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Estrella distante
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A Village Life
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La regenta
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  (page 251 of 944)
"“Ana leyó los versos de San Juan y entonces sintió la lengua expedita para improvisar oraciones; las recitaba en verso en sus paseos solitarios por el monte de Loreto, que olía a tomillo y caía a pico sobre el mar.”" Jun 27, 2025 07:55AM

 
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Hermann Hesse
“Not everyone is allotted the chance to become a personality; most remain types, and never experience the rigor of becoming an individual. But those who do so inevitably discover that these struggles bring them into conflict with the normal life of average people and the traditional values and bourgeois conventions that they uphold. A personality is the product of a clash between two opposing forces: the urge to create a life of one's own and the insistence by the world around us that we conform. Nobody can develop a personality unless he undergoes revolutionary experiences. The extent of those experiences differs, of course, from person to person, as does the capacity to lead a life that is truly personal and unique.”
Hermann Hesse, Soul of the Age: Selected Letters, 1891-1962

Fyodor Dostoevsky
“A beast can never be as cruel as a human being, so artistically, so picturesquely cruel.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Gustave Flaubert
“Never touch your idols: the gilding will stick to your fingers."

(Il ne faut pas toucher aux idoles: la dorure en reste aux mains.)
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

Fyodor Dostoevsky
“I can see the sun, but even if I cannot see the sun, I know that it exists. And to know that the sun is there - that is living.”
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Gustave Flaubert
“At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.”
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

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