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Fox Walker
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Fox Walker
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"I've tried two translations now (thanks, Estella), but the writing has not made this easy or enjoyable. I shall continue. I feel like I'm reading the first 50 pages of War and Peace again where Tolstoy just throws you a new character every 3 lines (never to be mentioned again) just for the fun of it" — Oct 08, 2026 09:46AM
"I've tried two translations now (thanks, Estella), but the writing has not made this easy or enjoyable. I shall continue. I feel like I'm reading the first 50 pages of War and Peace again where Tolstoy just throws you a new character every 3 lines (never to be mentioned again) just for the fun of it" — Oct 08, 2026 09:46AM
“If I’d stayed there, would I always have been happy? No, I suppose not. People move away, grow older, die, and the bright belief that there will be another marvelous thing around each corner fades. It is now or never; we must snatch at happiness as it flies.”
― A Month in the Country
― A Month in the Country
“A man is like a novel: until the very last page you don't know how it will end. Otherwise it wouldn't even be worth reading.”
― We
― We
“Odi et amo; quare fortasse requiris, nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
(my translation: I hate and I love, you ask why I do this, I do not know, but I feel and I am tormented)”
― The Complete Poems
(my translation: I hate and I love, you ask why I do this, I do not know, but I feel and I am tormented)”
― The Complete Poems
“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.”
― Madame Bovary
― Madame Bovary
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