Mark André > Recent Status Updates

I could have killed her. Already I heard the big girls in the orchard the next time saying, "Twyyyyyla, baby!" But I couldn't stay mad at Mary while she was smiling and hugging me and smelling of Lady Esther dusting powder. I wanted to stay buried in her fur all day.

"Is your mother sick too?"
"No," I said. "She just likes to dance all night."

It must be known that Akakiy Akakievitch expressed himself chiefly by prepositions, adverbs, and scraps of phrases which had no meaning whatever. If the matter was a very difficult one, he had a habit of never completing his sentences; so that frequently, having begun a phrase with the words, “This, in fact, is quite—” he forgot to go on, thinking that he had already finished it.

and as to all the mysteries of Providence, they made them rather the object of their wonder, than their curiosity; and therefore were not so presumptuous as to dive into the depths of nature, to labour for the solving all phenomena in astronomy, or to wrack their brains in the splitting of entities, and unfolding the nicest speculations, judging it a crime .. to aim at what is put beyond the reach of .. apprehension.

Never before had Martha come of her own will, unpressed, to the (hotel). We had never slept before in my bed. It was for half-an-hour only, but the sleep was deeper than any I have known since. I woke flinching from her mouth with my wounded gum.

We lay quietly side by side in our grave, and I loved her as I had never done in the Peugeot or the bedroom above Hamit’s store. We approached one another by words more nearly than we had ever approached by touch.

I listened to him with astonishment. The dream was intact. Reality could not touch him.

One of the hungry unowned cats which haunted that end of the drive had leapt, in fear of the intrusion, on to the top of the hearse and it stood there arched and shivering like something struck by lightening. No one attempted to drive it away—the Haitians may well have believed it to contain the soul of the ex-Minister himself.

Next day a number of the distracted me from the fate of Jones, but I do not believe Mr. Smith for one moment forgot him.

For writers it is always said that the first twenty years of life contain the whole of experience—the rest is observation, but I think it is equally true of all of us.

I wasn’t going to confide my reasons to the purser. They were too personal and too serious, if one can describe as serious the confused comedy of our private lives.

‘But hasn’t it occurred to you, Mr. Brown, that it isn’t the poor who make the trouble in the world? Wars are made by politicians, by capitalists, by intellectuals, by bureaucrats, by Wall Street bosses or Communist bosses—they are none of them made by the poor.’
‘And the rich and the powerful aren’t vegetarian, I suppose?
‘No sir. Not usually.’ Again I felt ashamed of my cynicism.

—who cares for dead politicians sufficiently to remember with what issues they were identified? Free Trade is less interesting than an Ashanti war, though the London pigeons do not distinguish between the two.

The elm that whimpers at the top told the stone that moans when stricken. Wind broke it. Wave bore it. Reed wrote of it. Syce ran with it. Hand tore it and wild went war. Hen trieved it and plight pledged peace. It was folded with cunning, sealed with crime, uptied by a harlot, undone by a child. It was life but was it fair? It was free but was it art?

The elm that whimpers at the top told the stone that moans when stricken. Wind broke it. Wave bore it. Reed wrote of it. Syce ran with it. Hand tore it and wild went war. Hen trieved it and plight pledged peace. It was folded with cunning, sealed with crime, uptied by a harlot,
undone by a child. It was life but was it fair? It was free but was it art?

Sacred avatar, how the devil did they guess it! Two dreamyums in one dromium.^ Yes and no error. And both as like as a duel of lentils? Peacisely.

Hmm?

Between the twins there could be no jargon of telepathy.

Francis crouched with fingers on his ears, eyes uselessly closed, mind numbed against impressions, and only a sense of strain could cross the gap of dark.

turning torturing faces with the vacancy of wide sunflowers

With his strained face lifted towards the curve of her breasts, and his polite set speech, he was like an old withered man. As a twin he was in many ways an only child.

But rebellion against destiny was not in Francis's power.

He had not heard her coming. Girls were like that. Their shoes never squeaked. No boards whined under the tread

The mixer, accordingly, was bluntly broached, and in the best basel to boot, as to whether he was one of those lucky cocks for whom the audible-visible-gnosible-edible world existed. That he was only too cognitively conatively cogitabundantly stire of it because, living, loving, breathing and sleeping morphomelosophopancreates, as he most significantly did, whenever he thought he heard he saw he felt he made a bell

Finally, when it is the main and essential part of happiness to desire to be no other than what we already are; this expedient is again wholly owing to self-love, which so flushes men with a good conceit of their own, that no one repents of his shape, of his wit, of his education, or of his country;

... there was not as much light from the widowed moon as would dim a child’s altar.

for since the Stoics define wisdom to be conducted by reason, and folly nothing else but the being hurried by passion, lest our life should otherwise, that creator, who out of clay first tempered and made us up, put into the composition of our humanity more than a pound of passions to an ounce of reason; and reason he confined within the narrow cells of the brain, whereas he left passions the whole body to range in.

There were some further collidabanter and severe tries to convert for the best part of an hour and now a woden affair in the shape of a webley (we at once recognise our old friend Ned of so many illortemporate letters) fell from the intruser who, as stuck as that cat to that mouse in that tube of that christchurch organ, (did the imnage of Girl Cloud Pensive flout above them light young charm, in ribbons and pigtail.

One gets used to things getting harder; one ceases to be surprised that what used to be as hard as hard can be grows harder yet.

Like spiders in a bottle.'