Now I am going to reveal to you something which is very pure, a totally white thought. It is always in my heart; it blooms at each of my steps… The Dance is love, it is only love, it alone, and that is enough… I, then, it is amorously that I dance: to poems, to… Continue reading Isadora Duncan
Respect was invented to cover the empty place where love should be. — Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina. (Norilana Books February 16, 2008) Originally published 1873.
I am naked and a beggar and an atom in the vortex of humanity. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot. (Modern Library; New edition edition, April 8, 2003) Originally published 1869.
Let my heiress have full rights, Live in my house, sing songs that I composed. Yet how slowly my strength ebbs, How the tortured breast craves air. The love of my friends, my enemies’ rancor And the yellow roses in my bushy garden, And a lover’s burning tenderness—all this I bestow upon you, messenger of… Continue reading Anna Akhmatova
I can see the sun, but even if I cannot see the sun, I know that it exists. And to know that the sun is there – that is living. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; 12th edition June 14, 2002) Originally published November 1880.
We have the marvelous gift of making everything insignificant. — Nikolai Gogol
. . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate, a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts. — Vladimir Nabokov