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Gustave Flaubert

    Елизаветаhar citeretfor 2 år siden
    “Has it ever happened to you,” Léon went on, “to come across some vague idea of one’s own in a book, some dim im­age that comes back to you from afar, and as the com­pletest ex­pres­sion of your own slight­est sen­ti­ment
    b2140623215har citeretsidste år
    Letter 10
    June 1835

    I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them.

    I can no longer think of nothing but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.

    As for my heart, there you will always be — very much so. I have a delicious sense of you there. But my God, what is to become of me, if you have de‍
    Айгульhar citeretfor 5 måneder siden

    известнный, прославленный

    dianecilengihar citeretfor 2 år siden
    dianecilengihar citeretfor 2 år siden
    Then the lusts of the flesh, the long­ing for money, and the mel­an­choly of pas­sion all blen­ded them­selves into one suf­fer­ing, and in­stead of turn­ing her thoughts from it, she clave to it the more, ur­ging her­self to pain, and seek­ing every­where oc­ca­sion for it
    dianecilengihar citeretfor 2 år siden
    Her ill­ness, it ap­pears, was a kind of fog that she had in her head, and the doc­tors could not do any­thing, nor the priest either. When she was taken too bad she went off quite alone to the sea­shore, so that the cus­toms of­ficer, go­ing his rounds, of­ten found her ly­ing flat on her face, cry­ing on the shingle. Then, after her mar­riage, it went off, they say.”
    “But with me,” replied Emma, “it was after mar­riage that it began.
    dianecilengihar citeretfor 2 år siden
    eem so, be­cause in the midst of the world I know how to wear the mask of a scoffer upon my face; and yet, how many a time at the sight of a cemetery by moon­light have I not asked my­self whether it were not bet­ter to join those sleep­ing there!”
    “Oh! and your friends?” she said. “You do not think of them.”
    “My friends! What friends? Have I any? Who cares for me?” And he ac­com­pan­ied the last words with a kind of whist­ling of the lips.
    dianecilengihar citeretfor 2 år siden
    I have noth­ing in the world! you are all to me; so shall I be to you. I will be your people, your coun­try; I will tend, I will love you!”
    b9042414563har citeretfor 7 måneder siden


    b9042414563har citeretfor 7 måneder siden

    Parpadeante. Titilante

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