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Pedro
https://www.goodreads.com/piacobel
“Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.”
―
―
“We men do nothing but lie and make ourselves important. Speech was invented for the purpose of magnifying all of our sensations and impressions — perhaps so that we could believe in them.”
― Niebla
― Niebla
“Only a soul full of despair can ever attain serenity and, to be in despair, you must have loved a good deal and still love the world.”
―
―
“Nobody these days holds the written word in such high esteem as police states do,' Arkadian Porpirych says. 'What statistic allows one to identify the nations where literature enjoys true consideration better than the sums appropriated for controlling it and suppressing it? Where it is the object of such attentions, literature gains an extraordinary authority, inconceivable in countries where it is allowed to vegetate as an innocuous pastime, without risks.”
― If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler
― If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler
“Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?'
Worries
Forget your worries
All the stations full of cracks tilted along the way
The telegraph wires they hang from
The grimacing poles that gesticulate and strangle them
The world stretches lengthens and folds in like an accordion tormented by a sadistic hand
In the cracks of the sky the locomotives in anger
Flee
And in the holes,
The whirling wheels the mouths the voices
And the dogs of misfortune that bark at our heels
The demons are unleashed
Iron rails
Everything is off-key
The broun-roun-roun of the wheels
Shocks
Bounces
We are a storm under a deaf man's skull...
'Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?'
Hell yes, you're getting on my nerves you know very well we're far away
Overheated madness bellows in the locomotive
Plague, cholera rise up like burning embers on our way
We disappear in the war sucked into a tunnel
Hunger, the whore, clings to the stampeding clouds
And drops battle dung in piles of stinking corpses
Do like her, do your job
'Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?”
― Prose of the Trans-Siberian and of the Little Jeanne de France
Worries
Forget your worries
All the stations full of cracks tilted along the way
The telegraph wires they hang from
The grimacing poles that gesticulate and strangle them
The world stretches lengthens and folds in like an accordion tormented by a sadistic hand
In the cracks of the sky the locomotives in anger
Flee
And in the holes,
The whirling wheels the mouths the voices
And the dogs of misfortune that bark at our heels
The demons are unleashed
Iron rails
Everything is off-key
The broun-roun-roun of the wheels
Shocks
Bounces
We are a storm under a deaf man's skull...
'Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?'
Hell yes, you're getting on my nerves you know very well we're far away
Overheated madness bellows in the locomotive
Plague, cholera rise up like burning embers on our way
We disappear in the war sucked into a tunnel
Hunger, the whore, clings to the stampeding clouds
And drops battle dung in piles of stinking corpses
Do like her, do your job
'Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?”
― Prose of the Trans-Siberian and of the Little Jeanne de France
Japan Book Club
— 140 members
— last activity Jan 24, 2021 12:29PM
For everybody enjoying fiction and non-fiction on Japan or by Japanese authors.
Pedro’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Pedro’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
663 books
|
66 friends
1,514 books
|
39 friends
1,284 books
|
82 friends
159 books
|
104 friends
646 books
|
45 friends
200 books
|
26 friends
351 books
|
58 friends
212 books
|
94 friends
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