Marisa

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Álvaro Cunhal: Um...
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  (page 183 of 500)
Aug 16, 2024 04:02PM

 
Le Petit Prince
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The Collected Poe...
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  (page 80 of 402)
Oct 17, 2023 02:47PM

 
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Oscar Wilde
“Those whom he saved from their sins are saved simply for beautiful moments in their lives.”
Oscar Wilde, De Profundis
tags: wilde

James Joyce
“Hidden under wild ferns on Howth. Below us bay sleeping sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purple by the Lion's head. Green by Drumleck. Yellowgreen towards Sutton. Fields of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. Pillowed on my coat she had her hair, earwigs in the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. O wonder! Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away. Ravished over her I lay, full lips open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweet and sour with spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft, warm, sticky gumjelly lips. Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Pebbles fell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her; eyes, her lips, her stretched neck, beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me.

Me. And me now.

Stuck, the flies buzzed.”
James Joyce, Ulysses

Antonio Gramsci
“The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters.”
Antonio Gramsci

Hilary Mantel
“One tradesman the same as the next? Not in the real world. Any man with a steady hand and a cleaver can call himself a butcher: but without the smith, where does he get that cleaver? Without the man who works in metal, where are your hammers, your scythes, your sickles, scissors and planes? Your arms and armour, your arrowheads, your pikes and your guns? Where are your ships at sea and their anchors? Where are your grappling hooks, your nails, latches, hinges, pokers and tongs? Where are your spits, kettles, trivets, your harness rings, buckles and bits? Where are your knives?”
Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall

José Saramago
“Não vim de tão longe para morrer diante dos muros de Lisboa”
José Saramago, The History of the Siege of Lisbon

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