"All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."
“Throne Hotel, Harrogate,“September 7th, 1911. “DEAR BRUCE,—I do believe I’ve got it! If so it’s a great deal more (or less) than I deserve for one of the rottenest things I ever did in all my days. “I was just saying I was absent-minded—I mean in the...
“Throne Hotel, Harrogate,“September 7th, 1911. MY DEAR BRUCE,—The day before yesterday I finished that thing for the Christmas number of the Vivid, after nearly a fortnight’s hard grind; late last night I destroyed it all but a redeeming bit that may come in for something else....
I'm doing some catching up on old reads, and here's another one. I don't know the author, this time, but I bought the book because of the publisher, which often associates it with the stunning "Winter Harvest" by Ioanna Papadopoulou, and the association is on...
NOTHING could have been more neutral, more dull; the scene was the lecture hall of one of our most learned societies, as austere and grim a place as the cold mind and lifeless taste of Science could conceive, or anyhow did conceive and execute in...
Tom Mountstephen was dressed in his very best—a black coat, a tie of blue satin studded with veritable planets, and in it a new zodiacal sign—a fox in full career, that formed the head of a pin. Tom’s collar was so stiffly starched and so...
Linley was fond of collecting what he called "raw material" and, as a fairly successful barrister, he had good opportunity for doing so. He despised novelists and romancists, yet one day he hoped to become one of these gentry himself, hence his collection of the...
Though I think I get what Lem was trying to do with this novel, I also understand the many people whose reaction has been "what the fuck did I just read?" The novel is about alienation, social estrangement, post-traumatic stress and culture shock, which are all...
"Wonder what's goin' on in the church?" Gilman Marlow stopped and stared slowly over at the church. It was a little white building with five pointed windows on each side. The windows were all streaming with light now, and the bright light showed from the door...
The following story is found in the Gretla, an Icelandic Saga, composed in the thirteenth century, or that comes to us in the form then given to it; but it is a redaction of a Saga of much earlier date. Most of it is thoroughly...
There are cities that seduce by excess, by grand vertical gestures, by spectacle, by the dazzling promise of visibility. And there are others, quieter ones, that prefer to act by undercurrent, by persistence, by relation. Milan belongs to the second kind, in my opinion. And...
