This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
All of a sudden, in the good-natured child, the woman stood revealed, a disturbing woman with all the impulsive madness of her sex, opening the gates of the unknown world of desire. Nana was still smiling, but with the deadly smile of a man-eater.
He mused on this village of his, which had sprung up in this place, amid the stones, like the gnarled undergrowth of the valley. All Artaud's inhabitants were inter-related, all bearing the same surname to such an extent that they used double-barrelled names from the cradle up, to distinguish one from another. At some antecedent date an ancestral Artaud had come like an outcast, to establish himself in this waste land. His family had grown with the savage vitality of the vegetation, drawing nourishment from this stone till it had become a tribe, then the tribe turned to a community, till they could not sort out their cousinage, going back for generations. They inter-married with unblushing promiscuity.
Body |
Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
If you were coming in the fall, I'd brush the summer by, with half a smile and half a spurn,as housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,I'd wind the months in balls, and put them each in separate drawers, until their time befalls.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
If I could I would always work in silence and obscurity, and let my efforts be known by their results.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
All seems smooth and easy: where is the obstacle?' 'Here! and here!' replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast, 'in whichever place the soul lives.
Plenty |
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I am seldom otherwise than happy while watching in the chamber of death... I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter--the Eternity they have entered--where life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its fullness.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Although he loved her with all the strength of his miserable being, not love as much in eighty years as I do in a day
Soul |
How long would authority . . . exist, if not for the willingness of the mass to become soldiers, policemen, jailers, and hangmen.
Spirit |
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I'm trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I don't care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I do!
Leo Tolstoy, the greatest anti-patriot of our time, defines patriotism as the principle that will justify the training of wholesale murderers; a trade that requires better equipment in the exercise of man-killing than the making of such necessities as shoes, clothing, and houses; a trade that guarantees better returns and greater glory than that of the honest workingman.
Bigotry | Economics | Future | God | Kill | Love | Man | Means | Men | Past | Position | Religion | Will | Worth | God |
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again—it is hers yet—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change, if the air blew on it...
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Instead of a wild, hatless little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless, there lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered beaver, and a long cloth habit which she was obliged to hold up with both hands that she might sail in.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window.
Dependence | Ignorance | Land | Right |
Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Those who are beloved cannot die, because love means immortality.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, how could I seek the empty world again?