Stafie

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Sunrise on the Re...
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Jun 16, 2025 02:57AM

 
Babel
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by R.F. Kuang (Goodreads Author)
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  (page 400 of 544)
Oct 16, 2024 08:13AM

 
International His...
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Wendy Cope
“At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I'm glad I exist.”
Wendy Cope, Serious Concerns
tags: love

Franz Kafka
“E de asemenea adevărat că nu s-ar putea spune că m-ai bătut vreodată. Însă ţipetele, felul în care te înroşeai la faţă, în care îţi desfăceai în grabă bretelele şi le aşezai la îndemână pe speteaza scaunului însemnau pentru mine ceva aproape mai rău decât bătaia. Era ca şi cum ai fi dus pe cineva la spân zurătoare. Dacă te spânzură cu adevărat, mori şi totul s-a terminat. Când însă trebuie să asişti şi la toate pregătirile pentru spânzurătoare, şi când abia din clipa când ştreangul îţi atârnă în faţa ochilor afli că ai fost graţiat, atunci s-ar putea în tâmpla să suferi de pe urma acestei experienţe toată viaţa. Pe lângă asta, din numeroasele împrejurări când, după opinia ta limpede exprimată, aş fi meritat bătaia şi scăpam în ultimul moment din milă, se acumula un sentiment şi mai mare al propriei vinovăţii.”
Franz Kafka, Letter to His Father

Ocean Vuong
“Silly me. I thought love was real& the body imaginary.”
Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds

Ocean Vuong
“Maybe we pray on our knees because god only listens when we’re this close to the devil.”
Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds

Mary Oliver
“I Worried"

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.”
Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

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