“I felt I could turn the earth upside down with my littlest finger. I wanted to dance, to fly in the air and kiss the sun and stars with my singing heart. I, alone with myself, was enjoying myself for the first time as with grandest company.”
― Anzia Yezierska, quote from Bread Givers
“There is justice nowhere for a fool. A fool they whip even in the Holy Temple.”
― Anzia Yezierska, quote from Bread Givers
“The stars in their infinite peace seemed to pour their healing light into me. I thought of captives in prison, the sick and the suffering from the beginning of time who had looked to these stars for strength. What was my little sorrow to the centuries of pain which those stars had watched? So near they seemed, so compassionate. My bitter hurt seemed to grow small and drop away. If I must go on alone, I should still have silence and the high stars to walk with me.”
― Anzia Yezierska, quote from Bread Givers
“Beloved, Dearest One:
How I long to shout to the world our happiness. I feel that you and I are the only two people alive in the world - the only people that know the secret meaning of existence.
I have no diamond rings, no gifts of love that other lovers have for their beloved. My poetry is all I have to offer you. And so I dedicate my collected verses, 'Poems of Poverty,' to you, beloved.
Morris.”
― Anzia Yezierska, quote from Bread Givers
Anzia Yezierska
Born place: Mały Płock, Poland
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“A bush-warbler,
Coming to the verandah-edge,
Left its droppings
On the rice-cakes.”
― Matsuo Bashō, quote from Backroads to Far Towns: Basho's Travel Journal
“Frederick?
Had she really spoken? Certainly she'd tried, but her voice had failed to materialize and all she heard was the sound of her nightgown ripping as Frederick pulled it over her head and threw it aside.
He was kneeling now between her ankles, pushing at her, forcing her knees apart and then her arms until she was entirely splayed on the bed beneath him.
Nothing was said. Not a word.
Ede felt his hand between her legs, forcing the way for the rest of him. Stop, she wanted to tell him. Stop. I don't understand what you're doing. But nothing - still nothing was said.
He seemed to be raging inside her, moving his hips in a circular fashion, all the weight of his upper body help above her, resting on his arms, his hands pushing down into the mattress.
Stop! But he didn't.
Don't! But he did.
Nothing. Not one word.
The only sound he made was a choking noise in his throat at the end, as tough he might be going to strangle. But when he rolled away from her onto his back, she felt the shudder of his first free breath and she heard him sigh. It was over. Tonight. It was done.
Ede could not bare the thought of seeing him, or of being seen. Still without speaking, she rose from the bed and through the dark, found her way to the bathroom. She had brought the torn nightgown wit her, but when she turned on the light and saw it, she threw it down in the corner. Ruined. Spoiled. Everything.
When at last, she returned to the bed, Fredrick was sound asleep beneath the covers - and nothing - nothing - nothing was said.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from The Piano Man's Daughter
“Личността, чието име току-що бе произнесено, професор Адам Круг, философът, седеше малко встрани, потънал в едно кресло, опрял косматите си ръце на подлакътниците. Беше едър тежък човек над четирийсетте, с чорлава, пепелява или леко прошарена коса и грубо изсечено лице, навеждащо на мисълта за недодялан шахматист или навъсен композитор, но по-интелигентно. Силното компактно и мрачно чело, притежаваше някак особено херметично изражение (банков сейф, зид на затвор?), присъщо за челото на всеки мислител. Мозък, съставен от вода, разни химически съединения и група високомодифицирани мазнини. Бледите стоманеносиви очи в почти правоъгълни орбити, полузакрити от гъсти вежди, които някога са ги защитавали от отровните извержения на вече изчезнали птици – хипотезата на Шнайдер. Ушите бяха големи, орбасли с косми отвътре. Носът му бе обрамчен от две дълбоки гънки, спускащи се по широките бузи. Тази сутрин не беше се бръснал. Носеше силно омачкан тъмен костюм и неизменната тъмнолилава папийонка на (някога бели, а сега неопределен цвят) точки, с разкъсана лява вътрешна фльонга. Не особено чистата яка беше от типа отворена, тоест с удобна триъгълна чупка за адамовата ябълка. Носеше характерните обувки с дебели подметки и старомодни черни гети. Какво още? Ах, да – разсеяното почукване с показалец по подлакътника на креслото.
Под тази видима повърхност копринена риза обгръщаше мощния му торс и уморените бедра. Тя бе дълбоко втъкната в наполеонки, които от своя страна бяха напъхани в чорапите: известно му бе за слуховете, че не носи чорапи (оттам и гетите), но това не беше истина; в действителност такива имаше на краката му – хубави, скъпи, бледолилави, копринени.
Под всичко това беше топлата бяла кожа. Мравешка пътека, тесен капилярен керван вървеше нагоре по средата на корема му, за да се прекъсне точно до пъпа. По-тъмна и по-гъста растителност бе разперила крила на гърдите му.
Под това имаше мъртва съпруга и спящо дете.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, quote from Bend Sinister
“He stopped. “You're upset. I'll shut up and leave you”
― Iris Johansen, quote from The Killing Game
“I need to learn to recognize and identify these danger signs when I see them, and not brush them off as "eccentricities," "lovable oddities," or "a sign that he s crying out for help and the comforting of a codependent nurturer that only I, Princess Enabler, can provide. Bad boyfriends don't disguise themselves; their girlfriends do it for them. ”
― Laurie Notaro, quote from Autobiography of a Fat Bride: True Tales of a Pretend Adulthood
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