Everything he said should be followed by a big sic.
Only experts, for experts, should probe a mind’s misery.
Now the colored pencils in more detail.
Thus a man looking through a tremendous telescope does not see the cirri of an Indian summer above his charmed orchard, but does see, as my regretted colleague, the late Professor Alexander Ivanchenko, twice saw, the swarming of hesperozoa in a humid valley of the planet Venus.
Here speaks Professor – ′ There followed a preposterous little explosion. ‘I conduct the classes in Russian. Mrs Fire, who is now working at the library part-time –.
I was proceeding slowly one afternoon through torrents of rain and kept seeing that red ghost swimming and shivering with lust in my mirror, when presently the deluge dwindled to a patter, and then was suspended altogether.
As she began losing track of herself, she though it proper to inform a series of receding Lucettes – telling them to pass it on and on in a trick-crystal regression – that what death amounted to was only a more complete assortment of the infinite fractions of solitude.
I want pure colors, melting clouds, accurately drawn details, a sunburst above a receding road with the light reflected in furrows and ruts, after rain. And no girls... There is one subject which I am emphatically opposed to: any kind of representation of a little girl.
Every limit presupposes something beyond it.
I tore apart the fantasies of Poe, And dealt with childhood memories of strange Nacreous gleams beyond the adults’ range.
Since I sometimes won the race between my fancy and nature’s reality, the deception was bearable. Unbearable pain began when chance entered the fray and deprived me of the smile meant for me.
All the trees in the world are journeying somewhere. Perpetual pilgrimage.
There are certain trifles I do not forgive. Not having read the required book. Having read it like an idiot.” – John Shade.
Their first free and frantic caresses had been preceded by a brief period of strange craftiness, of cringing stealth.
An author’s fondest dream is to turn the reader into a spectator; is this ever attained?
To the Winds, Victor was a problem child insofar as he refused to be one.
I am ready to give you all of my blood, if I had to – it’s hard to explain – sounds flat – but that’s how it is.
The worst madman is the one who fails to consider the possibility of somebody else being mad too.
I, on my part, was as naive as only a pervert can be.
I felt curiously aloof from my own self. No temptations maddened me. The plump, glossy little Eskimo girls with their fish smell, hideous raven hair and guinea pig faces, evoked even less desire in me than Dr. Johnson had.