Quote with 16 notes
I walked into my own book, seeking peace. It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream; I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness. It was this seeing too much, this seeing of a tragedy in the quiver of an eyelid, constructing a crime in the next room, the men and women who had loved before me on the same hotel bed.
I carry white sponges of knowledge on strings of nerves.
As I move within my book I am cut by pointed glass and broken bottles in which there is still the odor of sperm and perfume.
More pages added to the book but pageslike a prisoner’s walking back and forth over the space alotted him. What is it alotted me to say?
Quote reblogged from Mythology of Blue with 23 notes
The history of a text is like a long caress.
Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red
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Quote reblogged from A la recherche du temps perdu with 195 notes
The hour of steaming tea and banished books…
Paul Verlaine, from “[The rosy hearth],” trans. Gertrude Hall
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Quote with 19 notes
A book is a small cog in a much more complex, external machinery. Writing is a flow among others; it enjoys no special privilege and enters into relationships of current and countercurrent, of back-wash with other flows - the flows of shit, sperm, speech, action, eroticism, money, politics, etc. Like Bloom, writing on the sand with one hand and masturbating with the other - two flows in what relationship?
Quote with 88 notes
What would it be like
to live in a library
of melted books.With sentences streaming over the floor
and all the punctuation
settled to the bottom as a residue.It would be confusing.
Unforgivable.
A great adventure.
Quote reblogged from A la recherche du temps perdu with 1,207 notes
Books are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.
Roberto Bolaño
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Quote reblogged from Invisible Stories with 263 notes
People hold books in a special way – like they hold nothing else. They hold them not like inanimate things but like ones that have gone to sleep.
John Berger, Bento’s Sketchbook
(via invisiblestories, mythologyofblue)
Source: mythologyofblue
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