I love being bossed by you, but every game has its rules.
Dimly, I recall running up to his chair to show him a pretty pebble, which he slowly examined and then slowly put into his mouth.
One of our sillier Zemblan proverbs says: the lost glove is happy. Promptly.
As she began losing track of herself, she thought it proper to inform... them... that what death amounted to was only a more complete assortment of the infinite fractions of solitude.
Physically, he was a sickly bald-headed man resembling a pallid gland. His.
As Ganin looked up at the skeletal roof in the ethereal sky he realized with merciless clarity that his affair with Mary was ended forever. It had lasted no more than four days – four days which were perhaps the happiest days of his life. But now he had exhausted his memories, was sated by them, and the image of Mary, together with that of the old dying poet, now remained in the house of ghosts, which itself was already a memory.
La mujer barbuda nos lee las manos y predice lo que seremos, aunque no adivina lo que somos.
The Goldsworth castle became particularly solitary after that turning point at dusk which resembles so much the nightfall of the mind. Stealthy.
Let me add, just in case, that experts on literary “schools” should wisely refrain this time from casually dragging in “the influence of German Impressionists”: I do not know German and have never read the Impressionists – whoever they are.
No wonder tobacco shops have a predilection for corners, for.
In life, as in chess, it is always better to analyze one’s motives and intentions.
The strange mirage-shimmer standing in for death should not appear too soon in the chronicle and yet it should permeate the first amorous scenes.
Palm trees are all right only in mirages.
But I want to make sure of our whereabouts and whenabouts,′ said Van. ‘It is a philosophical need.
In my self-made seraglio, I was a radiant and robust Turk, deliberately, in the full consciousness of his freedom, postponing the moment of actually enjoying the youngest and frailest of his slaves.
A real hansom-cab took him from the station to Trinity College: the vehicle, it seemed, had been waiting there especially for him, desperately holding out against extinction till that moment, and then gladly dying out to join side whiskers and the Large Copper.
A red backless slipper slowly slid off her foot... and Franz, bending down after it, plunged softly into dark slumber.
Looking down at her fingernails, she also asked me had I not in my family a certain strange strain. I countered by inquiring whether she would still want to marry me if my father’s maternal grandfather had been, say, a Turk.
Only a Chinaman or a retarded child can imagine being met, in that Next-Installment World, to the accompaniment of all sorts of tail-wagging and groveling of welcome, by the mosquito executed eighty years ago upon one’s bare leg, which has been amputated since then and now, in the wake of the gesticulating mosquito, comes back, stomp, stomp, stomp, here I am, stick me on.
The only consciousness that persists in the hereafter is the consciousness of pain.