Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts

16 June 2026

Bloom's Day, not Joyce's Day

Giovanni Boccaccio, born on June 16, 1313,
after a full life died on December 21, 1375.
Leopold Bloom, though, born in 1866, 
has been an immortal since June 16, 1904,
as he recently explained to Giovanni.
Otherwise, instead of Bloom's Day 
 today Joyce's Day would be celebrated, wouldn't it?
But what would Joyce be without Bloom?
A Nothing.
;-)


What did Mr. Bloom's lovely wife Molly say again?

"I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes." 

24 May 2026

01 May 2026

Coffee time with Droods

... well, and to welcome May:
Strawberries & whipped cream.

27 December 2025

Six desired, one surprise

2326 pages literature at its finest.

23 December 2025

Beers & Books (439) – Werfel: Star of the Unborn

Star of the Unborn
(1945/46), science-fiction novel
 
Franz Werfel (10 September 1890 – 26 August 1945)

16 December 2025

15 December 2025

Happy 95th, Dame Edna!

Wish she could celebrate her 95th birthday, today.
I do.
 

Edna O'Brien (15 December 1930 – 27 July 2024)

 “History is said to be written by the victors. Fiction, by contrast, is largely the work of injured bystanders.” 

Books everywhere. On the shelves and on the small space above the rows of books and all along the floor and under chairs, books that I have read, books that I have not read.

What matters is the imaginative truth.

Ordinary life bypassed me, but I also bypassed it. It couldn't have been any other way. Conventional life and conventional people are not for me.

Love . . . is like nature, but in reverse; first it fruits, then it flowers, then it seems to wither, then it goes deep, deep down into its burrow, where no one sees it, where it is lost from sight, and ultimately people die with that secret buried inside their souls.

We hide the truer part of ourselves when we love.

I always want to be in love, always. It’s like being a tuning fork.

14 December 2025

Beers & Books (438) – 28 Stories from the Faroe Islands

Of islands I know
Stories from the Faroe Islands
;-)
Even greater than the variety of beers
is the variety of the 28 stories by 27 authors.
A literary tour de force through the 20th century.

13 December 2025

The fundamental evil

Ich erkläre das grundlegende Übel der Welt damit, 
dass der liebe Gott zu wenig Geld geschaffen hat.
                                      * * *
The fundamental evil of the world arose from the fact
that the good Lord has not created money enough. 

 Heinrich Heine (13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856)