The day, a compunctious Sunday after a week of blizzards, had been part jewel, part mud. In the midst of my usual afternoon stroll through the small hilly town attached to the girls' college where I taught French literature, I had stopped to watch a family of brilliant icicles drip-dripping from the eaves of a frame house. So clear-cut were their pointed shadows on the white boards behind them that I was sure the shadows of the falling drops should be visible too. But they were not. ("The Vane Sisters")
Vladimir NabokovAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: April 22, 1899
- Died: July 2, 1977
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there is a loneliness in this world so greatthat you can see it in the slow movement ofthe hands of a clock. people so tiredmutilatedeither by love or no love. people just are not good to each otherone on one. the rich are not good to the richthe poor are not good to the poor. we are afraid. our educational system tells usthat we can all bebig-ass winners. it hasn't told usabout the guttersor the suicides. or the terror of one personaching in one placealoneuntouchedunspoken towatering a plant.
Charles Bukowski
