Beers & Books XCIII – Manuel Vázquez Montalbán

"Reading is a lonely and innocent vice"

Manuel Vázquez Montalbán (14 June 1939 – 18 October 2003)

Beers & Books XCII – Fernando Pessoa

The Book of Disquiet
*
"Literature exists because the world isn't enough."

 

Fernando Pessoa (13. Juni 1888 – 30. November 1935)

Beers & Books XCI – Djuna Barnes

Only the impossible lasts forever.

Djuna Barnes (June 12, 1892 – June 18, 1982)

Beers & Books XC – Orhan Pamuk

Without patience and the skill of a craftsman,
even the greatest talent is wasted.

Orhan Pamuk *7 June 1952

Hiatus interruptus

Herewith it is anounced that I have not moved to my probably last dwelling six feet under, yet.
I felt but the wish to prove myself I could do without internet for at least four weeks, and still happily survive.
"Surprise": It's possible.
Good to know.
Tomorrow, or one of the following days, I shall answer the comments I received since end of April.
And I am looking forward to "visit my friends".
The peace of the night.

Saturday Night Music – Martha Argerich

Martha Argerich *5 June 1941

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (27 January 1756 – 5 December 1791)

Beers & Books LXXXIX – Federico García Lorca

The day we stop resisting our instincts,
we'll have learned how to live.

Federico García Lorca (5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936)

Beers & Books LXXXIII – Philippe Dijan

...

Philippe Dijan * 3 June 1949

Beers & Books LXXXVII – Danielle McLaughlin

Dinosaurs on Other Planets

Danielle McLaughlin

Beers & Books LXXXVI – Zoran Feric

Death of the Little Match Girl

Zoran Ferić * 2 June 1961

Beers & Books LXXXV –Thomas Hardy

Time changes everything
except something within us
which is always surprised by change.

Thomas Hardy (2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
 

Saturday Night Music – Joachim Raff

Joachim Raff (27 May 1822 – 24 or 25 June 1882)

Daniel Müller-Schott * 2 November 1976

At The Mid Hour Of Night

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone valley we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there
And tell me our love is remember'd even in the sky!
Then I sing the wild song it was once rapture to hear
When our voices, commingly, breathed like one on the ear;
And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think,
O my Love! 'tis thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

Thomas Moore (28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852)