The bookshelves held the usual Kafka, the obligatory Borges, the point-scoring Musil.
He pick’d up an opinion, Sir, as a man in a state of nature picks up an apple.—It becomes his own—and if he is a man of spirit, he would lose his life rather than give it up.
# 95 Colossal Youth (Juventude Em Marcha), P. Costa, 2006.
The list so far:
Uptown was a bleak district with no identity, where a heart never does anything so violent or final as break:
merely gets increased tensile, compressive, shear loads piled on it bit by bit every day till eventually these and its own shudderings fatigue it.
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby
Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake…he’s old, and his skin is cold