Rowena

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Rowena’s Bookshelves

to-read‎ (282)
currently-reading‎ (0)
read‎ (260)
did-not-finish‎ (0)
when-did-i-read-this‎ (48)
terrible-memory‎ (38)
just-great‎ (32)

good‎ (26)
omg-setting‎ (23)
loved‎ (22)
meh‎ (20)
for-class‎ (16)
hmm‎ (16)
still-need-to-own‎ (15)

okay-but-something-went-a-bit-wrong‎ (13)
bleh‎ (11)
please-reread-before-typing‎ (11)
nostalgia-is-sometimes-great‎ (8)
this-one-passage‎ (7)
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didnt-finish‎ (5)

great-cover‎ (4)
not-juvenile-lit‎ (3)
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why-was-this-written‎ (3)
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“The days hardened with cold and boredom like last year's loaves of bread. One began to cut them with blunt knives without appetite, with a lazy indifference.”
― Bruno Schulz, The Street of Crocodiles

tags: boredom, indifference

76 likes

“And it seems to me that everyone is like me—they're all afraid of the slightest movement . . . Everyone's sitting all closed up in his own glass cage waiting for something.”
― Yevgeny Zamyatin, We

tags: inspirational, truthful

5 likes

“We shared the smile of recognizing ourselves in each other, how many imposters do I have? Do we all make the same mistakes, or has one of us gotten it right, or even just a bit less wrong, am I the imposter?”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

40 likes

“Autumnal -- nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day ... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it ... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth -- reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.”
― Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

41 likes

“What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.”
― John Berger

91 likes

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