/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.18837628]

What's the most honest piece of literature you've ever read?
no politics, no pretentious bullshit, no someone trying to lecture about life or how the world works or how things should be or anything like that, just an honest and simple yet powerful confession that feels like an ultimate, undeniable truth

[Anonymous No.18837634]

>>18837628
My diary.

[Anonymous No.18837641]

tao lin taipei

[Anonymous No.18837642]

>>18837634
write a few lines

[Anonymous No.18837651]

>>18837628
The Deeds of My Fathers: How My Grandfather and Father Built New York and Created the Tabloid World of Today by Paul David Pope. It covers the life stories of the author's paternal grandfather and father. The grandfather was Generoso Pope, an Italian immigrant who founded several Italian-language newspapers and a construction company in NYC, and the dad is Generoso Pope Jr., the founder of the National Enquirer. It's a very honest look at a family, the impact of the father, and how wealth is made and lost across generations.

[Anonymous No.18837658]

>>18837628
The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings

[Anonymous No.18837680]

>>18837628
A book on the birds of Nova Scotia. It had nice illustrations

[Anonymous No.18838525]

>>18837628
I have often thought how interesting a magazine paper might be written by any author who would—that is to say, who could—detail, step by step, the processes by which any one of his compositions attained its ultimate point of completion. Why such a paper has never been given to the world, I am much at a loss to say—but, perhaps, the autorial vanity has had more to do with the omission than any one other cause. Most writers—poets in especial—prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy—an ecstatic intuition—and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought—at the true purposes seized only at the last moment—at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view—at the fully-matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable—at the cautious selections and rejections—at the painful erasures and interpolations—in a word, at the wheels and pinions—the tackle for scene-shifting—the step-ladders, and demon-traps—the cock’s feathers, the red paint and the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, constitute the properties of the literary histrio.

[Anonymous No.18838538]

>>18837628
Confessions by Augustine, of course.

[Anonymous No.18838582]

>>18837628
"Struggle for Beksinski" by a lawyer who tried to break into the art dealing world to popularize the painter Beksinski outside of Poland in the 80s.
http://beksinski.dmochowskigallery.net/download.php?filename=zmagania_en.pdf