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The Trial
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A Supposedly Fun ...
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  (page 91 of 353)
Jul 20, 2025 06:42AM

 
Right-Wing Women
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"One time i told a girl that dworkin was a crazy embittered maniac so this is how i'm paying reparations months later

good stuff so far"
Apr 04, 2025 04:36PM

 
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Cormac McCarthy
“How surely are the dead beyond death. Death is what the living carry with them. A state of dread, like some uncanny foretaste of a bitter memory. But the dead do not remember and nothingness is not a curse. Far from it.”
Cormac McCarthy, Suttree

Kate Chopin
“There were days when she was very happy without knowing why. She was happy to be alive and breathing, when her whole being seemed to be one with the sunlight, the color, the odors, the luxuriant warmth of some perfect Southern day. She liked then to wander alone into strange and unfamiliar places. She discovered many a sunny, sleepy corner, fashioned to dream in. And she found it good to dream and to be alone and unmolested.

There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why—when it did not seem worth while to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation.”
Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Cormac McCarthy
“The jagged mountains were pure blue in the dawn and everywhere birds twittered and the sun when it rose caught the moon in the west so that they lay opposed to each other across the earth, the sun whitehot and the moon a pale replica, as if they were the ends of a common bore beyond whose terminals burned worlds past all reckoning.”
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West

William Faulkner
“People to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.”
William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

Don DeLillo
“Six point nine seconds of heat and light. Let’s call a meeting to analyze the blur. Let’s devote our lives to understanding this moment, separating the elements of each crowded second. We will build theories that gleam like jade idols, intriguing systems of assumption, four-faced, graceful. We will follow the bullet trajectories backwards to the lives that occupy the shadows, actual men who moan in their dreams. Elm Street. A woman wonders why she is sitting on the grass, bloodspray all around. Tenth Street. A witness leaves her shoes on the hood of a bleeding policeman’s car. A strangeness, Branch feels, that is almost holy. There is much here that is holy, an aberration in the heartland of the real.”
Don DeLillo, Libra

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