In memory of Ania M.

Yesterday one of our friends from English Department died...
We were all very distressed to hear about her death.
She was joyful, energetic and charmingly scatterbrained.
It's just not fair that she had to leave this world at the age of 21.

There's nothing left to say in such a moment...

Ann - we won't forget [*]

To be different...

From childhood's hour I have not been as others were;
I have not seen as others saw;
I could not bring my passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken my sorrow;
I could not awaken my heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.

Edgar Allan Poe

Erotica

Once you put your hand in the flame

You can never be the same

There's a certain satisfaction

In a little bit of pain

I can see you understand

I can tell that you're the same

If you're afraid, well rise above

I only hurt the ones I love

Madonna

Quotations

Some more quotations which I really like :

‘I didn't like to think about passion, it wasn’t a part of my nature, or so I thought. How little we know – I mean really know – about our capabilities.’

‘It’s difficult to remember quite how and when intrest in another human being flares into something more commited, more passionate.’

‘Of course I searched for her. It’s only when you’ve lost someone, you realize the nonsense of that phrase “it’s a small world”. It isn’t. It’s a vast, devouring world, especially if you’re alone.’

‘If one has given oneself utterly, watching the beloved sleep can be a vile experience. Perhaps some of you have known that paralysis, staring down at features closed to your enquiry, locked away from you where you can never, ever go, into the other’s mind. As I say, for us who have given ourselves, that is a horror. One knows, in those moments, that one does not exist, except in relation to that face, that personality. Therefore, when that face is closed down, that personality is lost in its own unknowable world, one feels completely without purpose. A planet without a sun, revolving in darkness.’

‘While the nature of God and the possibility of eternal life go undiscussed, we happily chew over the minutiae of misery. The syndrome recognizes no boundaries; in bath-house and seminar-room alike, the same ritual is repeated. With the inevitability of a tongue returning to probe a painful tooth, we come back and back and back again to our fears, sitting to talk them over with the eagerness of a hungry man before a full and steaming plate.’

Clive Barker, Books of Blood