MihaElla > Recent Status Updates

You’re not what my friend Homeyer would call an individualist,” he ventured, “since you don’t grant a man the right to follow the promptings of his character.
No, I’m no individualist,if to be one is to permit men to fall into hurtful habits without offering protest against it. I’m losing faith in that friend Homeyer,who I strongly suspect is a mythical apology for your own short-comings.

“There was no further pretext for continued occupation with his pens and pencils and rulers, so he turned towards Thérèse, rested an arm on the desk, pulled absently at his black moustache, and crossing his knee, gazed with deep concern at the toe of his boot, and set of his trouser about the ankle.”

“Hosmer’s appreciation of a successful business venture was showing itself in a little more pronounced stoop of shoulder, a deepening of pre-occupation and a few additional lines about mouth and forehead.”

“Thérèse wanted but time to become familiar with this further change. Alone she went out to her beloved woods, and at the hush of mid-day, bade a tearful farewell to the silence.”

“He was a tall individual of perhaps forty; thin and sallow. His black hair was streaked abundantly with grey, and his face marked with premature lines; left there by care, no doubt, and, by a too close attention to what men are pleased to call the main chances of life.”

“Thérèse was of a roundness of figure suggesting a future of excessive fullness if not judiciously guarded; and she was fair, with a warm whiteness that a passing thought could deepen into color.”

“Mrs. Lafirme had rebuilt many rods away from the river and beyond sight of the mutilated dwelling, converted now into a section house. In building, she avoided the temptations offered by modern architectural innovations, and clung to the simplicity of large rooms and broad verandas: a style whose merits had stood the test of easy-going and comfort-loving generations.”

"Caci de ce altceva sufar eu astazi, daca nu din pricina lasitatii si inertiei care m-au impiedicat sa-mi cercetez adanc sufletul in clipa cand m-am casatorit cu Aurora? Este foarte adevarat ca pe atunci eram mult mai slab ca astazi si as fi suferit infinit mai mult si cine stie ce alte primejdii m-ar mai fi pandit, dar nu se poate nega ca pana la urma as fi iesit victorios si cu pierderi mai putine ca astazi..."

“Mrs. Baroda was greatly tempted that night to tell her husband–who was also her friend–of this folly that had seized her. But she did not yield to the temptation. Beside being a respectable woman she was a very sensible one; and she knew there are some battles in life which a human being must fight alone.”

“She was not thinking of his words, only drinking in the tones of his voice. She wanted to reach out her hand in the darkness and touch him with the sensitive tips of her fingers upon the face or the lips. She wanted to draw close to him and whisper against his cheek–she did not care what–as she might have done if she had not been a respectable woman.”

“He talked of the old college days when he and Gaston had been a good deal to each other; of the days of keen and blind ambitions and large intentions. Now there was left with him, at least, a philosophic acquiescence to the existing order–only a desire to be permitted to exist, with now and then a little whiff of genuine life, such as he was breathing now.”

“Gouvernail was in no sense a diffident man, for he was not a self-conscious one. His periods of reserve were not constitutional, but the result of moods. Sitting there beside Mrs. Baroda, his silence melted for the time.”

“That night she went and sat alone upon a bench that stood beneath a live oak tree at the edge of the gravel walk.
She had never known her thoughts or her intentions to be so confused. She could gather nothing from them but the feeling of a distinct necessity to quit her home in the morning.”

“Gaston took his wife's pretty face between his hands and looked tenderly and laughingly into her troubled eyes.
"You are full of surprises, ma belle," he said to her. "Even I can never count upon how you are going to act under given conditions." He kissed her and turned to fasten his cravat before the mirror.”

“When is he going–your friend?" she one day asked her husband. "For my part, he tires me frightfully."
"Not for a week yet, dear. I can't understand; he gives you no trouble."
"No. I should like him better if he did; if he were more like others, and I had to plan somewhat for his comfort and enjoyment.”

“She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces, sees the game taking the course intended. Her eyes were bright and tender with a smile as they glanced up into his; and her lips looked hungry for the kiss which they invited.”

“I suppose it's natural for a man to feel and act generously on an occasion of this kind. He tells me he doesn't want his marriage to interrupt wholly that pleasant intimacy which has existed between you and me. I don't know what you've been telling him," with an insolent smile, "but he has sent me here to kiss you.”

“Oh, I know it is absurd, uncalled for, to tell you this; undignified even," she was almost weeping, "but it makes so much difference to me what you think of–of me." Her voice had grown very low and agitated. The misery had all disappeared from Brantain's face.”

“They were talking low, of indifferent things which plainly were not the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew that he loved her–a frank, blustering fellow without guile enough to conceal his feelings, and no desire to do so.”

“Brantain sat in one of these shadows; it had overtaken him and he did not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eyes fastened as ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the firelight.”

“He thought Almighty God had dealt cruelly and unjustly with him; and felt, somehow, that he was paying Him back in kind when he stabbed thus into his wife's soul. Moreover he no longer loved her, because of the unconscious injury she had brought upon his home and his name.”

“Shall I go, Armand?" she asked in tones sharp with agonized suspense.
"Yes, go."
"Do you want me to go?"
"Yes, I want you to go.”

“He coldly but gently loosened her fingers from about his arm and thrust the hand away from him. "Tell me what it means!" she cried despairingly.
"It means," he answered lightly, "that the child is not white; it means that you are not white.”

“Marriage,& later the birth of his son had softened Armand Aubigny's imperious & exacting nature greatly.This was what made the gentle Desiree so happy, for she loved him desperately.When he frowned she trembled,but loved him.When he smiled, she asked no greater blessing of God. But Armand's dark,handsome face had not often been disfigured by frowns since the day he fell in love with her.”

“Madame Valmonde had never removed her eyes from the child. She lifted it and walked with it over to the window that was lightest. She scanned the baby narrowly, then looked as searchingly at Zandrine, whose face was turned to gaze across the fields.”

“Armand looked into her eyes and did not care. He was reminded that she was nameless. What did it matter about a name when he could give her one of the oldest and proudest in Louisiana?”

“That was the way all the Aubignys fell in love, as if struck by a pistol shot. The passion that awoke in him that day, when he saw her at the gate, swept along like an avalanche, or like a prairie fire, or like anything that drives headlong over all obstacles.”

“In time Madame Valmonde abandoned every speculation but the one that Desiree had been sent to her by a beneficent Providence to be the child of her affection, seeing that she was without child of the flesh. For the girl grew to be beautiful and gentle, affectionate and sincere,–the idol of Valmonde.”

Nu eu, ci Nadia, prima mea femeie, m-a silit s-o parasesc, m-a silit direct, prin alternativa absurda: “ori ma iubesti, ori pleaca!”
“Dar te iubesc” ziceam, si era adevarat, dar ea nu ma credea (este adevarat ca avusesem niste aventuri, impins insa de bovarismul ei de tip rusesc, obositor!)

“ceea ce se traieste nu se scrie!”
cand se scrie, se face istorie, cand se face istorie este trecut. Viata mea este vie, prezenta, toate sperantele si toate visurile renasc cu putere in timp ce scriu..Scrisul este viata, fiinta fizica si spirituala se unifica si bate in plin, fara varsta..