Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fiction · Magical Realism · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Short Stories · Short Story

Jorge Luis Borges

One day or one night—between my days and nights, what difference can there be?—I dreamed that there was a grain of sand on the floor of my cell. Unconcerned, I went back to sleep; I dreamed that I woke up and there were two grains of sand. Again I slept; I dreamed that now there… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges

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Chilean Culture · Chilean Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry

Pablo Neruda

Leaning into the afternoons, I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes. There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames; Its arms turning like a drowning man’s. I send out red signals across your absent eyes That wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse. You keep only darkness my… Continue reading Pablo Neruda

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Passage · Poetry

Richard Siken

Sometimes the man felt like the bird and sometimes the man felt like a stone—solid, inevitable—but mostly he felt like a bird, or that there was a bird inside him, or that something inside him was like a bird fluttering. — Richard Siken, from “The Language of the Birds,” War of the Foxes (Copper Canyon… Continue reading Richard Siken

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Canadian-American Culture · Canadian-American Literature · Contemporary · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Periodical · Poetry · Prose Poetry

Mark Strand

Afternoon darkens into evening. A man falls deeper and deeper into the slow spiral of sleep, into the drift of it, the length of it, through what feels like mist, and comes at last to an open door through which he passes without knowing why, then again without knowing why goes to a room where… Continue reading Mark Strand

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Inspirational · Motivational · Nature · Poetry · Spiritual

Mary Oliver

Something whispered something that was not even a word. It was more like a silence that was understandable. I was standing at the edge of the pond. Nothing living, what we call living, was in sight. And yet, the voice entered me, my body-life, with so much happiness. And there was nothing there but the… Continue reading Mary Oliver

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