Argentine Culture · Argentine Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Essay · Excerpt · Fantasy · Fiction · Magical Realism · Paraphrase · Passage · Philosophy · Postmodernism · Quote · Short Stories · Spanish Literature

Jorge Luis Borges

Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. —  Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings.… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges

Rate this:

Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry · Russian Culture · Russian Literature

Vera Pavlova

Armpits smell of linden blossom, lilacs give a whiff of ink. If only we could wage love-making all day long without end, love so detailed and elastic that when the nightfall came, we would exchange each other like prisoners of war, five times, no less! — Vera Pavlova, “53,” If There is Something to Desire:… Continue reading Vera Pavlova

Rate this:

British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Saradha Soobrayen

I shall think of you as my ventriloquist, lying under the cedar trees. Your lips unreadable, my mouth daydreaming: journey, draining, geranium. My head heavy more with rhymes than sleep, resting on your arm, near the shadow’s edge. The fragrance of wood neither green nor brown, but shallow blue. Your compliments lodged in me like… Continue reading Saradha Soobrayen

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Contemporary · Drama · Excerpt · Fiction · Modern · Novel · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote

Paul Auster

 I had jumped off the edge, and then, at the very last moment, something reached out and caught me in midair. That something is what I define as love. It is the one thing that can stop a man from falling, powerful enough to negate the laws of gravity. — Paul Auster, Moon Palace. (Penguin… Continue reading Paul Auster

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fragment · Objectivist Poet · Passage · Poetry

Charles Reznikoff

I am alone— and glad to be alone; I do not like people who walk about so late; who walk slowly after midnight through the leaves fallen on the sidewalks. I do not like my own face in the little mirrors of the slot-machines before the closed stores. — Charles Reznikoff, from “Autobiography: New York,”… Continue reading Charles Reznikoff

Rate this: