Stella led to the first of her nervous breakdowns. The second came when her father died in , and required her brief hospitalisation. But this combination of a profound literary background and extreme sensitivity is what led her to search for a new way of expressing things. She recognised that the great novels of the past were able to express profound truths about human nature, but saw also that there was a need for a change.

The old moral certainties could not be upheld any more, but she felt there was no clear way of demonstrating this in existing novel forms. She, and all her circle, became the focus for the modernist movement, and especially the Bloomsbury Group, named after the area of London in which she and her family lived. Between them, they founded the Hogarth Press and published work that suited them by the likes of T.

Eliot, C. Day Lewis, Robert Graves and E. And of course the works of Virginia herself. To The Lighthouse sits almost exactly in the middle of her publishing life, appearing in after Mrs Dalloway and before Orlando. The story is told from different perspectives by different characters, but the movement between these narrators is implicit rather than explicit; the language and the ideas move between them seamlessly; and each person expresses the layers and digressions of thought and imagination as they explain what they see or are thinking.

The plot itself, though by no means irrelevant, is not the driving force. It is the access to the interior world of the people in the story that is so absorbing. The story itself is relatively straightforward, and told in three parts. In the first, Mr and Mrs Ramsay bring their eight children and some houseguests including a philosopher and a painter to their holiday home in the Hebrides. One of the children wants to go to the lighthouse, but the weather is bad.

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There is a proposal among the younger guests. A painting is begun; and there is a dinner party. In the second section, a period of ten years passes, during which the First World War takes place, several characters die, and the house is neglected and unused. However, the housekeeper and some friends put the house back in order in time for the painter Lily Briscoe to return to it. And in the third section, another trip to the lighthouse is proposed, and a painting is finished. The style is almost like liquid; it is shifting, prismatic, allusive yet with perfect poise and direction, so that ideas and images can move between narrators.

There is no one authorial voice, but the character of Mrs Ramsay dominates the first part, as Lily Briscoe does in the third. Such deliberately revolutionary stylisms were as much a part of her own pained and complex psychology as her literary determination. She was married, and apparently very happily so; but it seems certain that she had sexual relationships with women she was especially close to Vita Sackville-West.

Maybe nothing could. In the end, in , another bout of depression seemed to be approaching with the same speed and certainty of a German invasion; and she committed suicide by filling her pockets with stones and walking into the River Ouse in Sussex. She not only published and promoted some of the most important writers in the twentieth-century, she was one; she did not just discuss doing away with the old moral vision, she lived a life away from it.

She did not just recommend the changing of the outdated sexual obligations that forced women into a submissive role, she lived such a life.