"I wouldn’t ask too much of her," I ventured. "You can’t repeat the past."
"Can’t repeat the past?" he cried incredulously. "Why of course you can!"
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.

( Read more... )

"Do you believe in God, Andrei? No. Neither do I. But that's a favorite question of mine. An upside-down question, you know. What do you mean? Well, if I asked people whether they believed in life, they'd never understand what I meant. It's a bad question. It can mean so much that it really means nothing. So I ask them if they believe in God. And ( Read more... )

and this is the last thing ever to exit my mouth (or fingertips) about journeys. ok thats a lie, it wasnt my mouth but Dostoyevskys ( Read more... )

The witching hour, somebody had once whispered to her, was a special moment in the middle of the night when every child and every grown up was in a deep deep sleep and all the dark things came out from hiding and had the whole world to themselves.

He smiled understandingly- much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in a life. It faced - or seemed to face- the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. It understood ( Read more... )