The more I live here in western Europe, the more I am impressed by the sense of decay;Mnot the graceful and dignified decay of an ...oriental, but the vulgar and sordid decay of a bankrupt cotton-mill.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
"The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed,... And the crack in the tea-cup opens A lane to the land of the dead.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
But the best I've known Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown... About the winds of the world, and fades from brains Of living men, and dies.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The timeless, surly patience of the serf That moves the nearest to the naked earth... And ploughs down palaces, and thrones, and towers.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Piles of scrapbooks, the cuttings turned by time to the colour of the freckles on an old lady's hand. Her hand. My hand, as it is ...now. When you touch the old newsprint, it turns into brown dust, like the dust of bones.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Show me one thing here on earth which has begun well and not ended badly. The proudest palpitations are engulfed in a sewer, where... they cease throbbing, as though having reached their natural term: this downfall constitutes the heart's drama and the negative meaning of history.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »