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Kafka himself espouses in diary entries and letters to Max Brod on the idea that the price for the passion of writing is equal to “service to the devil”. His belief was that there are two kinds of writers. One who writes in the daylight writes “sto
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And it struck me. You needed to be on the side of a milk carton. 2 percent of course.
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He didn’t get the idea of dialects, but on those nights he heard broken Italian from the owner of a restaurant and gathering place for celebrities and men in sharkskin.
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We may not be capable of even trying to appreciate the fact of mortality until we are somewhat older—let's say 18 years old. But, from the age of 18 until we die—and die we will; we know that—we have the opportunity to spend some time thinking abou
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1. Post Scriptum
Just opened an email from work containing an attachment of a piece of art which reads (translating from Turkish) “The price of love; one person pays”
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When the deer did come, I couldn't shoot straight. I didn't feel scared, but I didn't want to miss and my hand was shaking. I hurried. I held my gun pointing out at the path and fired. But it went a little wild and instead of taking the deer down, I shot
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“She’s very sick. She’s dying,” and he smoothed my hair along my neck.
“It’s leukemia. A very rare type,” his hand reached my shoulder and stopped there.
“She only has a few months.”
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You ask yourself, how can you be living but dead? It is not possible. Yet it can be and it can be slightly reversible, but realistically, for most people, it is not. Living but dead, is walking in the world of the in-between. Standing with one foot on the
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At first I thought it was just a phase, just something he had to get out of his system. But it’s been four months now, and if anything he’s just getting more belligerent about it. He wants me to go to church with him. He wants the two of us to get baptize
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The spirit smiled and held out his hand, the light in the room magnified and he brushed past the books and the thoughts still hanging in the small alcove, " You are ready now.
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