А как ще щурмувате, моля?
Ресто! – Не струва! –
Тя е бронирана
здраво в гърдите
и бронебойни патрони
“Вяра”, Никола Вапцаров
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
T. S. Eliot
I will write about all of this one day, he thinks, and knows it’s just a dawn thought, an after-dreaming thought. But it’s nice to think so for a while in the morning’s clean silence, to think that childhood has its own sweet secrets and confirms mortality, and that mortality defines all courage and love. To think that what has looked forward must also look back, and that each life makes its own imitation of immortality: a wheel.
Or so Bill Denbrough sometimes thinks on those early mornings after dreaming, when he almost remembers his childhood, and the friends with whom he shared it.
“It”, Stephen King
Joe Malik suddenly began laughing.
“I’ve got it,” he cried, “I’ve got it!”
“What have you got?” Hagbard asked tensely, concerned with Leviathan.
“We’re in a book!”
“The Illuminatus! trilogy”, Robert Wilson & Robert Shea
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
“If–”, Rudyard Kipling
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
“The love song of J. Alfred Pufrock”, T. S. Eliot
Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.
“The great Gatsby”, Francis Fitzgerald
…иногда в полдень, когда зайдешь куда-нибудь в горы, станешь один посредине горы, кругом сосны, старые, большие, смолистые; вверху на скале старый замок средневековый, развалины; наша деревенька далеко внизу, чуть видна; солнце яркое, небо голубое, тишина страшная.
“Идиот”, Фёдор Достоевский