I let him run on, this papier-maché Mephistopheles, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger… — Joseph Conrad Copy Share Image
“It's the captain. He looks fresh shaved. My own face is covered in little wires that amount to nothing but the look… — Ottessa Moshfegh Copy Share Image
We are dust and to dust return. In the end we're neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
