Sasha

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Essays
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Apr 30, 2013 12:44PM

 
Mantel Pieces: Ro...
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House of Leaves
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by Mark Z. Danielewski (Goodreads Author)
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  (page 13 of 709)
"Clearly, Borges is involved, prospects of a fantastic novel on the horizon !" Aug 04, 2019 06:25PM

 
See all 6 books that Sasha is reading…
Book cover for Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities
It’s important to say what hope is not: it is not the belief that everything was, is, or will be fine. The evidence is all around us of tremendous suffering and tremendous destruction. The hope I’m interested in is about broad perspectives ...more
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William Lindsay Gresham
“Man comes into the world a blind, groping mite. He knows hunger and the fear of noise and of falling. His life is spent in flight - flight from hunger and from the thunderbolt of destiny. From his moment of birth he begins to fall through the whistling air of Time: down, down into a chasm of darkness . . . we come like a breath of wind over the fields of morning. We go like a lamp flame caught by a blast from a darkened window. In between we journey from table to table, from battle to bottle, from bed to bed. We suck, we chew, we swallow, we lick, we try to mash life into us like an am-am-amoeba God damn it! Somebody lets us loose like a toad out of a matchbox and we jump and jump and jump and the guy always behind us, and when he gets tired he stomps us to death and our guts squirt out on each side of the boot of All Merciful Providence. The son-of-a-bitch!”
William Lindsay Gresham, Nightmare Alley

Omar El Akkad
“It seemed sensible to crave safety, to crave shelter from the bombs and the Birds and the daily depravity of war. But somewhere deep in her mind an idea had begun to fester-perhaps the longing for safety was itself just another kind of violence-a violence of cowardice, silence, submission. What was safety, anyway, but the sound of a bomb falling on someone else's home?”
Omar El Akkad, American War

Ian McEwan
“A strange mood has seized the almost-educated young. They're on the march, angry at times, but mostly needful, longing for authority's blessing, its validation of their chosen identities. The decline of the West in new guise perhaps. Or the exaltation and liberation of the self. A social-media site famously proposes seventy-one gender options – neutrois, two spirit, bigender…any colour you like, Mr Ford. Biology is not destiny after all, and there's cause for celebration. A shrimp is neither limiting nor stable. I declare my undeniable feeling for who I am. If I turn out to be white, I may identify as black. And vice versa. I may announce myself as disabled, or disabled in context. If my identity is that of a believer, I'm easily wounded, my flesh torn to bleeding by any questioning of my faith. Offended, I enter a state of grace. Should inconvenient opinions hover near me like fallen angels or evil djinn (a mile being too near), I'll be in need of the special campus safe room equipped with Play-Doh and looped footage of gambolling puppies. Ah, the intellectual life! I may need advance warning if upsetting books or ideas threaten my very being by coming too close, breathing on my face, my brain, like unwholesome drugs.”
Ian McEwan, Nutshell

Umberto Eco
“By the Virgin Mother of God!" Baudolino exclaimed. "That worm story was told me by Zosimos! And it was Zosimos who also told me that, according to Cosmos Indicopleustes, in India horses don't exist! And it was Zosimos who told me of methagallinarii and those other beasts! Son of a whore, pot of excrement, liar, thief, hypocrite, trimmer and counterfeiter, adulterer, glutton, coward, voluptuary, sodomite, usurer, simoniac, necromancer sower of discord, cheat!”
Umberto Eco, Baudolino
tags: humor

William Lindsay Gresham
“He was staring at the woman who stood holding the door open into another room . He weaved to his feet, lurching as he came near her, then he caught a whiff of perfume. The gray eyes seemed as big as saucers, like the eyes of a kitten when you hold its nose touching yours. He looked at the small mouth, the full lower lip, carefully tinted but not painted. She said nothing. As he started to push past her he seemed to fall; he found his arm around her and held on knowing that he was a fool, knowing something terrible would strike him dead, knowing he wanted to cry, to empty his bladder, to scream, to go to sleep, wondering as he tightened his arm around her…Stan lay sprawling on the floor.”
William Lindsay Gresham, Nightmare Alley

22194 كافه كتاب — 1456 members — last activity Jan 17, 2024 03:55AM
كافه كتاب، محلي براي كتاب خواندن و به اشتراك گذاشتن تجربيات است. اعضايي كه از لحاظ موقعيت جغرافيايي به هم نزديك هستند مي توانند جلسات كتاب خواني برگز ...more
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This is a group for GoodRead Librarians from Iran. این گروه، گروهی است برای اعضای ایرانی سایت که دارای وضعیت "کتابدار" هستند. با توجه به اینکه در حال ...more
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