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It was love, she thought, pretending to move her canvas, distilled and filtered; love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over
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“There was so much to write. He had seen the world change; not just the events; although he had seen many of them and had watched the people, but he had seen the subtler change and he could remember how the people were at different times. He had been in it and he had watched it and it was his duty to write of it; but now he never would.”
― The Snows of Kilimanjaro
― The Snows of Kilimanjaro
“Each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all.”
― The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories
― The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories
“Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting. Well he would never know, now.”
― The Snows Of Kilimanjaro: Short Story
― The Snows Of Kilimanjaro: Short Story
“If you ever have need of my life, come and take it.”
― The Seagull
― The Seagull
“Asparagus, tinged with ultramarine and rosy pink which ran from their heads, finely stippled in mauve and azure, through a series of imperceptible changes to their white feet, still stained a little by the soil of their garden-bed: a rainbow-loveliness that was not of this world. I felt that these celestial hues indicated the presence of exquisite creatures who had been pleased to assume vegetable form, who, through the disguise which covered their firm and edible flesh, allowed me to discern in this radiance of earliest dawn, these hinted rainbows, these blue evening shades, that precious quality which I should recognise again when, all night long after a dinner at which I had partaken of them, they played (lyrical and coarse in their jesting as the fairies in Shakespeare’s Dream) at transforming my humble chamberpot into a bower of aromatic perfume.”
― Swann’s Way
― Swann’s Way
Samuel’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Samuel’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
348 books
|
9 friends
180 books
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10 friends
134 books
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4 friends
8 books
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3 friends
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