I swear the venn diagram of cesare enjoyers and tmann javert enjoyers is a circle.... it's about the barely restrained self it's about the primal terror of being it's about a weird little guy with fun makeup
Oh my god you’re so right... same brand delightful little freak.
#ask #fellow Goodtastehaver... #terrence mann could do caligari and conrad could do javert tbh
Just look at the way Tom/Conrad is putting his hand over Weaver arm and not anywhere else. But also look at Mason holding on in to Slivko's leg and also Conrad trying to protect Mason and Reg putting himself over them so they keep at most save as posible under his chest. But there's also Slivo trying to protect Conrad a bit with his arm even if he just passed out and is still weak. I mean, this is just adorable, how they take care of each other so much. I need more scenes of them doing this kind of things and growing their relationship. And I hope that if there is a second movie, we have Slivko too on it, cause I'll miss my boy a lot if they don't put him on it.
Per ottenere il pieno valore della gioia devi avere qualcuno con cui condividerla. (Mark Twain)
La grandezza non consiste nell’essere questo o quello, ma nell’essere se stesso, e questo ciascuno lo può se lo vuole. (Kierkegaard)
Quando un pensiero ti domina lo ritrovi espresso dappertutto, lo annusi perfino nel vento. (Thomas Mann)
Si vive come si sogna: perfettamente soli. (Joseph…
If you’ve followed me for a while, you know I LOVE Tom Hiddleston. Tom Hiddleston in this is like peak Tom Hiddleston. He’s literally the best part of this movie. Honestly, the movie is kind of cliche and a little bit boring (I like the 2005 King Kong way better). I just felt that some of the fight scenes were unnecessarily drawn out. And that some scenes were just plain unnecessary. But Tom Hiddleston? Worth it. For sure.
Sex/nudity: 0/10 (there isn’t even kissing)
Language: 3/10 (a couple incomplete f-words, several other instances of cursing)
Trust is a difficult thing. Whether it's finding the right people to trust, or trusting the right people will do the wrong thing. But trusting your heart is the riskiest thing of all. In the end the only person we can truly trust is ourself.
Pairing: Reg Slivko x Irene Brown (OC), James Conrad x sister!OC, Jack Chapman x sister!OC, sibling OC pair
Summary: Irene finds her long lost brother.
Warnings: mentions of child abuse, cursing, probably some crying
Word Count: 2807
The flight to Omaha, Nebraska took eleven hours without connecting flights. I now understood why Reles and Mills had kissed the ground. I tried to sleep, curling up against James and shutting my eyes, but it evaded me.
I felt sick to my stomach. Was I really about to see Stephen, after five years? Silvie, Cole’s widow, had said that Stephen still talked about me. The thought made me even more anxious. What if I was nothing like he remembered?
James and I were now in a taxicab, only ten minutes from our motel. The rest of the group would meet us there in two days. I was excited to see them again. I looked over at James, who had bags under his eyes. The jet lag was catching up to him, and I would surely be next.
“Hey.” James tugged on my shoulder, and I looked up. “Let’s go.”
I shuffled out of the car, helping James by grabbing my own bag from the trunk. He circled back around to the driver and paid him. I followed his lead as he walked into the motel, checking us in. He took the keys and gave me a soft smile, holding a hand out for me to grab.
We settled into our room in silence. It was decorated brightly, two beds, and a sunshine yellow on every surface I could see. I sat on the bed further away from the door and sighed. James looked my way.
“What’s wrong, Bitsy?”
“To see Stephen?”
I nodded. “So much has changed in the last five years. What if he doesn’t even recognize me?”
James chuckled. “Your face hasn’t changed that much.”
I sighed again. “That’s true.”
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be around. If anything goes wrong, I’ll come get you.” He shrugged.
“You think something’s gonna go wrong?”
He sat next to me on the bed and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “No, Ire. Absolutely not, no. But I know that you like to think about worst case scenarios. So, if anything does happen to go wrong, I’ll just get you out.”
“Okay, but what about Cole’s funeral?”
“We won’t go.”
I snorted. “Like hell I’m gonna let Reg, or any of the boys for that matter, sit through that funeral alone.”
James grinned. “They won’t be alone, they’ve got each other.”
I deadpanned, and his teasing grin eased into a reassuring smile. “I promise things will go okay.”
“You’re making a lot of promises, Jay.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, moment’s over. Go get changed, we’re leaving in ten minutes.”
I gigged as he began to rummage through his own bag. I followed suit, and we kept our backs to each other as we changed.
“Don’t get me wrong, as excited as I am at the prospect of having Stephen back in my life, I sure as hell miss the others.”
James huffed. “I know. If I can be honest with you, I miss Mason.”
I rang the doorbell, feeling like I was going to faint. Inside, I heard the bark of what was most likely a big dog. A small smile broke onto my face. Stephen had wanted a dog for as long as I could remember.
The white door opened, and an older woman with greying hair and a polite smile stood there. “Can I help you, dear?”
I swallowed, eyeing her through the screen door. “I uh… My name’s Irene. I was on the expedition with your husband, I-”
“Oh, you’re here to see Stephen!” She whispered. “Come in, come in.” She pushed the screen door open and ushered me inside.
“I’m really sorry for your loss.” I shuffled inside.
She shook her head. “Thank you. Here, you can get comfortable, I’ll call him.”
A St. Bernard came my way, tail wagging. I giggled as the dog licked my hand, then butted its head into my torso.
“Oh, Presley, leave her alone.” Silvie pulled on the dog’s collar. “Sorry about that, he just gets excited.”
“His name’s Presley?”
“Yeah,” Silvie nodded, “as in-”
“Elvis Presley. I named him myself, actually. Who is this, mom?”
I looked up, and it felt like looking into the mirror of an alternate universe. He was here, looking healthy and happy. If we would’ve had normal childhoods, this is what we would both look like right now.
Silvie spoke up, gesturing between us. “Stephen, this is-”
“Hi, Stevie.” I gave the boy standing in front of me a soft smile.
I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn’t help the tears that began to brew in my eyes. Silvie excused herself, saying that we would be in the kitchen if either of us needed her. She pulled Presley along with her. Stephen looked at me, his eyes sad, but the smile on his face wide.
“What happened to your arm?” He pointed, voice weak.
I laughed through my own tears. “There was a tiger. No biggie.”
“What were you doing around a tiger?”
The smile dropped from my face and I looked down, sniffing. “I… I was on the expedition… with your dad.” I looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Stephen.”
He gave a soft shrug. “Thanks.”
There was silence, and then he pointed to my arm again. “You gonna be okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’ll heal soon.”
“I really missed you, Reen.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Dad just kinda dropped off the face of the earth, ya know.”
I felt sick to my stomach once more. “Stevie, I…” I sighed. “Dad… dad’s dead. He died a few months after he sent you away.”
A look of shock spread over his face, and he took a step forward. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”
He snorted. “I’m not.”
It was my turn to be shocked, and I felt my eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“God, Irene, after all he put us through? I’m glad he’s gone.”
A weight seemed to come off my chest, like a curse lifted. I looked at Stephen, crying again, and opened my arms wide. He grinned at me and pulled me in for a hug, resting his head on top of mine.
“Oh, it is pretty up here.” I huffed as I settled on the tree branch.
“Good for sunsets.” Stephen let out a burp from beside me, and I leaned away, laughing.
He shrugged, a smile on his face. He had led me out to the backyard, where there was a huge tree that he loved. He had convinced me to climb up it, telling me that the view was one he knew I would appreciate.
“I used to spend a lotta time up here.” He sighed, leaning against the trunk of the tree.
“Why? You’ve always been scared of heights.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Still am. If I fall from here, I could break my neck. That’s scary.”
“You’re not gonna fall, don’t worry.”
“Promise?” He looked over at me with raised eyebrows.
I nodded. “Promise. So why did you spend so much time up here?”
“It was when they first adopted me. I felt so out of place, and so lonely.” There was a long pause, and I looked down at my feet, swinging in the air.
“How old were you? I mean, I know we had just turned thirteen when Dad sent you away, but…”
I sucked in air through my teeth. That age was tough for me, but at least I had the comfort and security of James by my side. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for him.
“I just wanted to go home, man.” He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Fuck, not even home. I just missed you. I mean, our whole lives, we got shuffled around from place to place…” He sighed. “It was always you and me. I didn’t even miss Dad. I just didn’t wanna be alone.” He was looking down now, face sad and shoulders dropped.
“Stephen… how did you even end up here?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Um… I mean, I walked for a while. Jumped on some buses. I got on trains when I could afford it. I didn’t really know where I was going. Just away.”
I squinted. “Wait, what?”
“How did you end up in the states?”
“Irene, Dad sent me here.” Stephen looked down at me, confused.
“No, he…” I trailed off.
“What’re you talking about, Reen?”
“He told us that he sent you to boarding school.”
“Us?” Stephen repeated, eyebrows still furrowed.
“James and I. He told us that you… that you were at a boarding school. But he wouldn’t tell us where.”
Stephen shook his head. “He lied to you.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“He put me on a plane to Brooklyn, New York. Said that I was gonna go live with his cousin. Only, nobody showed up for me.”
“Yeah!” He grinned. “Apparently we’re from Brooklyn.”
Reality set in again and I rubbed my forehead. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“I did my best on the streets for as long as I could, but… I ended up in foster care within the year.”
My shoulders dropped even further. “He just wanted to split us up.”
Stephen frowned. “Why?”
“Cause he knew we would both hate him when we grew up. And since James and I were close, he just decided to get rid of you.” Tears came again.
“God, fuck him.” He spat, angry.
I sighed, watching as Stephen’s young adopted siblings ran around in the yard below us.
“I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry I let him, I’m sorry I couldn’t find you.”
“Hey, no, it’s not your fault.” He inched closer, throwing an arm around my shoulders lazily. “It’s not your fault, Reen. We were kids. You couldn’t have done anything.”
“All of this time, I just, I thought that we couldn’t find you. I thought that… that we didn’t do enough.”
“No, Irene.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”
I sighed. “I don’t get it…”
“Don’t get what?”
“Why he did any of it.” I shook my head. “Why did he do any of it? Who the fuck gives six years olds weapons? Who sets them loose in the wo-” I cut myself off mid-word, looking the other way. “I just don’t get it. I’ve spent the last eight years trying to figure it out. And I still can’t.”
His arm tightened around me. “I don’t think we’ll ever understand, Boo Boo.”
I chuckled, wiping my tears away. We had grown up on Yogi Bear, and at age three, still struggling to speak, Stephen could only call me Boo Boo until we were five.
“Hey, do you still like waffles?”
He looked up at me, making a face. “I fucking love waffles.”
“You have a dirty ass mouth, kid.”
He grinned. “Had to make up for you not being here.”
I rolled my eyes with a goofy smile on my face. “You wanna go get waffles? My treat.”
“I know a good diner, actually.” He perked up. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just gonna take me a minute to get down.”
“Hey, who’s Slivko?” He leaned closer, reading the name off of Reg’s army jacket.
I had been wearing it non-stop, like a security blanket. I hugged myself, and the smell of Reg hit me. I grinned.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s been an eventful five years, Stevie.” I winked.
“This is my favorite place. Oh, and their pancakes are pretty good if you still like them.” Stephen grinned as we looked over the menus in front of us.
I smiled. “I do still love pancakes. British pancakes suck.”
“Yeah, wait, so you’re still with James?” Stephen cocked his head.
I nodded. “Yeah. Um, after Dad died, I just kinda stayed.” I shrugged. “There was no one to pick me up and move me to the next place.”
“So then how did you end up on the expedition that…” He trailed off, and I watched as his eyes glazed over.
It was like he kept forgetting, and then kept remembering. I knew the feeling all too well, and it was one that made my insides churn.
“Uh, James became a tracker. I-I mean, he fought in the war obviously, but… the people who hired your dad’s squadron, they hired James too. And we don’t leave without each other, so…”
He looked at me with a knowing look. “It wasn’t a tiger, was it? I know, you could take a tiger out from a hundred feet away. How did it get that close?”
I looked around, making sure that we hadn’t caught anyone’s attention. I leaned in and shook my head. “Not right now.”
He scowled. “Irene, how-”
“Not here.” I repeated, clearing my throat as the waitress came to our table.
“What can I get for y’all?” She was an older woman, and she seemed to recognize Stephen.
“Uh, can I just get my usual?” He smiled smoothly.
She nodded. “Of course you can, Stephen. And for you?” She turned my way with a smile.
“Could I please get an order of chocolate chip pancakes?”
“Of course! We’ll have everything right out for you two.” She gave Stephen a knowing smile, and his eyes went wide.
“Oh, uh. No, actually, uh, Miss Betty, this is my sister. Irene.”
Miss Betty’s eyes went wide, and a smile came onto her face. “The famous Irene?”
I chuckled awkwardly, looking back at Stephen. “I guess so?”
“He talks about you all the time, honey. I’ll have your things right out for you, alright. Very happy for you, dear.” She patted Stephen’s shoulder as she made her way to another table.
“You talk about me?”
“Yeah. All shit, though.” He broke into a huge smile.
“Good. I don’t talk about you at all.” I gave him a playful scowl.
“I know you don’t. As if you would tell anybody about your past.”
I scoffed. “Hey!”
The family at the booth next to us turned and shot us a look. I turned back to Stephen and lowered my voice.
“That was uncalled for.”
He stuck his tongue out at me, and I repeated the motion, taunting him as if we were both children.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Stephen.”
I looked up to see James sliding into the booth, next to Stephen. I grinned.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Brought you a surprise.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
“Close your eyes, Bitsy.”
I sighed and did as told, hearing Stephen and James whisper between the two of them. Someone sat down next to me, tossing their arm over my shoulder. I was hit with the smell of pine wood and oranges. My heart fluttered as I realized it was Reg. I melted into his side, my eyes still closed.
“Hi, doll.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my forehead.
“So, who are you?”
“Stephen.” I hissed, opening my eyes to shoot him a look.
“My name’s Reg.”
Stephen squinted, holding a hand out across the table. Reg shook it, and I looked back up at him with a goofy smile on my face.
“Hi.” I whispered.
“Hi, doll.” He repeated, grinning right back. “Nice to meet you.” He spoke to Stephen, who was still staring.
I kicked him under the table, and his facade broke. He choked, presumably on air, and began to laugh.
“I’m just messing with you, man. Nice to meet you too. James.” He turned. “Long time, no see.”
“You’ve grown.” James chuckled, and from there, the two seemed engulfed in their own conversation.
I was sure that James felt as much relief as I did, now knowing that Stephen did not, in fact, hate us. Reg’s arm tightened around me, and I looked back at him, the stupid smile on my face once more.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled softly. “I missed you.”
I felt myself melt even more into his hold. “I missed you, too. You look weird in normal clothes.”
He chuckled. “You look beautiful in my jacket.”
A blush rose on my cheeks, and he winked. I snuggled up to him as close as I could, and he kissed the top of my head once more.
“I’ve got your pancakes and your waffles. Are you guys gonna need some more menus?” Miss Betty asked, putting our plates down in front of us.
Stephen and I looked at each other, and he broke into a snort. I looked back at her.
look at this bean i would give my left arm to marry this man fuck
Pairing: Reg Slivko x Irene Brown
James Conrad x Irene Brown (brother-sister relationship)
Jack Chapman x Irene Brown (brother-sister relationship)
Summary: The gang reassesses their next steps, and reassurance is given as they go their separate ways.
Warnings: cursing, crying, nothing new really
Word Count: 2300
“God, it is good to be back on solid land without giant monsters.” Mills grinned.
Reles elbowed him playfully and dropped to his knees, kissing the ground. Mills followed suit. I giggled, and Reg looked down at me with a goofy smile.
“What?” I stopped walking.
“I wish I could hold you right now is all.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes as a blush spread across my cheeks. “Here.” I stuck myself to his side and maneuvered my arm around his crutch. I placed my hand on his bicep and smiled up at him. He bent down as far as he could and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“Alright, let’s keep moving.” Jack teased from behind us.
“Oh, shove it, old man.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
He flicked the back of my head as he passed by my side, a huge smile on his face. James and Mason followed, and Hank stopped to stand at our sides.
“What’s up?” Reg looked over at him.
“You two remind me of my wife and I. So young, so in love. Perfect for each other, really.”
Reg and I met eyes, both blushing. I bit my lip as Reg thanked Hank before looking down at me.
“Man, next thing you know, we’re gonna be popping kids out too.”
My nose wrinkled up and I shook my head. “No.”
“No?” He gave me puppy eyes.
“Absolutely not, love.”
He grinned and pressed another kiss to the top of my head.
“Come on, lover-boy!” Reles and Mills teased from their spots on the back of the truck.
Reg rolled his eyes, and I giggled once more, letting go of his arm so that we could catch up with the rest of the group.
“Weird to be in a civilian airport.” Reles looked around, shifting in his seat.
James and I looked at each other, and he smiled softly. Three weeks ago, we had landed at this exact same airport, ready to have fun in Vietnam. Now, we were coming back with a large sum of money, and enough trauma to burn through a few therapists. Reles and Mills sat on the furthest end of the seats, and Mason and James were sitting on the ground in front of us. Hank was on Reg’s other end, and I was between him and Jack. San and Houston had to fly out as soon as possible. They gave us our money and split, explaining that they had to inform Randa’s family and catalog their results in a way that would be safe for the island.
“Alright, I know nobody really wants to talk about this, but we should.” Jack leaned down from the end of the row, sighing deeply.
“Cole’s funeral… it’s gonna be in two weeks. I already talked to his wife. She wants us there. All of us.”
I shivered, and Reg’s arm tightened around my shoulders. I hadn’t told him anything more, but he had pieced together that my brother and Cole had been connected somehow.
“So…” Mason sighed. “Are we meeting there?”
Jack nodded. “I thought we could. Just so that we can all be together. I’m sure that’ll make it easier.”
“We should get together the day before.” James spoke up. “It’ll be easier to readjust.”
Jack mumbled something in agreement, but I had tuned them out. Whatever they settled on, James and I would do. I had my head resting on Reg’s shoulder, arm still in a sling and wedged between his torso and my own side. He noticed that I had seemingly dipped out of the current plane of reality, and he pulled me closer toward him and rested his chin over my head.
I huffed, nuzzling as close to him as I could, trying hard not to think about everything that had happened to us.
“So it’s settled.” Jack’s voice broke back through my haze.
“Two weeks from today, we’ll all meet at this location, in Nebraska.”
A thick silence settled over our group, and I looked up to see Reg lost in his own thoughts this time. Reles’s face had dropped, and Mills was holding his head in his hands. Cole had loved him like a son.
They called the boarding of a flight number over the loudspeaker, and Reles placed a hand on Mills’s shoulder.
“Come on, man. That’s us.”
Mills wiped the tears from his eyes and sat up, clearing his throat. I let go of Reg, and he and Jack got to their feet along with Mills and Reles. The four of them exchanged hugs and whispers, then rough pats on the back.
“We’ll see you guys soon.” Reles saluted at Jack, and then waved at the rest of us as he grabbed Mills by the shoulder and began to lead him toward their gate.
Reg settled back into his seat, and I let him sling his arm back around my shoulders. Jack sat down again, and I looked up at him, feeling my heart begin to strain. I was, once more, faced with the question of what would happen after we all went home. He noticed this, and he whispered something to Reg, who lifted his arm away from me.
I turned from my boy and snuggled into Jack’s side, my eyes beginning to well with tears. Mason and James took the seats that the boys had left behind, with James gently touching my knee as he passed by.
“We’ll figure it out. Hell, maybe you can come stay with Gracie and I for a while.” Jack gave me a goofy smile. “I’m sure Billy would love that.”
I shook my head, wiping my tears away. “It’s not just that, Jacks.”
“Then what is it, Ira? I mean, you’re eighteen now. You can travel the world, like you’ve always wanted to.”
“Stephen.” I whispered, looking up with a sigh.
“What about Stephen, honey?” His voice softened even more as he used the nickname he had only used twice for me before.
Once, when I told him about our father, and the second time, when I told him that I was leaving with my father and Stephen.
“He’s Cole’s kid now.” I fished the picture out of my pocket and showed him.
“God…” Jack’s accent was thick, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I… Cole was private about his family, I never knew.”
“He’s gonna be there. And… and I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
They called for another flight over the loudspeaker before Jack could give me an answer, and Hank stood from Reg’s side. Jack looked up and nodded to him, asking for a minute.
“Look, Ira… that’s our flight, I’m escorting Marlow home, but…” He sighed. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We always have before, and we will again. I promise.” He held my face in his hands and put his forehead to mine.
I put my own hands over his wrists and nodded, taking a breath. “Okay.”
“We’ll see each other soon, Ira. Two weeks, yeah?”
I nodded as he kissed my forehead. “Two weeks. Go home to Grace and Billy, I’m sure they miss you like hell.”
He chuckled. “I’ll tell Billy that he gets to meet you soon.”
“Come on, Chapman. We’re gonna miss our flight.” Hank stood in front of him.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” Jack kissed the top of my head again before standing up.
Reg went to stand, and Jack shook his head. “At ease, Sliv.”
I smiled at the nickname, and looked at Jack with watery eyes. James stood and shook his hand, and Mason smiled warmly at both of the men.
“Thanks for taking care of our sister.”
“See you soon, Conrad.” Jack extended his arm for a side hug, the way that men usually hugged, patting each other’s backs roughly.
Reg saluted Jack off with two fingers, and I gave him a big goofy smile.
“Be safe, Jacks. See you soon.”
“Later days, guys!”
“See ya, Hank!”
“Good luck with your wife and your son!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and called after them.
Hank turned on his ankle and waved as he walked backwards, following Jack off to their gate. I grumbled as I changed spots, taking the one to Reg’s left so that I could rest my leg over his good one. He slung his arm around my shoulders, and I wiggled closer to him, practically sitting in his lap now. Mason and James were close together, Mason’s head on his shoulder and his head over hers. It seemed like they weren’t exactly at the level that Reg and I had jumped to, but they definitely had some feelings about one another.
“You okay, doll?” Reg’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned back to him with a soft smile and nodded. He put his hand on my cheek, and I leaned into his touch, letting my eyes flutter shut.
“I’m gonna miss being able to kiss you all of the time.” He whispered.
I gave a sad smile, opening my eyes. He was looking at me with so much love in his eyes, that I wanted to cry again. He caught onto it and pecked my lips, thumb holding my chin up.
“Oh, I-uh, I wanna give you something.” He pulled back, rummaging through the duffel bag at his feet.
“What is it?” I shifted, turning so that my side was completely perpendicular to his torso.
He pulled out his green army jacket and held it out to me with a big, goofy smile. “Here.”
“I’m done with the army. Hell, we were supposed to be going home for good before Packard signed us up for the island expedition.”
“But… Reg, I… I can’t take it.”
“Please?” He gave me his puppy eyes, hand holding my cheek again. “I think it would look good on you. And you gave me your hair tie earlier.” He held up his wrist, the thin black hair tie still around it.
I gingerly grabbed the jacket, and he grinned, draping it over my shoulders, since I couldn’t put my arm through it just yet. I smiled and pulled him down to me, kissing him softly.
“I love you so much.” I whispered against his lips.
He ran his hands through my hair before grabbing my hand in his and kissing my knuckles. “I love you too.”
“Hey.” I felt Mason softly tap my shoulder. “Sorry, my flight is boarding.”
We both turned to her, and I grabbed her into a one-armed hug, resting my head on her shoulder. I was going to miss her over these next two weeks.
“Be safe. Please.” I begged her.
“I will be. I promise.”
“I’ll walk you to your gate.” James offered, standing up and holding a hand out for her.
Mason nodded at him and said goodbye to Reg, patting his shoulder with a gentle smile. James shouldered her bag and they walked off, leaving Reg and I alone in the busy airport.
“Yes?” I turned back to him, eyes wide.
“Do you wanna meet my family?”
I felt a blush creep onto my face. “Are you sure?”
“I mean, I already met half of yours.” He grinned, referring to Jack and James. “Also, I can’t wait to show my brother that I’ve got the best girl in the entire world.”
“Oh, shush.” I let my head fall onto his shoulder. “I’d love to meet your family, Reg.”
He only kissed the top of my head. The loudspeaker spat out another flight number, and Reg’s head popped up. I sighed.
“Yours or mine?”
He nodded. “Yours. Come on, I’ll walk you down to meet up with Conrad.”
“Alright, Bitsy. Ready to go?” James hoisted my bag over his shoulder so that I wouldn’t have to struggle with it.
I sighed. “Yeah, just…” I looked over my shoulder to see Reg leaning against the wall.
He would wait for us to board before he went for his own flight.
“Didn’t you guys already say bye?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t feel like enough, Jay.” I mumbled.
“Go. I’ll wait here.”
I gave Reg a look, and he opened his arms, still leaning against the wall. I ran toward him the way I had in the river, which felt like ages ago. He caught me in his hold and pulled me tightly against him.
“I don’t know how I’m gonna go two weeks without sleeping in your arms.” I whimpered.
His grip on me tightened. “It’ll be alright, doll. We all just need a second to get things settled. After that, we’ll be together. Okay?”
I pulled my head back, ignoring the tears in my eyes. “How?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “May or may not ask you to marry me, no big deal.”
“God, Slivko.” I held a hand over my mouth.
He pulled it off and kissed my lips. “I love you, but we have to go. You two are gonna miss your flight.”
“I want more kisses.” I whined, pulling him down to my level.
“Doll, we’ll see each other in two weeks.”
“I don’t care.” I mumbled in between each kiss. “I want kisses.”
“Irene! We’re gonna miss our flight, let’s go!” James called.
I groaned and kissed Reg harder before pulling back. “I’ll see you soon.”
He winked. “I’ll call you?”
I blushed. “Sounds good. I love you!” I started making my way back to James.
“I love you!” He cupped his hands around his mouth.
James grabbed my good arm and began to tug. “Come on, Bits. Let’s go.”
Reg and I kept our eyes on each other, and right before I was out of his line of sight, he gave me a wink. My heart swelled within my chest.
so anyways my boyfriend and i broke up and for some reason i resorted to my kong: skull island fic for comfort and damn i love that movie and so uh i think maybe i will.. continue the fic,,, and also probably rewrite some parts,,, so sorry for the inconvenience.. thank u all <3
McCarthy’s entire speech is excellent, funny in that subtle way no one can be anymore. She disparages psychiatry and science, refutes George Steiner’s notorious argument that censorship is good for literature with a learned discussion of Russian writers from Pushkin to Solzhenitsyn, and concludes that the best and truest freedom is simply that of being alive and uncompelled.
The polemical preamble by Peter MacGuire, one of McCarthy’s former students, is an idyll of college life before the managerial sentimentalist bureaucracy took over:
In the fall of 1987, during my final semester, I enrolled in Mary McCarthy’s English literature class, “The Place of Ideas in Fiction.” Always immaculately dressed, the seventy-six-year-old novelist and critic looked like a patrician grandmother. Despite her appearance, she did not suffer fools. I quickly learned that when she flashed her wicked grin, someone was about to get a rhetorical shiv in the chest.
English literature was not my strongest subject. While I enjoyed reading Iris Murdoch’s The Black Prince, Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent, Stendahl’s [sic] The Red and the Black, I did not like Henry James’s Princess Cassamassima. When I complained that it was boring, McCarthy smiled her menacing smile, and said, “Perhaps you’d prefer reading detective novels.” One class member, who I’ll call Jane, irritated her because she rarely did the reading and never participated in the classroom discussions. One day Jane walked into class with her hair dyed a strange, new color, and McCarthy said loudly, “Jane,” then paused and flashed that evil grin, and said, “I see you have a new coiffure.”
Already when I was in school 20 years ago this was a dying breed. I always tried to take classes with professors over 50; they would lecture and discuss. The under-40s were the worst, straight-up kindergarten: “Now, class, I want you to get in groups...” And should we lie down on our mats too, and will you bring us some milk? Then I came to teach and realized nowadays you have to do a little of that, though the infantilization is corrupting to everyone’s mind and soul, not least my own.
A class on “The Place of Ideas in Fiction” sounds superb. But I don’t recall any ideas in The Princess Cassamassima or The Secret Agent, only the deliberate smothering of ideas under aesthetic prose—which is how fiction puts ideas in their place in the hands of apolitical liberal aesthetes like those two prodigious Englishmen-by-adoption. I would choose either James or Conrad—probably the latter—and pit him against Dostoevsky or Mann if I were teaching such a class, which I’m sure I never will.
cinemafilledamour february review
films watched: 91
favorites: shithouse (cooper raiff), uncut gems (josh & benny safdie), drive my car (ryusuke hamaguchi), flee (jonas poher rasmussen), marty (delbert mann), the peanut butter falcon (tyler nilson, michael schwartz), artists and models (frank tashlin), columbus (kogonada), i married a witch (rené clair), the court jester (melvin frank, norman panama), shanghai express (josef von sternberg), one child nation (nanfu wang, zhang jialing), 12 angry men (sidney lumet)
lowest rated: waves (trey edward shults), the addams family 2 (conrad vernon, greg tiernan), how to build a girl (coky giedroyc), spectre (sam mendes), the hating game (peter hutchings), the king's man (matthew vaughn)
Tất nhiên, không nên chọn sách để đọc chỉ dựa vào độ dày của gáy sách.
Nhưng 96 cuốn sách này có thể sẽ giúp các mọt sách đỡ thấy oải như khi phải cầm trên tay một cuốn sách dày 500 trang hay 1000 trang.
Sẽ đỡ đau hơn khi bị sách rơi vào mặt, lúc nằm đọc trên giường.
Sẽ tiện lợi hơn khi bỏ vào túi xách, hoặc mang theo vào toilet.
Sẽ dễ dàng hơn cho những mọt sách bận rộn, hoàn toàn có thể xử lý một cuốn sách sạch sẽ trong vòng vài giờ đồng hồ.
Sẽ là cheat code cho các mọt sách đã lỡ đặt mục tiêu Reading Challenge quá cao.
Và quan trọng nhất là, tất cả đều được đảm bảo về chất lượng.
1. Chuyện ở nông trại - George Orwell
2. Người xa lạ - Albert Camus
3. Thần thoại Sisyphus - Albert Camus
4. Chết ở Venice - Thomas Mann
5. Của chuột và người - John Steinbeck
6. Bác sĩ Jekyll và ông Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
7. Hòn đảo của tiến sĩ Moreau - H. G. Wells
8. Cỗ máy thời gian - H. G. Wells
9. Hoàng tử bé - Antoine de Saint-Exupery
10. Ông già và biển cả - Ernest Hemingway
11. Nhà giả kim - Paulo Coelho
12. Bức tranh Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
13. Ngôi nhà thạch lựu - Oscar Wilde
14. Căn phòng của riêng ta - Virginia Woolf
15. Mười giờ rưỡi đêm hè - Marguerite Duras
16. Người tình - Marguerite Duras
17. Mắt xanh tóc đen - Marguerite Duras
18. Lắng nghe gió hát - Haruki Murakami
19. Hồ - Yasunari Kawabata
20. Những người đẹp say ngủ - Yasunari Kawabata
21. Hồi ức về những cô điếm buồn của tôi - Gabriel García Márquez
22. Giữa lòng tăm tối - Joseph Conrad
23. Những đêm trắng - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
24. Hoá thân - Franz Kafka
25. Tiếng gọi nơi hoang dã - Jack London
26. Lễ hội của vô nghĩa - Milan Kundera
27. Chậm - Milan Kundera
28. Buồn ơi, chào mi - Françoise Sagan
29. Người đàn bà trên cầu thang - Berhard Schlink
30. Cô gái đồng trinh và chàng du tử - D. H. Lawrence
31. Công chúa - D. H. Lawrence
32. Lụa - Alessandro Baricco
33. Lan Hữu - Nhượng Tống
34. Thuốc mê - Thâm Tâm
35. Hai người điên giữa kinh thành Hà Nội - Nguyễn Bính
36. Bữa sáng ở Tiffany's - Truman Capote
37. Cửa hiệu tự sát - Jean Teulé
38. Cánh buồm đỏ thắm - Alexander Grin
39. Lá thư hè - Alphonse Daudet
40. Những thành phố vô hình - Italo Calvino
41. Palomar - Italo Calvino
42. Viễn vọng - Patrick Deville
43. Nguyện ước - Michèle Desbordes
44. Không gì là mãi mãi - Laurence Tardieu
45. Ở quán cà phê của tuổi trẻ lạc lối - Patrick Modiano
46. Để em khỏi lạc trong khu phố - Patrick Modiano
47. Từ thăm thẳm lãng quên - Patrick Modiano
48. Một gánh xiếc qua - Patrick Modiano
49. Một mùa thơ dại - Higuchi Ichiyo
50. Hai cuốn nhật ký - Tanizaki Junichiro
51. Hẹn mùa hoa cúc - Ueda Akinari
52. Tà dương - Dazai Osamu
53. Bản Sonata Kreutzer - Lev Tolstoy
54. Quấn quít - Émile Ajar
55. Nhẫn thạch - Atiq Rahimi
56. Di sản của Eszter - Márai Sándor
57. Chỉ tại con chim bồ câu - Patrick Süskind
58. Tôi có quyền hủy hoại bản thân - Kim Young Ha
59. Kẻ sát nhân - Kim Young Ha
60. Hồi ức kẻ sát nhân - Amélie Nothomb
61. Nhật ký chim én - Amélie Nothomb
62. Hủy hoại vì yêu - Amélie Nothomb
63. Đôi mắt ấy vẫn ở trên giường - Yamada Amy
64. Sống lưng của Jesse - Yamada Amy
65. Trò đùa của những ngón tay - Yamada Amy
66. Rắn và khuyên lưỡi - Kanehara Hitomi
67. Nghệ sĩ hình thể - Don Delillo
68. Tên của khí trời - Alberto Ruy-Sánchez
69. Lão già mê đọc truyện tình - Luis Sepúlveda
70. Chuyện con mèo dạy hải âu bay - Luis Sepúlveda
71. Chuyện con ốc sên muốn biết tại sao nó chậm chạp - Luis Sepúlveda
72. Chuyện con mèo và con chuột bạn thân của nó - Luis Sepúlveda
73. Chuyện con chó tên là trung thành - Luis Sepúlveda
74. Người đẹp ngủ và con thoi ma thuật - Neil Gaiman
75. Còn sữa là còn hy vọng - Neil Gaiman
76. Charlie và nhà máy chocolate - Roald Dahl
77. Alice ở xứ sở diệu kỳ - Lewis Carroll
78. Nhà Tuck bất tử - Natalie Babbit
79. Bài ca mừng Giáng Sinh - Charles Dickens
80. Những quả trứng định mệnh - Mikhail Bulgakov
81. Trái tim chó - Mikhail Bulgakov
82. Chiến mã - Michael Morpurgo
84. Mặt trời mù - Curzio Malaparte
85. Người không quê hương - Kurt Vonnegut
86. Phật ở tầng áp mái - Julie Otsuka
87. Cuộc gặp gỡ mùa hè - Takashi Hiraide
88. Người ăn chay - Han Kang
89. Cá hồi - Ahn Do-hyun
90. Nắp biển - Banana Yoshimoto
91. Hồ - Banana Yoshimoto
92. Đoạn tuyệt - Nhất Linh
93. Hồn bướm mơ tiên - Khái Hưng
94. Nắng trong vườn - Thạch Lam
95. Gió đầu mùa - Thạch Lam
96. Hà Nội băm sáu phố phường - Thạch Lam
I’m late to discussing this now notorious list from a couple days ago, the New York Times’s “25 finalists for Best Book of the Past 125 Years” as nominated by readers. Some have called it “embarrassing.” The books that undeniably belong on the list do stand out. The Great Gatsby and Beloved and Lolita—no quarrel there. And Ulysses and One Hundred Years of Solitude might objectively be the two most important or at least influential novels of the 20th century, one the epic of modernism, the other the epic of postmodernism.
The 21s-century selections mostly passed me by. I read 10 pages of A Little Life but wasn’t interested in the language; then I read Daniel Mendelsohn’s famous review, which convinced me it was high-end sadist yaoi—but feel free to let me know if I’m wrong. Bold of the Times to let Gone with the Wind stand given the political climate (and, well, the absence of The Sound and the Fury or Absalom, Absalom!), though I’ve never read the book or seen the film and don’t want to. With some of these books—The Fellowship of the Ring, Charlotte’s Web, Lonesome Dove, Harry Potter—I am content with having watched the movie, even if I don’t remember the movie (I do remember Charlotte’s Web). All the Light We Cannot See? Never saw it myself. I don’t always judge a book by its weird, mawkish title, but come on. I’ll finish Infinite Jest someday. A Fine Balance sounds pretty good; I should read it. Pass on The Overstory—as a bad person, I don’t really care about trees.
This mediocre, mannish, whitish list provides a rare opportunity for lovers of the canon and promoters of diversity and equity to join hands. Where are Virginia Woolf, Willa Cather, Nella Larsen, Zora Neale Hurston, Ralph Ellison, Iris Murdoch, Kazuo Ishiguro? It’s not restricted to English—so, for the love of God, where is Thomas Mann? Also, if it’s supposed to be the greatest books, why are they all novels? I vote for The Waste Land, I vote for Omeros. Kafka, Borges. Wallace Stevens, Elizabeth Bishop. Seamus Heaney. Tennessee Williams, August Wilson. Shaw, Beckett, Soyinka. Freud, Arendt; Auerbach, Frye. 125 years is enough to encompass some or all of Conrad and James. Saul Bellow, Cynthia Ozick. Thomas Pynchon, Cormac McCarthy. Joan Didion, Don DeLillo. E. M. Forster, W. B. Yeats, W. H. Auden, J. G. Ballard, J. M. Coetzee, A. S. Byatt, W. G. Sebald. Even given a commitment to the history of popular/genre fiction, 125 years include Stoker, Conan Doyle, Wells, Lovecraft. The Maltese Falcon. The Big Sleep. The Martian Chronicles. Babel-17. Kindred. There are graphic novels better and ultimately more influential than some of the pop fiction on this list: Watchmen, Maus, Akira, Sandman, Les Cités obscures.
Let me be fair, though. Some are stigmatizing these as high-school choices. In that adolescent spirit, I am prepared to defend The Grapes of Wrath (the sentimental novel plus the naturalist chronicle plus the Transcendentalist sermon adding up to an epic of American earth) and Nineteen Eighty-Four (dystopian science-fiction as 20th-century Magna Carta, our bleak postmodern freedom charter). But I admit I did revere those novels when I was 15, and if you didn’t, maybe you can’t see their merit. For example, The Handmaid’s Tale, which I read in my 30s—fine, I guess, often politically insightful, but also a bit silly and tendentious. This might be what Orwell and Steinbeck look like if they didn’t get you when you were a kid. Yet I also read To Kill a Mockingbird and A Prayer for Owen Meaney as a teen too, enjoyed them very much, and would never mistake them for the best novels of the last 125 years. I read The Catcher in the Rye when I was 15 and didn’t like it at all, a judgment I try to keep under wraps because it’s shared with the worst moralists on social media.
Is there any disputing about taste? Of course there is, or else why are we always disputing about it? An aesthetic judgment is universal in form, or why make it? And from the relative height of 20-some years ago or even 15 years ago, we do appear to have suffered a fall.
Anders als die Andern (Different from the Others) was a German silent film written in 1919 by Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, Germany’s top sexologist and early queer activist. The aim of the project was to critique Paragraph 175 of the German Penal Code, which outlawed homosexuality. Anders als die Andern was sponsored by the Scientific Humanitarian Committee, a progressive group with the mission statement of achieving equality for queer people, founded after the Trial of Oscar Wilde, with prominent members such as Albert Einstein, Thomas Mann, Rainer Maria Rilke, and Leo Tolstoy.
The film opens with a series of newspaper headlines about young queer people who have killed themselves, stories taken from Magnus Hirschfeld’s actual patients. The main character, Paul Körner (Conrad Veidt), is arrested under Paragraph 175, and struggles with the shame and terror of being cast out of his community. Hirschfeld, playing himself, defends Paul in court, the same way that, ten years earlier, he defended Philip von Eulenburg in real life, who used Hirschfeld as a scapegoat and spread vicious antisemitic conspiracies about him in an attempt to cover for his own queerness. The year after Anders als die Andern was released, Hirschfeld was beaten nearly to death by a group of Nazis, who painted him as a Jewish intellectual using queer sex science to weaken German masculinity. Hitler reportedly called him “the most dangerous Jew in all of Germany.”
Hirschfeld draws on three different scandals throughout the film: The Trials of Oscar Wilde (1895), the Dreyfus Affair (1894-1906), and the Eulenburg Affair (1907-1909). Over the course of fifteen years, these sensationalist trials enraptured late-Imperialist Europe, from England to France to Germany, and put Judaism and Queerness at the front of everyone’s minds; the Eulenburg Affair combined the two, and painted Queerness, as a whole, as part of a Jewish plot to undermine Western civilization. Since then, antisemitism and queerphobia –– but transphobia in particular –– have gone hand-in-hand, encouraged by myths that cisgender Jewish men menstruate, or that trans healthcare and gender studies are being promoted by George Soros, in an attempt to destroy the white race. Modern fascists are all too happy to coax Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists into the open arms of the Socialism of Fools.
The very last shot of the movie is Hirschfeld striking out Paragraph 175 of the German Penal Code –– “that horrible law to which clings so much blood and tears.” On May 6th, 1933, fourteen years after that line was written, Magnus Hirschfeld’s Intitut für Sexualwissenschaft (Institute for Sexual Science), a safety haven for Queer people and research center for trans healthcare, was raided by Nazis. Dora “Dörchen” Richter, the first trans woman to undergo sexual reassignment surgery, is believed to have been killed in the attack, and the Institute’s occupants were arrested and sent to early concentration camps. Almost all of Hirschfeld’s research was destroyed in the now-infamous book-burning of May 10, 1933, and only one incomplete copy of Anders als die Andern survived. Paragraph 175, which Hirschfeld had fought since 1897, was not repealed until 1994.
In the final act of the film, Paul, overcome with shame, kills himself with poison. Magnus Hirschfeld delivers this powerful speech to his lover: “If you want to honor the memory of [Paul], then you mustn’t take your own life, but instead keep on living to change the prejudices whose victim –– one of countless many –– this dead man has become. This is the task I assign to you. Just as Zola [in the Dreyfus Affair] struggled on behalf of one man who innocently languished in prison, what matters now is to restore honor and justice to the many thousands before us, with us, and after us. Per Scientiam ad Justitiam (Justice through Science.)”
#Anders als die Andern #Magnus Hirschfeld#queer history#lgbtq+ #tw: the Holocaust #tw: Nazis #tw: antisemitic violence #tw: transphobic violence #tw: homophobic violence #tw: suicide #one day I'll write full explanation of how the trials of Wilde Dreyfus and Eulenburg set the stage for the rise of fascism #but first I have to find a complete English translation of the Eulenburg trial #which is maddeningly difficult #it's like no one outside of Germany cares that Kaiser Wilhelm's gay best friend was responsible for a whole rise of antisemitism ~1910 #that seems like important historical context for the German cultural zeitgeist as they entered WWI
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1. Die Blechtrommel (The Tin Drum) by Gunter Grass
Born in 1924, Matzerath decided at the age of three to stop growing, retaining the stature of a child whilst having an adult’s capacity for thought. Nobel Prize-winning author Günter Grass’ most famous novel is not the easiest of reads, but it is definitely worth the effort. The book “most completely defines the [20th century] in all its glories and catastrophes – the moods, atmospheres, manias, streams, currents, histories and under-histories.” (Britannic.com)
2. Buddenbrooks by Thomas Mann
Buddenbrooks is a 1901 novel by Thomas Mann, chronicling the decline of a wealthy north German merchant family over the course of four generations, incidentally portraying the manner of life and mores of the Hanseatic bourgeoisie in the years from 1835 to 1877. (Wikipedia.com)
3. The Neverending Story by Michael Ende
The book centers on a boy, Bastian Balthazar Bux, an overweight and strange child who is neglected by his father after the death of Bastian's mother. While escaping from some bullies, Bastian bursts into the antiquarian book store of Carl Conrad Coreander, where he finds his interest held by a book called The Neverending Story. Unable to resist, he steals the book and hides in his school's attic, where he begins to read. (Wikipedia.com)
4. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
All Quiet on the Western Front is a novel by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of World War I. The book describes the German soldiers' extreme physical and mental stress during the war, and the detachment from civilian life felt by many of these soldiers upon returning home from the front. (Wikipedia.com)
5. Perfume: The Story of a murderer by Patrick Suskind
In the slums of eighteenth-century France, the infant Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is born with one sublime gift—an absolute sense of smell. As a boy, he lives to decipher the odors of Paris, and apprentices himself to a prominent perfumer who teaches him the ancient art of mixing precious oils and herbs. But Grenouille’s genius is such that he is not satisfied to stop there, and he becomes obsessed with other smells like the scent of a beautiful young virgin. (Amazon.com)
6. The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johan Wolfgang van Goethe
Written in diary form, it tells the tale of an unhappy, passionate young man hopelessly in love with Charlotte, the wife of a friend - a man who he alternately admires and detests. (Goodreads.com)
7. Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse
It is the story of the quest of Siddhartha, a wealthy Indian Brahmin who casts off a life of privilege and comfort to seek spiritual fulfillment and wisdom. On his journey, Siddhartha encounters wandering ascetics, Buddhist monks, and successful merchants, as well as a courtesan named Kamala and a simple ferryman who has attained enlightenment. Traveling among these people and experiencing life’s vital passages–love, work, friendship, and fatherhood–Siddhartha discovers that true knowledge is guided from within. (Amazon.com)
8. Demian by Hermann Hesse
Demian presents the reflections of an older man on his childhood. In this book, Emil Sinclair recounts the various episodes of his childhood that led to a profound change in his Weltanschauung or worldview. Interspersed in and among these tales are Sinclair's recollections of what he was thinking at the time in question and some analysis of why he acted as he did in any given situation. (Sparknotes.com)
9. The Royal Game by Stefan Zweig
The narrator opens the story on a passenger liner traveling from New York to Buenos Aires. Driven to mental anguish as the result of total isolation by the Nazis, Dr. B, a securities expert hiding valuable assets of the nobility from the new regime, maintains his sanity only through the theft of a book of past masters' chess games which he plays endlessly, voraciously learning each one until they overwhelm his imagination to such an extent that he becomes consumed by chess. (Wikipedia.com)
10. The Man Without Qualities by Robert Musil
Set in Vienna on the eve of World War I, this great novel of ideas tells the story of Ulrich, ex-soldier and scientist, seducer and skeptic, who finds himself drafted into the grandiose plans for the 70th jubilee of the Emperor Franz Josef. (Goodreads.com)
Deutsche Zitate über das Schreiben (German quotes about writing)
“Ich habe mir nie vorgenommen, zu schreiben. Ich habe damit angefangen, als ich mir nicht anders zu helfen wusste.” (Herta Müller, 1953)
~ (I never planned to write. I started when I couldn't help myself.)
“Das Ziel des Schreibens ist es, andere sehen zu machen.” (Joseph Conrad 1857-1924)
~ (The goal of writing is to make others see.)
“Deutsch kann man nicht korrekt schreiben, man schreibt individuell oder man schreibt schon schlecht.” (Hugo von Hofmannsthal 1874-1929)
~ (You can’t write German correctly, you write it individually or you write it badly.)
“Empfindsam zu schreiben, dazu ist mehr nötig als Tränen und Mondschein.” (Georg Christoph Lichtenberg 1742-1799)
~ (To write sensitively you need more than tears and moonshine.)
“Die echten Schriftsteller sind die Gewissensbisse der Menschheit.“ ( Ludwig Feuerbach 1804-72)
~ (The real writers are the compunction of humanity.)
“Wir finden in den Büchern immer nur uns selbst. Komisch, daß dann allemal die Freude groß ist und wir den Autor zum Genie erklären.” (Thomas Mann 1875-1955)
~ (We only ever find ourselves in the books. It’s strange, that the joy is still great and we declare the author a genius.)
“Bücher haben Ehrgefühl. Wenn man sie verleiht, kommen sie nicht wieder zurück.” (Theodor Fontane 1819-98)
~ (Books have a sense of honor. When you borrow them, they don’t come back.)
“Papier ist geduldig, aber nicht die Tinte.” (Pascal Lachenmeier 1973)
~ (Paper is patient, but not the ink.)
“Schreiben ist fast wie Atmen, man sollte damit niemals aufhören, wenn der Quell erstmal aus eigenem Brunnen fließt.” (Cornelia Gutzeit)
~ (Writing is almost like breathing, you should never stop with it, once the spring started to flow from the own well.)
“Viele Schriftsteller denken für uns, wenige geben uns zu denken.” (Julie Eyth 1816-1904)
~ (Many writers think for us, little give us something to think about.)