How I could smell it! You know the smell churches have, a peculiar, dank, dusty, decaying sweetish sort of smell. There’s a touch of candle grease in it, and perhaps a whiff o incense and a suspicion of mice and on Sunday mornings it’s a bit overlaid by yellow soap and serge dresses, but predominantly it’s that sweet dusty musty smell that’s like the smell of death and life mixed up together. It’s powdered corpses, really.
Honore de Balzac – “Suanii”
A fi o creatura sau un creator, iata deci toata diferenta care exista intre un om si un altul.
Isabel Allende – "Tara mea inventata"
Istoria o scriu invingatorii in felul lor.
Milan Kundera – "Insuportabila usuratate a fiintei"
Kitschul este un paravan in spatele caruia se ascunde moartea.
Milan Kundera – "Insuportabila usuratate a fiintei"
Roseata amurgului lumineaza totul cu farmecul nostalgiei, chiar si ghilotina.
Salman Rushdie – "Pamantul sub talpile ei"
Toleranta noastra fata de cei cu adevarat dezamagiti, pentru acei iremediabil striviti de viata e strict limitata.
Aldous Huxley – "Geniul si zeita"
Ce prapastie exista intre impresie si expresie (…) . Practicam alchimia pe dos. Atingem aurul si-l prefacem in plumb.
Marin Preda – "Viata ca o prada"
Marile intrebari le pun ticalosii cu un aer triumfator.