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Orientalism
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Diary of a Madman...
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Letters to Milena
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Patricia Highsmith
“What was it to love someone, what was love exactly, and why did it end or not end? Those were the real questions, and who could answer them?”
Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt
tags: love

Patricia Highsmith
“Then Carol slipped her arm under her neck, and all the length of their bodies touched fitting as if something had prearranged it. Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh. She had a vision of a pale white flower, shimmering as if seen in darkness, or through water. Why did people talk of heaven, she wondered”
Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

Patricia Highsmith
“But there was not a moment when she did not see Carol in her mind, and all she saw, she seemed to see through Carol. That evening, the dark flat streets of New York, the tomorrow of work, the milk bottle dropped and broken in her sink, became unimportant. She flung herself on her bed and drew a line with a pencil on a piece of paper. And another line, carefully, and another. A world was born around her, like a bright forest with a million shimmering leaves.”
Patricia Highsmith, Carol
tags: love

Patricia Highsmith
“It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell.”
Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

Patricia Highsmith
“January. It was all things. And it was one thing, like a solid door. Its cold sealed the city in a gray capsule. January was moments, and January was a year. January rained the moments down, and froze them in her memory: [...]Every human action seemed to yield a magic. January was a two-faced month, jangling like jester's bells, crackling like snow crust, pure as any beginning, grim as an old man, mysteriously familiar yet unknown, like a word one can almost but not quite define.”
Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

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