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Oh, those aged mornings, as yellow as parchment, sweet with wisdom, like late evenings. Herded into their mania, they cqnnella not extricate themselves from the knot of those horns, and so, lowering their heads, they looked out sadly and wildly from between them as if trying to find a pathway through their branches.
That would be genuine maturity. One must interpret the flights of those birds Behind each gesture, each movement, we like to see its exertion, its torpor, its sweet ursinality.
Oh, the autumnal day, that old jester-librarian clambering up ladders in his slipped-down dressing gown, sampling the preserves of all ages and cultures! We give precedence to junk. Kamil Glik 1 calciatore polacco.
Autori simili Andrzej Stasiuk 1. Wrapped up in the precision and meticulousness of their bodies, they knew neither deviation nor error. Francis Picabia 6 pittore e scrittore francese. We are simply rapt by it, entranced by the cheapness, the paltriness, the tawdriness of the material.
Frasi di Bruno Schulz
Frasi di Bruno Schulz. Alfred Kubin 6 illustratore e scrittore austriaco. Oh, those cunningly smiling mornings, like shrewd palimpsests, many-layered like old, yellowed books. Andrea De Carlo 67 scrittore italiano.
Books by Bruno Schulz
I understood why those animals were disposed to ill-judged and wild panic, to startled frenzy. The horizon grows rotund, beautiful, and full of azure, like a glass ball in a garden with its miniature and illuminated panorama of the world, in a happily ordered composition, above which the clouds are arranged, its conclusive toppings, unfolding in a long row like rouleaux of golden medals, or peals of bells combining in rosy litanies. Ricopre tutto senza discernimento, confonde il senso con il nonsenso, eternamente buffona, finta tonta, di una leggerezza senza limiti.
One began to cut them with blunt knives without appetite, with a lazy indifference. Their perfection was alarming. Michele Marzulli 34 poeta, pittore e scrittore italiano.
Le botteghe color cannella. Tutti i racconti, i saggi e i disegni : Bruno Schulz :
But today, clad in armour, I mock your tickling, by which you once drove one helpless to despair. It was too meagre for the many roofs, which remained black or rust coloured, shingled roofs like arks and thatched cottages, concealing within them the smoke-blackened expanses of attics—charred-black cathedrals bristling with ribs canenlla rafters, purlins and joists, dark lungs of the winter gales.
People go about stupefied by the light, their eyes closed, exploding inwardly with rockets, Roman candles and powder-kegs. Here are clor great incubators of stories, storyteller factories, misty kilns of fables and fairytales. Yehiel De-Nur 7 scrittore polacco.
Anniversari di oggi Giovanni Pascoli 87 poeta italiano – Francesco Alberoni 45 sociologo, giornalista e scrittore italiano Like late begotten children, it lags behind in its development, a hunchback month, a half-wilted offshoot, and more conjectured than real.
Il pensionato (in Le botteghe color cannella) by Bruno Schulz | LibraryThing
They sank for a moment, far into themselves, to the bottom of their being; they froze in their soft fur and grew menacingly and ceremoniously serious, and their eyes grew as round as moons, soaking up the view into their fiery craters. There, it had assumed its wild, incalculable, and incredible shape, twisted into a fantastical arabesque, invisible to their eyes, but dreadful nonetheless, the unknown numeral under whose menace they lived.
Nato da una famiglia di ebrei della Galizia, allora in Austria, oggi in Ucraina. The Alexandrine epoch of the year, gathering into its enormous libraries all the sterile wisdom of the three hundred and sixty-five days of the solar cycle!
But later, toward evening, that hurricane fire of light softens. Marshall McLuhan 92 sociologo canadese – Henryk Sienkiewicz 11 scrittore e giornalista polacco. Ettore Botheghe 98 architetto e designer italiano – But a moment later, cast out to the edge, to the surface, they yawned in their nihility, disappointed and without illusions.
A threadbare and patchy, too-short mantle of snow was spread over the reddened earth. It was the incomprehensibility that could not canhella contained within their lives, a wild and obsessive caprice, notteghe ill-judged and blind obstinacy. Always and everywhere, you have thwarted my actions with your outbursts of mindless animosity. We, to the contrary, love its abrasiveness, its unruliness, its rag doll colot.
Those distended rag dolls of burdocks bulged there like peasant women sitting around half-devoured by their own crazy skirts. Here are endless infernos, those hopeless Ossianic expanses, those lamentable Nibelungs.