MihaElla > Recent Status Updates

When she was serious, her face looked sad and sweet. When she laughed, her snow-white teeth sparkled and her expression became mocking and shamelessly provoking. Midway between these two faces she had a gentle and infinitely attractive child's smile, with tiny dimples. And she had as any other alluring faces as nature itself.

...era o frumusete absolut speciala, frumusetea unei bruste densitati a vietii...

Behind her face I could see the irresolute core of a woman who lived on imagination and memories. When reality touched her, started like a woman wakened from some dreams.

One thing I’ve learned over many years is that you have to let people live their lives their own way…

I laughed. "Well, now I don't need to meet them, Peloc. You've given me such a word picture I couldn't learn more if I knew them for years."

"Oh, I doubt it. Pictures of women are always incomplete, you know; their images are as numerous as the men who reflect them."

"You're an expert on women too?" I could not forbear to tease. "I haven't seen that side of you."

…true science and tradition can be opposed only temporarily…

…inspira neînsemnatatea asta care ne înconjoară, e cheia înțelepciunii, e cheia bunei dispoziții…

Pe trupul cel erotic al femeii există câteva locuri de aur; întotdeauna am crezut că ar fi trei: coapsele, fesele, sânii… Ele exprimă totodată individualitatea unei femei..
Apoi, într-o zi, am înțeles că trebuie adăugat încă unul: buricul… Si mă întreb care este mesajul erotic despre care ne vorbește buricul…

Dragul meu prieten, îmi lipsește un singur lucru: buna dispoziție!
[…]
Nu ironia, nu satira, nu sarcasmul. Doar de pe înălțimile nesfârșitei bune dispoziții poți să urmărești sub tine eterna prostie a oamenilor și să râzi de ea.
[…]
Dar cum să găsești bună dispoziția asta?

Oamenii se întâlnesc de-a lungul vieții, pălăvrăgesc, discută, se ceartă, fără a-și da seama că se adresează unii altora de la depărtare, fiecare dintr-un punct de observație ridicat într-un alt loc al timpului…

...it is not only the past but also the future that touches
familiar strings in the soul....

Evenimentele din 1919 ne-au facut mai degraba cinici decat revolutionari, in ciuda faptului ca acum scotocim cu totii prin cufere, intrebandu-ne unde naiba am pus sapca libertatii - "Stiu ca era pe aici" - si bluza de mojic. O trasatura specifica a Epocii Jazzului a fost lipsa completa de interes fata de politica...

It’s strange, isn’t it? the woman said in a pensive voice. Everything is blowing up around us, but there are still those who care about a broken lock, and others who are dutiful enough to try to fix it…But maybe that’s the way it should be. Maybe working on the little things as dutifully and honestly as we can is how we stay sane when the world is falling apart.

No matter what they wish for, no matter how far they go, people can never be anything but themselves. That’s all.

Well, I’m your best friend now, aren’t I? Why do you think we’re both so hungry? I never, ever, once in my life felt a hunger like this until I married you. Don’t you think it’s abnormal?

Times change. People change.

I have an absurd faculty, said he. I don’t know that I have ever mentioned it to anyone before. But when imminent danger is threatening me I got these strange forebodings. Of course it is absurd today in these peaceful surroundings. It only shows how queerly these things work. But it is the first time it has deceived me.

But the wisdom of men is small, and the ways of Nature are strange, and who shall put a bound to the dark things which may be found by those who seek for them?

They knew each other very well— so well that they could sit now in that soothing silence which is the very highest development of companionship.

Have some whisky, said Smith at last between two cloudbursts. Scotch in the jug and Irish in the bottle.

No, thanks. I’m in for the sculls. I don’t liquor when I’m training. How about you?

I’m reading hard. I think it best to leave it alone.

‘My son’, he said, turning his piercing and yet dreamy gaze upon Sir Overbeck, ‘all things lead to nothing, and nothing is the foundation of all things. Cosmos is impenetrable. Why then should we exist?’

We live in a scientific age, and I flatter myself that I move with the times.

Fool that I was ever to take you out of your true sphere!

If you think so, why do you not separate?

Because private misery is better than public humiliation. Because it is easier to suffer for a mistake than to own to it. Because also I like to keep you in my sight, and to know that you cannot go back to him.

You villain! You cowardly villain!

She was a superstitious woman and her superstitions ruled her life. She had a certain way to get out of bed, a particular shoe to put on first, and a rule about what hand to put on the doorknob. Her whole day would be ruined if she saw a black dog, a man with a ladder, a pregnant woman, a red-haired child, or a cripple in the morning.

How those who are poured forth from the great World Soul revolve through the Universe seeking one another! They fall from planet to planet, and from the depths they cry for their lost home.
These are your tears, O Dionysos.... O Great Spirit, divine liberator, restore your daughters again to the joy of your light!

The elaborate workshop produced a series of elaborate fiascoes. It was
only the obstinate monomania of Homonculus that kept me trying. Not that I am lacking in tenacity. [...] We were never going to get anywhere using the same old methods. Of course I had no logical arguments to advance against my clever ally; I just had a "hunch," what is politely called intuition.

The human brain is capable of only one strong emotion at a time and, if it be filled with curiosity or scientific enthusiasm, there is no room for fear.

At last I found both a patron and a place where I could perform thorough, interesting experiments — in Hasenburg under the patronage of
Christina, Queen of Sweden.
Much has been written about this strange woman-man. She has been characterized as a romantic, a tragic genius, a madwoman, a perverted and
debased personality, and a saint. Actually she wasn't any of these and yet was a little of all of them.

For M. was unpredictable. Perhaps all beauty is unpredictable which is why the impulse to destroy it is so strong.

It is terrible to see, to realize, that the world is a chaos of clues.

So ridiculous! Whereabouts, alibis — clues. Cliches of the police investigation banal and threadbare as a worn old carpet over which, nonetheless, one has to trudge, eyes straight ahead in a pose of lockjaw-deadpan innocence.