Gaurav Sagar > Recent Status Updates

He sighed and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away at all costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It had been mad of him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an hour, in a room to which any of his friends had access.

When he stepped out on to the grass, he drew a deep breath. The fresh morning air seemed to drive away all his sombre passions. He thought only of Sibyl. A faint echo of his love came back to him. He repeated her name over and over again. The birds that were signing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.

It was renewed feeling of dissapointment that she waved the tattered lace handerkerchief from the window, as her son drove away. She was sonscious that a great opportunity had been wasted. She consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she felt her life would be, now that she had only one child to look after. She remembered the phrase. It had pleased her. Of the threat she said nothing.

During all the years while I had been a reader of fiction and while I had sometimes struggled to write fiction- during those years, I had wanted to learn what places appeared in the mind of one or anothr fictional character whenever he or she stared past the farthest places mentioned in the text that had seemed to give rise to him or her;

The chief character was not easily able to persuade his parents to allow him to go to the Riverina district instead of to university. Whenever his parents reminded him of the benefits to be got from an education at university, the chief character would recite in his mind certain phrases from the poem "The Scholar-Gipsy" by Mathew Arnold.

You filled me with a wild desire to know everything about life. For days after I met you, something seemed to throb in my veins. As I lounged in the Park, or strolled down piccadilly, I used to look at every one who passed me, and wonder, wiht a mad curiosity, what sort of lives they led. Some of them fascinated me. Others filled me with terror.

Lord Fermor, a genial if somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was considered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him.

Usually for me, I started to linger at the table after eating, talking with Mamma, who was happy to remember one thing or another from the past. The table, with its torn plastic cloth, was laden with chipped and dirty plates, with spoons and forks that, no one knows why, were larger than any others I had ever seen.

I found myself looking thorugh my family's small archive, housed in an old purse my mother had since before she was married, a shoulder bag, garnet-colored, its imitation leather almost completely worn through. It was lined with a cheap silk, somewhat stained. In the bag's pocket, I found two watches, so old they had a blacklish salt on their bands had been lost long ago.

In time, discussions about the building of several storeys became more detailed. Someone proposed that banquets and orgies should be filmed. This proposal led to plans for a library of films to be set up in the building together with a cinema where the residents could gather on quiet evenings to watch memorable scenes from past orgies.

A hasty reader of the previous pages may still be waiting to learn why I gave up writing fiction more than fifteen years ago. A more careful reader may already be on the way to learning why I gave up.

The Luck of Troy

Diomedes Vs Gods

The Lottery

My own colors, which existed only in my mind against one or another view of one or another image of a racecourse in the background of my mind, were at that time a complicated arrangement of lime-green and royal-blue.

Heracles' s Return

i am only concerned to report that the boy felt from the begining as though his patroness had come to him with the message that she herself, in certain moods, would not despise him and would not report him to his teachers or to the parish priest if it came to her knowledge that he had thought of touching the satin coverings of a tabernacle oe even of trying its door.

The Labours of Theseus
Periphetes

The foreground of each window-picture was the preserve of one or another of the personages mentioned above. The background, however, seemed available for me to fill with landscapes or glimpses of distant townships. And yet, whenver I gave up trying to imagine scenery fit to be discerned in some or another background of transparent pale-green or translucent orange and asked myself, in a mood of literal mindedness

Oedipus The Oracle Speaks

Several time while I was writing the previous pages, I recalled the statement: fiction is the art of suggestion. This statement allows me to suppose that a person without imagination might still succeed in writing fiction so long as his or her reader is able to imagine.

The Eagle King

Jason: The Ram

The Shirt of Nessus

Phrygia and The Gordia Knot

Hero and Leander

All Tears

Angry Godesses.

After the boy had seen in his mind the image of the house, he felt as though he was standing in his mind in the garden of the house and was looking up at a certain window of the upeer storey. A young woman was looking down from the window and was letting fall from the window towards the garden where the boy was standing in his mind length after length of the hair from her head.

The Fallout.