Anna

“We can destroy what we have written, but we cannot unwrite it.”
― Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

“Vím
že mě nemáš ráda
ale já tě mám
v krvi rozpuštěnou
s bacily tetanu s vůní kouře a arniky a šlágry
tak starými
že je už vůbec nikdo nepamatuje”
― Václav Hrabě, Blues

“He is afraid the shame will outlive him.”
― Franz Kafka, Letter to His Father

“Oh it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh. The trombones crunched redgold under my bed, and behind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise silverflamed, and there by the door the timps rolling through my guts and out again crunched like candy thunder. Oh, it was wonder of wonders. And then, a bird of like rarest spun heavenmetal, or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now, came the violin solo above all the other strings, and those strings were like a cage of silk round my bed. Then flute and oboe bored, like worms of like platinum, into the thick thick toffee gold and silver. I was in such bliss, my brothers.”
― Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange