/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.5265206]

Copy & paste the best paragraph you have read this year.

[இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ— No.5265220]

Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water.The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water.

~ Francis Fukuyama

[Anonymous No.5265226]

>>5265206
>implying I'm autistic enough to remember the 'best' paragraph I've read this year

Probably something from Mobiius Dickens anyhow.

[Anonymous No.5265238]

>>5265206
Sai che là corre il mondo ove piú versi
di sue dolcezze il lusinghier Parnaso,
e che ’l vero, condito in molli versi,
i piú schivi allettando ha persuaso.
Cosí a l’egro fanciul porgiamo aspersi
di soavi licor gli orli del vaso;
succhi amari ingannato intanto ei beve,
e da l’inganno suo vita riceve.

Thither thou know'st the world is best inclined
Where luring Parnass most his sweet imparts,
And truth conveyed in verse of gentle kind
To read perhaps will move the dullest hearts:
So we, if children young diseased we find,
Anoint with sweets the vessel's foremost parts
To make them taste the potions sharp we give;
They drink deceived, and so deceived, they live.

[Anonymous No.5265237]

A week later he died. The whole town followed him to the grave. The chief priest made a speech full of feeling. All lamented the terrible illness that had cut short his days. But all the town was up in arms against me after the funeral, and people even refused to see me. Some, at first a few and afterwards more, began indeed to believe in the truth of his story, and they visited me and questioned me with great interest and eagerness, for man loves to see the downfall and disgrace of the righteous. But I held my tongue, and very shortly after, I left the town, and five months later by God's grace I entered the safe and blessed path, praising the unseen finger which had guided me so clearly to it. But I remember in my prayer to this day, the servant of God, Mikhail, who suffered so greatly.

[இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ— No.5265251]

>>5265237

My god that moment was heart-rending. If I hadn't made a 'funny' I was tempted to find that, or the story of marie(?), the girl who died in switzerland in the prince's tale. Strangely enough I felt sadder about that one than I did the other, as though it was the only way out by that point.

[Anonymous No.5265255]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLYKZV-O3es best parashoot i ever reed

[Anonymous No.5265556]

>>5265206

When a boy of fourteen or fifteen discovers that he is more given to introspection and consciousness of self than other boys his age, he easily falls into the error of believing it is because he is more mature than they. This was certainly the mistake in my case. Rather it was because the other boys had no such need of understanding themselves as I had: they could be their natural selves, whereas I was to play a part, a fact that would require considerable understanding and study. So it was not my maturity but my sense of uneasiness, my uncertainty, that was forcing me to gain control over my consciousness.

[Anonymous No.5265582]

This time, already taking thorough delight in misconduct, I eluded the eyes of my grandmother and parents and, with my younger sister and brother as accomplices, devoted myself to dressing up as Cleopatra. What was I hoping for from this feminine attire? It was not until much later that I discovered hopes the same as mine in Heliogabalus, emperor of Rome in its period of decay, that destroyer of Rome's ancient gods, that decadent, bestial monarch.

[Anonymous No.5265611]

A woman's fuck hole is like the great desert, dry and unwilling. A man's cock must be as the maker, burrowing deep, without permission, and without relent. Only then is the water of life created in the dryness of her.

-from Collected Sayings of Muad'Dib by the Princess Irulan

[Anonymous No.5266664]

>>5265611
10/10

[Anonymous No.5266683]

I hold onto my mobile, stare at the pills on the coffee table. Might as well be fucking Anadin, the good they’ll do. There’s this tremendous pressure in my chest, like a scream trying to get out, and whatever burns in my throat can’t be swallowed. Water in my vision now, I can’t see properly. I press the heel of my hand to my eye and think.
There’s got to be someone I can call. Someone who’ll either sort me out or run an errand for me. Not Paulo, obviously. Can’t trust Frank to do it, either. And there’s no one else I can trust. Then I realise there’s no one else in my life.

[Anonymous No.5266699]

>>5265556

What is this from? I think I've read it before.

[Anonymous No.5266729]

Knowledge forbidden?
Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord
Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know?
Can it be death?

[Anonymous No.5266752]

Yo, señor, no soy malo, aunque no me faltan motivos para serlo. Los mismo cueros tenemos todos los mortales al nacer y sin embargo, cuando vamos creciendo, el destino se complace en variarnos como si fuéramos de cera y en destinarnos por sendas diferentes al mismo fin: la muerte. Hay hombres quienes se les ordena marchar por un camino de flores, y hombres a los que se les manda tirar por el camino de los cardos y las chumberas. Aquéllos gozan de un mirar sereno y al aroma de su felicidad sonríen con la cara del inocente; estos otros sufren del sol violento de la llanura y arrugan el ceño como las alimañas por defenderse. Hay mucha diferencia entre adornarse las carnes con arrebol y colonia, y hacerlo con tatuajes que después nadie ha de borrar ya.

[Anonymous No.5266788]

I was overcome with a sense of my own defilement. Though I returned to Tokyo I did nothing for days but shut myself up in my room. My memory remained fixed on the dead rather than the living. The rooms I had set aside in there for Naoko were shuttered, the furniture draped in white, the windowsills dusty. I spent the better part of each day in those rooms. And I thought about Kizuki. "So you finally made Naoko yours," I heard myself telling him. "Oh, well, she was yours to begin with. Now, maybe, she's where she belongs. But in this world, in this imperfect world of the living, I did the best I could for Naoko. I tried to establish a new life for the two of us. But forget it, Kizuki. I'm giving her to you. You're the one she chose, after all. In woods as dark as the depths of her own heart, she hanged herself. Once upon a time, you dragged a part of me into the world of the dead, and now Naoko has dragged another part of me into that world. Sometimes I feel like the caretaker of a museum -- a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself."

[Anonymous No.5266885]

There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evil memories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart but they abide there and wait. He may suffer their memory to grow dim, let them be as though they had not been and all but persuade himself that they were not or at least were otherwise. Yet a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in the most various circumstances, a vision or a dream, r while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquility of the evening or at the feast at midnight when he is now filled with wine. Not to insult over him will the vision come as over one that lies under her wrath, not for vengeance to cut off the living but shrouded in the piteous vesture of the past, silent, remote, reproachful.

[Anonymous No.5266940]

>>5265206

'Goedkope wijn, masturbatie, bioscoop',
schrijft Céline.
De wijn is op, en bioscopen zijn hier niet.
Het bestaan wordt wel eenzijdig.

[Anonymous No.5266950]

Here's a sentence I found recently.

"A man would be a fool to choose war over peace. For in peace, sons bury their fathers, but in war, fathers bury their sons."

[Anonymous No.5266970]

From Diognetus, not to busy myself about trifling things, and not to give credit to what was said by miracle-workers and jugglers about incantations and the driving away of daemons and such things; and not to breed quails for fighting, nor to give myself up passionately to such things; and to endure freedom of speech; and to have become intimate with philosophy; and to have been a hearer, first of Bacchius, then of Tandasis and Marcianus; and to have written dialogues in my youth; and to have desired a plank bed and skin, and whatever else of the kind belongs to the Grecian discipline.

From Rusticus I received the impression that my character required improvement and discipline; and from him I learned not to be led astray to sophistic emulation, nor to writing on speculative matters, nor to delivering little hortatory orations, nor to showing myself off as a man who practises much discipline, or does benevolent acts in order to make a display; and to abstain from rhetoric, and poetry, and fine writing; and not to walk about in the house in my outdoor dress, nor to do other things of the kind; and to write my letters with simplicity, like the letter which Rusticus wrote from Sinuessa to my mother; and with respect to those who have offended me by words, or done me wrong, to be easily disposed to be pacified and reconciled, as soon as they have shown a readiness to be reconciled; and to read carefully, and not to be satisfied with a superficial understanding of a book; nor hastily to give my assent to those who talk overmuch; and I am indebted to him for being acquainted with the discourses of Epictetus, which he communicated to me out of his own collection.

From Apollonius I learned freedom of will and undeviating steadiness of purpose; and to look to nothing else, not even for a moment, except to reason; and to be always the same, in sharp pains, on the occasion of the loss of a child, and in long illness; and to see clearly in a living example that the same man can be both most resolute and yielding, and not peevish in giving his instruction; and to have had before my eyes a man who clearly considered his experience and his skill in expounding philosophical principles as the smallest of his merits; and from him I learned how to receive from friends what are esteemed favours, without being either humbled by them or letting them pass unnoticed.

From Alexander the grammarian, to refrain from fault-finding, and not in a reproachful way to chide those who uttered any barbarous or solecistic or strange-sounding expression; but dexterously to introduce the very expression which ought to have been used, and in the way of answer or giving confirmation, or joining in an inquiry about the thing itself, not about the word, or by some other fit suggestion.

From Fronto I learned to observe what envy, and duplicity, and hypocrisy are in a tyrant, and that generally those among us who are called Patricians are rather deficient in paternal affection.

[Anonymous No.5266984]

>>5266950
That's trite as shit, dawg. If "war is bad dying sucks" is what you find deep maybe you should stick to mirrors.

[Anonymous No.5266997]

I get it cracking like a bad back.
Bitch talking she the queen, when she looking like a lab rat
I'm Angelina, you Jennifer
Come on bitch, you see where Brad at
Ice my wrists and I piss on bitches
You can suck my diznik if you take this jizzes
You don't like them disses, give my ass some kisses
Yeah they know what this is, giving this the business
Cause I pull up and I'm stuntin' but I ain't a stuntman
Yes I'm rockin' Jordans but I ain't a jumpman
Bitches play the back cause they know I'm the front man
Put me on the dollar cause I'm who they trust in
Ayo SB, what's the fucks good?
We ship platinum, them bitches are shipping wood
Them nappy headed hoes but my kitchen good
I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish
A bitch would

[Anonymous No.5267005]

>>5266984
>trite

To be fair, it was probably an original quote at the time since its from the Histories of Herodotus.

[Anonymous No.5267039]

But the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right … and that’s when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You cane barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. the only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it … howling through a turn to the right, then to the left, and down the long hill to Pacifica… letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge…the Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. the other—the living—are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later.

***

I don't claim literary perfection here. This just does it for me, motivation to the imagination, rocket fuel for the soul.

[Anonymous No.5267042]

>>5266984

You're a moron.

[Anonymous No.5267051]

>>5266984
>"war is bad dying sucks"

The quote mentions how death occurs on both sides, you idiot.

[Anonymous No.5267228]

Mas no acabó la frase. En su voz había sonado cierto matiz de irritación. Cuando una mujer se ha inclinado hacia delante, acercándose más y más, con los labios entreabiertos, para encontrarse de pronto, porque un zoquete se pone de pie, inclinada sobre la nada.... bueno, tiene todos los motivos para sentirse molesta, aun con medio gramo de soma en la sangre.

[Anonymous No.5267829]

>>5266950
>in peace, sons bury their fathers
has a different meaning for me
but nice.

[Anonymous No.5267942]

>>5265556
jesus christ this describes me perfectly
what is this from

[Anonymous No.5267947]

Edmond de Goncourt, who, in his notorious diary, turned himself into a peeping concierge of the French literary world, was always salivating over the latest piece of scabrous gossip. Hugo, with his ravenous sexual appetite (far from decreasing with old age, his carnal cravings developed in-to a compulsive mania that never relented, virtually until his death at age eighty-three), provided a constant source for Goncourt’s prurient notes. With his wife Adèle, his permanent mistress, Juliette Drouet, and his numerous casual mistresses (actresses, bas-bleus, fashionable beauties, revolutionary heroines), Hugo was never short of female company; nevertheless, he also experienced a quasi-pathological need for furtive sexual encounters with all the successive maidservants of his own household, countless prostitutes and other humble and anonymous partners—volunteer or professional. He kept a personal record of these activities, usually including mention of the modest expenses they entailed (he was notoriously thrifty) and a brief description each time of the type of transaction involved; all this was written in a coded language (macaronic mixture of Latin, broken Spanish, and private hieroglyphs) in order to ward off the prying eyes of his principal mistress, who was fiercely jealous.

Even in times of crisis and personal tragedy, his sexual urge seems to have escaped his control. When his beloved daughter Adèle became mentally unbalanced and eloped to the West Indies, she was eventually brought back to Europe, under the care of a black nurse called Madame Baa. Adèle was incoherent (she never recovered her sanity) and could not recognize the members of her family. Hugo’s distress showed in his diary: “I saw Adèle/My heart is broken…. Another door closed, darker than that of the tomb.” But a few days after this dramatic reunion, he could not resist the exotic curiosity which Madame Baa had aroused in him, and he was soon able to record in the same diary the success of this new experiment: “The first Negress in my life

[Anonymous No.5267949]

>>5267829
does it have to do w rebellion and/or revolution of generations?if so thats how i read it at first too

[Anonymous No.5267957]

>>5267829
does it have to do w the release of youthful energy and angst regardless of war/peace
or
rebellion and/or revolution of generations
if so thats how i read it too

[Anonymous No.5267959]

>>5267947
(from Goncourt's journal quoted in the same essay on Victor Hugo)
The night before Hugo’s funeral—this night of desolate wake of the entire nation—was celebrated with a gigantic copulation: brothels having closed for the circumstance, their women went to participate in a huge priapic orgy on the lawns of the Champs-Elysées—and our good policemen refrained from disturbing these republican unions…. Another detail regarding the “f-----ng” funerals of our great man—this information comes from Police sources—for the last week, all the prostitutes have been performing their services with a black crêpe draped round their private parts—c----ts in mourning

[Anonymous No.5267984]

>>5267957
maybe

Father says he forgives me for (supposedly) wanting to kill him.
next time I can reply,
- "In War, fathers bury their sons. In peace, sons bury their fathers".

[Anonymous No.5267991]

>>5267957
I read it as: war prevents progress. Fathers represent the old generation or the old ways, while sons represent the new generation or the new ways. In peace time, we are able to progress because sons are able to get rid of the old ways and expand upon them, but in war time, the new ways are never able to blossom and help us get rid of the old ways and expand upon them.

Consider "1984". The Party made it seem as though there was a constant war happening to scare the people about threats of attacks by the two other continents. This fear kept the people inside the constraints of the Party, thus preventing any "new ways" from appearing.

[Anonymous No.5267998]

>>5267984
is it a common thing for sons to want to be their fathers while killing them
the desire to overcome and surpass a significant figure and model in ur life
many of my male friends have this sort of dynamic in their relationships w their fathers
i wasnt rly close to mine growing up so i thought i didnt have this problem but i keep finding similarities between me and him and i love and hate them at the same time

[Anonymous No.5268021]

>>5267998
>be their fathers
except I don't want to be that bastard.

>The son is the death of the father. The grandson is his revenge.
- Michel Houellebecq

[Anonymous No.5268027]

>>5268021
not a cutfag btw.
guy on the right is supposed to be William Burroughs.
I just wanted to post young Buk (left).

[Anonymous No.5268035]

>>5268021
Not him, but its a COMMON thing, not a definite. The second line also states that there is typically an innate "desire to overcome and surpass a significant figure", in this case being the father. It seems you want to overcome "that bastard". I sure hope you don't want to be lower than "that bastard".

[Anonymous No.5268040]

>>5268021
oh well i guess we all have different relations hips with our parents
do u not want to b ur father bc u hate him personally or bc u want to b gr8er?

[Anonymous No.5268063]

>>5268040
he was miserable and bitter.
good studies, good money. But he always failed to impress his father.
I want to be greater, yeah, in a way.
I'm not trying to make daddy proud, I have my own goals.

[Anonymous No.5268096]

>>5268063
and theres that "surpassing" thing
i think mostly when guys want to b greater than their fathers its not a positive sentiment that motivates them
theres disappointment and disapproval in there too a lot of the times
(this is all anecdotal evidence gathered from my personal exp so take it w a huge handful of rock salt)
i think it may have to do w how we idolize our fathers at an early age and as we grow up we learn more about them and see more imperfections
most parents are always careful to only show a baby their good sides but of course that slides over time
maybe thats where the disappointment comes from
did you perhaps view ur father is a more positive lighte when u were much younger

[Anonymous No.5268168]

>>5268096
>did you perhaps view ur father is a more positive lighte when u were much younger
well, as a child I remember parties he had with a stebrother, sister and my mother.
they were listening to bob Marley, Deep Purple, lots of stuff I can't remember. But it was good times.
But then he became completely paranoid, violent, a dometic Tyrant.
I still remeber trying to defy him when I was a teen, like we had to climb a steep dust road under 40°C.
But at 8 years old I remember the carnival, I was dressed as a cowboy, with a goatee.
Everyone in the village told me it's crazy, you look so much like your father!
I hated it.
At the end of the day, I ran to my bathroom, and used a wet cotton to try to remove the fake goatee; It woulnd't go, I didn't know about acohol to remove makeup. So I dry scraped, scraped, scraped, furiously, until I reopened my scar on my chin... It was bleeding...
At that point, it was clear that it was over. I would never look up to him anymore.

[Anonymous No.5268210]

>>5268168
hm seems ur exps were diff than most ive seen
maybe it was less ur perception of ur father and more his actual degradation
thx for sharing the story
i think the bit about the makeup is v powerful

[Anonymous No.5268467]

Saw this sentence the other day:

"Maybe the best way to come to terms with where you're from is not that you never leave. But that you never fully arrive anywhere else."

[Anonymous No.5270113]

>>5265206
"Ah, but how different it is with divine distractions! Have you ever looked up at the stars on a clear night, and have you ever found any surer visions? It doesn't cost anything, and so there is no impatience to fret about. There is no poster saying "Tonight on the stroke of 10." On the contrary, the stars wait for you - even if in another sense they don't wait for you, since they have been burning away and lighting up the night like this for thousands of years without changing."
-Soren Kirekegaard