vaishnavi
https://www.goodreads.com/elegyforthedream
progress:
(page 40 of 288)
"i can't re-experience reading The Road for the first time, but i CAN read the French version of it 🌙
not sure how i feel about the writing style so far though.. we'll see..." — Apr 10, 2026 09:44AM
"i can't re-experience reading The Road for the first time, but i CAN read the French version of it 🌙
not sure how i feel about the writing style so far though.. we'll see..." — Apr 10, 2026 09:44AM
“The past is never dead. It's not even past.”
― Requiem for a Nun
― Requiem for a Nun
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.”
― The Waste Land and Other Writings
They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.”
― The Waste Land and Other Writings
“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.”
― The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
― The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”
― Frankenstein
― Frankenstein
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