A picture was a motionless record of motion. An arrested representation of life. A picture was the kiss of death pretending to… — Ivan Klíma Copy Share Image
In the last scene, between death and ourselves, there is no more pretending: we must speak plain French. — Anonymous Copy Share Image
“One went on and on, never dreaming of the sudden dreadful day when the coverings were going to be dropped and one… — Elizabeth von Arnim Copy Share Image
