MihaElla > Recent Status Updates

As she turned into the sidewalk under the gathering autumn dusk she assumed that disapproving, faintly unpleasant expression that almost all successful women of forty wear on the street.

If _I_ were Harold Piper, she thought, I'd spend a little less time on business and a little more time at home. Some friend should speak to him.

All night the sprawly writing on the pages,the constant mistakes in spelling & grammar,& the weird punctuation danced before his eyes.He woke several times in the night,each time full of a welling chaotic sympathy for this desire of her soul to express itself in words.To him there was something infinitely pathetic about it,& for the first time in months he began to turn over in his mind his own half-forgotten dreams

Kiss me,& call me 'dear heart.'I love to hear you say 'dear heart.'& bring me a book to read to-morrow.No more Sam Pepys,but something trick & trashy.I've been wild for something to do all day.I felt like writing letters,but I didn't have anybody to write to

Write to me, said Horace.I'll read them

I wish I could.If I knew words enough I could write you the longest love-letter in the world—& never get tired

“Say, lad, do that stunt you were doin' last night."

Horace grinned at him from his perch.

"I invented it," he said. "I got the idea from the fourth proposition of Euclid."

"What circus he with?"

"He's dead."

"Well, he must of broke his neck doin' that stunt. I set here last night thinkin' sure you was goin' to break yours.”

“In 1915 Horace Tarbox was thirteen years old. In that year he took the examinations for entrance to Princeton University and received the Grade A—excellent—in Cæsar, Cicero, Vergil, Xenophon, Homer, Algebra, Plane Geometry, Solid Geometry, and Chemistry.”

Don't marry a Yankee,Sally Carrol.We need you round here
She was silent a moment
Clark,she demanded suddenly,who on earth shall I marry?
I offer my services
Honey,you couldn't support a wife,she answered cheerfully.Anyway,I know you too well to fall in love with you
At doesn't mean you ought to marry a Yankee,he persisted
S'pose I love him?
He shook his head
You couldn't.He'd be a lot different from us,every way

What an imagination! she said softly and almost enviously. I want you to lie to me just as sweetly as you know how for the rest of my life.

"Time is a thief;
Gladness and grief
Cling to the leaf
As it yellows——"

What was in the bags?

Florida mud. That was one of the two true things I told you.

Perhaps I can guess the other one,& reaching up on her tiptoes she kissed him softly in the illustration.

Slowly she spread her arms and stood there swan-like, radiating a pride in her young perfection that lit a warm glow in Carlyle's heart.

"We're going through the black air with our arms wide and our feet straight out behind like a dolphin's tail, and we're going to think we'll never hit the silver down there till suddenly it'll be all warm round us and full of little kissing, caressing waves.”

I don't want to sound like Pollyanna,she began,but you haven't grasped me yet.My courage is faith—faith in the eternal resilience of me—that joy'll come back,& hope and spontaneity. And I feel that till it does I've got to keep my lips shut and my chin high, and my eyes wide—not necessarily any silly smiling. Oh, I've been through hell without a whine quite often—& the female hell is deadlier than the male

Take ship for India.I want to be a rajah.I mean it.My idea is to go up into Afghanistan somewhere, buy up a palace and a reputation, and then after about five years appear in England with a foreign accent and a mysterious past.But India first.Do you know, they say that all the gold in the world drifts very gradually back to India. Something fascinating about that to me.And I want leisure to read—an immense amount.

“You have got a darn mean little tongue."

"Excuse me," she said melting into laughter, "but I'm not used to having men regale me with the story of their life ambitions—especially if they've lived such deathly platonic lives."

"Why? What do men usually regale you with?"

"Oh, they talk about me," she yawned. "They tell me I'm the spirit of youth and beauty.”

he sighed looking at the gathered host of stars blinking like arc-lights in the warm sky.song died away to a plaintive humming& seemed as if minute by minute the brightness& the great silence were increasing until could almost hear the midnight toilet of the mermaids as they combed their silver dripping curls under the moon& gossiped to each other of the fine wrecks they lived on the green opalescent avenues below

Carlyle broke the silence at last.

"Lucky girl," he sighed "I've always wanted to be rich—and buy all this beauty."

Ardita yawned.

"I'd rather be you," she said frankly.

"You would—for about a day. But you do seem to possess a lot of nerve for a flapper."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"Beg your pardon.”

The night deepened. A pale new moon smiled misty-eyed upon the sea, and as the shore faded dimly out and dark clouds were blown like leaves along the far horizon a great haze of moonshine suddenly bathed the yacht and spread an avenue of glittering mail in her swift path.

“Ardita scrutinized him carefully—and classed him immediately as a romantic figure. He gave the effect of towering self-confidence erected on a slight foundation—just under the surface of each of his decisions she discerned a hesitancy that was in decided contrast to the arrogant curl of his lips.”

Happy, heavenly time, when I groped through life, with bandaged eyes, like a drunken man,—when all my knowledge and my wishes were confined to the narrow horizon of my childhood's teachings!

Rarely do we arrive at the summit of truth without running into extremes; we have frequently to exhaust the part of error, and even of folly, before we work our way up to the noble goal of tranquil wisdom.

She remained soft and remote in her amazement. Expect Leo to propose to her! She might as well have expected old Rover the Newfoundland dog to propose to her. Get engaged, to any man on earth? No, good heavens, nothing more ridiculous could be imagined!
It was then, in a fleeting side-thought, that she realized that the gipsy existed. Instantly, she was indignant. Him, of all things! Him! Never!

'Of course I am beautiful, Lucille’, she said blandly. 'And you’re perfectly lovely, now you look a bit reproachful. Of course you’re the most aristocratic of the two of us, with your nose! And now your eyes look reproachful, that adds an appealing look, and you’re perfect, perfectly lovely! But I’m more winning, in a way. Don’t you agree? She turned with arch, complicated simplicity to Lucille.

Hate kindled her heart, as she lay with numbed limbs. And she thought of the words of the gipsy woman: "There is a dark man who never lived in a house. He loves you. The other people are treading on your heart. They will tread on your heart till you think it is dead. But the dark man will blow the one spark up into fire again, good fire. You will see what good fire."

The two girls...tall, slender,fresh-faced,naive,yet confident,too confident,in their school-girlish arrogance,they were so terribly English.They seemed so free,& were as a matter of fact so tangled & tied up,inside themselves.They seemed so dashing & unconventional,& were really so conventional, so,as it were,shut up indoors inside themselves. They looked like bold,tall young sloops,just slipping from the harbour...

In zilele de dupa Revolutie, in centrul Capitalei exista o inscriptie care a facut cariera; "Spatiu liber de comunism!" Acum, mult mai convingatoare ar fi una: "Spatiu liber de morala, de cultura si de demnitate". Maine, dupa semnele care apar zi de zi, ar putea fi si un "Spatiu liber de democratie", atata doar ca nimeni nu se va inghesui sa scrie pe vreun banner un asemenea adevar...

“Este destul timp sa incepi sa traiesti exact din clipa in care trebuie sa te opresti!” (Seneca - Dialoguri)

“Pe esafod, Doamna du Barry: ‘Inca un minut, domnule calau’. (Albert Camus - Carnete)

A trebuit sa verific si eu,pe propria piele,ca la noi toate incep frumos si se termina oribil. Asa a fost cu pacea de dupa razboi. Si,la fel, si cu viata mea. Odata ce m-am vazut singur,adica fara Ella,am luat-o prin padure si am urlat pana mi-am pierdut vocea; infrant, am cazut in genunchi si am plans cu disperare: Ce n-am inteles, Doamne, incat infrangerile nu se mai opresc? Pe cine mai trebuie sa pierd? Si de ce?

Puteti conta pe muschii mei si la coborare,in ipoteza ca mergeti la Berlin,a asigurat-o Darius si ea s-a grabit sa-i confirme,in romaneste,ca au acelasi drum.Chiar atat de proasta e germana mea,incat m-ai ghicit dupa prima fraza ca nu sunt neamt?s-a interest el si Ella s-a grabit sa explice:Pe tine nu accentul te-a tradat,ci gesturile.Un german ar fi fost mai rezervat,nu s-ar fi grabit sa iasa afara la primul zambet

Iubiri care inalta, iubiri care distrug. Nu sunt cel mai in masura sa vorbesc despre iubirile mele. Un sentiment de jena, de indecenta ma impiedica deocamdata. Pe acest teritoriu nu ma simt in apele mele, nu am suficiente cuvinte pentru a parea convingator, iar daca, prin absurd, le-as avea, nu cred ca as reusi sa fiu foarte sincer. Nu vreau sa distrug sau sa tulbur frumusetea care imi lumineaza memoria...

Te-am iubit inainte de a fi descoperit ca te-am iubit. Acum stiu, ai fost a mea inainte ca urletele lupilor, luna si moartea si gerurile sa ma aduca la tine. Acum, iarasi, nu esti nicaieri, nu esti decat iubire. Iubire de tot. Toata iubirea. Si asta ma face sa cred ca acela ce a luat chipul unui carutas, a doi cai si al unei sanii, destinul cel fara nume si trup, se va alcatui iarasi in alte si alte umbre si,...

Experientele mele s-au transformat in sentimente,intr-un fel de a fi si de a rationa.Nu am,stiu prea bine,suficiente cuvinte pentru ele si,la urma urmei, pe cine ar putea interesa? Am iubit,am urat,am castigat,dar mai ales am pierdut ca oricare dintre oameni.Lumea de azi ma supune unor intamplari neobisnuite si imi pretinde un tip diferit de sensibilitate.In sfarsit, simt cu intreaga fiinta ca toate sunt zadarnice...

Interesant, dracesc...vasazica! Interesant.Stiti, frumoasa doamna,eu,in ceea ce ma priveste,am dorit totdeauna sa...dau piept cu acest personaj,vreau sa zic sa fac cunostinta cu...dracu’!Personaj fascinant, nu credeti?

In literatura,poate, dar...in viata de zi cu zi, e mai putin romantic.

Ati spus-dracesc!Ce vrea sa insemne aceasta? Numai manipularea oamenilor si a...constiintelor? Oare numai dracu’ face asta?!

As fi un imbecil,spunea el citandu-l pe un autor francez primitiv,daca as fi fidel propriilor mele idei. Eu ma schimb mereu,de ce nu s-ar schimba si ele, aceste asa-zise idei?Ce-i cu cultul asta stupid al ideilor? Idei au puberii si batranii adolescenti,dupa o buna si delicioasa masturbare.Eu n-am idei si daca...da-da, daca le am, cum se zice, eu insumi am puterea sa rad de ele inainte ca sa apuce s-o faca altii...