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/lit/ - Literature

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>> No.17418202 [View]
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17418202

What are some books that feature insects? I know Perdido Street station has the insect people.

>> No.12357572 [View]
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12357572

>>12356801
sad, lonely and last bump

>> No.11683338 [View]
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11683338

>>11683328
Imperium by Yockey

>> No.11336830 [View]
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11336830

Midsummer is coming up in a week. What books/poetry are you going to read?

Mishima's short story Death in Midsummer is a obvious one.

>> No.11276376 [DELETED]  [View]
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11276376

Which philosopher was right?

>> No.11003220 [View]
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11003220

Now that the dust has settled, which philosopher got it right?

>> No.10841890 [View]
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10841890

>>10841885
Infinite Jest

>> No.10449627 [View]
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10449627

>>10448494
Don't ask why I have this saved, thanks.

>> No.10375112 [View]
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10375112

For a long time I would go to bed early. Sometimes, the candle barely out, my eyes closed so quickly that I did not have time to tell myself: “I’m falling asleep.” And half an hour later the thought that it was time to look for sleep would awaken me; I would make as if to put away the book which I imagined was still in my hands, and to blow out the light; I had gone on thinking, while I was asleep, about what I had just been reading, but these thoughts had taken a rather peculiar turn; it seemed to me that I myself was the immediate subject of my book: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François I and Charles V. This impression would persist for some moments after I awoke; it did not offend my reason, but lay like scales upon my eyes and prevented them from registering the fact that the candle was no longer burning. Then it would begin to seem unintelligible, as the thoughts of a previous existence must be after reincarnation; the subject of my book would separate itself from me, leaving me free to apply myself to it or not; and at the same time my sight would return and I would be astonished to find myself in a state of darkness, pleasant and restful enough for my eyes, but even more, perhaps, for my mind, to which it appeared incomprehensible, without a cause, something dark indeed. I would ask myself what time it could be; I could hear the whistling of trains, which, now nearer and now further off, punctuating the distance like the note of a bird in a forest, showed me in perspective the deserted countryside through which a traveller is hurrying towards the nearby station; and the path he is taking will be engraved in his memory by the excitement induced by strange
surroundings, by unaccustomed activities, by the conversation he has had and the farewells exchanged beneath an unfamiliar lamp that still echo in his ears amid the silence of the night, and by the happy prospect of being home again.

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