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أنا لا أجيد القول ، قد أُنْسِيتُ فى المنفى الكلام ،
وعرفتُ سرَّ الصمت .. كم ماتت على شفتى فى المنفى الحروف !
الصمت ليس هنيهةً قبل الكلام ،
الصمت ليس هنيهة بين الكلام ،
الصمت ليس هنيهة بعد الكلام ،
الصمت حرف لايُخَط ولا يقال ..
الصمت يعنى الصمت .. هل يغنى الجحيم سوى الجحيم ؟ !
That's how things were out here in the wild, she was learning. Dangerous or beautiful. Or both.
Scott WesterfeldHouse-training, I must tell you, is a formality that can elude young dachshunds for some time; this is particularly true in climates that affront their sensibilities with outrageous meteorological insults. Rain, for example, or a startling gust of wind.
Mary Doria RussellTag: dachshund
Finn smiled ruefully. "I'm a Prisoner, old man. Just like you.
Catherine FisherNothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.
John KnowlesFor all evils there are two remedies - time and silence.
Alexandre DumasTrue benevolence, or compassion, extends itself through the whole of existence and sympathises with the distress of every creature capable of sensation
Joseph AddisonOn the church vaulting above was the clock-face of eternity, void of number and serving as its own hand, only one black finger was pointing and the dead wanted to tell the time by it.
Jean Paul Friedrich RichterTag: eternity time death religion atheism church
Fourteen preteen girls, a tableful of werewolves—there were certain monstrous similarities.
Patricia BriggsTag: mercedes-thompson
They can wound, stories, they can blister.
Lauren GroffI didn't have any more time. Directly below the window was a thickly leafed bush of some sort. I couldn't see it clearly and only hoped it wasn't a rosebush or something equally sharp. A second floor drop wouldn't kill me, though. Probably wouldn't even hurt—much.
I climbed over the ledge, briefly meeting Dimitri's gaze as the other Strigoi moved in on him. The words came to me again: Don't hesitate. Dimitri's important lesson. But it hadn't been his first one. His first had been about what to do if I was outnumbered and out of options: Run.
Time for me to run.
I leapt out the window.
I think the profanities that came out of my mouth when I hit the ground would have been understandable in any language. It hurt.
Tag: rose-hathaway dimitri-belikov
The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown person present, all backed a little, and swept with their eyes the inclined plane of little vessels then and there arranged in order, ready to have imperial gallons of facts poured into them until they were full to the brim.
Charles DickensStill perfect,” he said. “Read to me.”
“This isn’t really a poem to read aloud when you are sitting next to your sleeping mother. It has, like, sodomy and angel dust in it,” I said.
“You just named two of my favorite pastimes,” he said. “Okay, read me something else then?”
“Um,” I said. “I don’t have anything else?”
“That’s too bad. I am so in the mood for poetry. Do you have anything memorized?”
“‘Let us go then, you and I,’” I started nervously, “‘When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table.’”
“Slower,” he said.
I felt bashful, like I had when I’d first told him of An Imperial Affliction. “Um, okay. Okay. ‘Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, / The muttering retreats / Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: / Streets that follow like a tedious argument / Of insidious intent / To lead you to an overwhelming question . . . / Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” / Let us go and make our visit.’”
“I’m in love with you,” he said quietly.
“Augustus,” I said.
“I am,” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”
“Augustus,” I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like everything was rising up in me, like I was drowning in this weirdly painful joy, but I couldn’t say it back. I
That is what is wrong with cold people. Not that they have ice in their souls - we all have a bit of that - but that they insist every word and deed mirror that ice. They never learn the beauty or value of gesture. The emotional necessity. For them, it is all honesty before kindness, truth before art. Love is art, not truth. It's like painting scenery.
Lorrie MooreIf you aren't giving people something to talk about, you've become too dull.
Sue Monk KiddPagina 1 di 1.
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