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Virginia Woolf

Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness. Let us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought… Continue reading Virginia Woolf

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Short Stories

Sherwood Anderson

I am a lover and have not found my thing to love. That is a big point if you know enough to realize what I mean. It makes my destruction inevitable, you see. There are few who understand that. ― Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio. (Oxford University Press; World’s Classics edition, November 11, 1999)

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Argentine Culture · Argentine Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fantasy · Fiction · Magical Realism · Paraphrase · Passage · Photography · Quote · Short Stories

Jorge Luis Borges

No one is anyone, one single immortal man is all men. Like Cornelius Agrippa, I am god, I am hero, I am philosopher, I am demon and I am world, which is a tedious way of saying that I do not exist. — Jorge Luis Borges, “The Immortal,” Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings. (New… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Epitaph · Excerpt · Fantasy · Fiction · Humor · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Science Fiction · Short Stories

Ray Bradbury

That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country… Continue reading Ray Bradbury

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Confessional · Contemporary · Excerpt · Paraphrase · Passage · Poetry · Quote · Short Stories

Charles Bukowski

I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often. — Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness.… Continue reading Charles Bukowski

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