Sofija Popović

“I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.”
― Gustave Flaubert

“I svaka nam godina poklanja jedan srećan dan, dan kada osećamo da je došlo proleće. Ali tom danu cvetanja prethodi još jedan prisniji. To je dan kada prvi put naslutimo da je pod posmrtnom maskom zime igra životnih sila već u toku. To je trenutak kada mladi sok u drveću počinje da kruži i kada svetlucavi sjaj krasi majušne lisne pupoljke, tako da gole šume dobijaju trunku braonkaste i zagasitoljubičaste osenčenosti, vreme u kome prvi zvižduk čvorka toplo i okrepljujuće prodire kroz golo drveće i kada pred sumrak huk lepršanja krila šljuka oživljava usamljene obronke šuma. To je grubo i tajanstveno doba u kome život još nije izašao na površinu, a ipak ispunjava dušu potresnim nagoveštajem svojih obećanja.”
― Ernst Jünger, Feuer und Blut: Ein kleiner Ausschnitt aus einer großen Schlacht

“They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the "blaze of passion" often falsely ascribed to love. They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet.”
― Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

“Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.”
― Gustave Flaubert, November