The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody’s fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind. ― Katherine Mansfield, from “Cultivated Minds,” Journal Of… Continue reading Katherine Mansfield
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers,… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
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. —Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press 1955)
There are possibilities for me, certainly, but under what stone do they lie? — Franz Kafka, Diaries of Franz Kafka. (Schocken October 30, 1988) Originally published 1949.
I feel an unhappiness which almost dismembers me, and at the same time am convinced of its necessity. ― Franz Kafka, Diaries of Franz Kafka. (Schocken October 30, 1988) Originally published 1949.
Always only the desire to die and the not-yet-yielding; this alone is love. ― Franz Kafka, Diaries of Franz Kafka, 1910-1923. (Schocken October 30, 1988)
I never wish to be easily defined. I’d rather float over other people’s minds as something strictly fluid and non-perceivable; more like a transparent, paradoxically iridescent creature rather than an actual person. — Franz Kafka, Diaries of Franz Kafka. (Schocken October 30, 1988) Originally published 1949.