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Jack Kerouac

I ached all over for her; I leaned my head in her beautiful hair. Her little shoulders drove me mad; I hugged her and hugged her. And she loved it. ‘I love love,’ she said, closing her eyes. I promised her beautiful love. I gloated over her. Our stories were told; we subsided into silence… Continue reading Jack Kerouac

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Classic · Collection · Essay · Excerpt · Non-fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Philosophy · Quote · Romanian Culture · Romanian Literature

Emil M. Cioran

I am the beast with a contorted grin, contracting down to illusion and dilating toward infinity, both growing and dying, delightfully suspended between hope for nothing and despair of everything, brought up among perfumes and poisons, consumed with love and hatred, killed by lights and shadows. My symbol is death of light and the flame… Continue reading Emil M. Cioran

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Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Philosophy · Quote · Realism · Russian Culture · Russian Literature · Short Stories

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

…but it is in despair that the most burning pleasures occur… ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground, W…but it is in despair that the most burning pleasures occur… ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead. (Signet; Reissue edition, November 2,… Continue reading Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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Aestheticism · Anthology · British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Irish Culture · Poetry · Victorian

Oscar Wilde

The Sphinx In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom. Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir For silver moons are naught to her and naught to her the suns that reel. Red follows… Continue reading Oscar Wilde

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Classic · Collection · Compilation · Correspondence · Epistolary · Excerpt · French Culture · French Literature · Non-fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote

Gustave Flaubert

This sense of my own weakness and emptiness comforts me. I feel myself a mere speck of dust lost in space, yet I am part of that endless grandeur which envelopes me. I could never see why that should be cause for despair, since there could very well be nothing at all behind the black… Continue reading Gustave Flaubert

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