/lit/ - Literature

>>16378056

>>16352148

Sunlight has never kissed this fair anons room. It has never dared.

>>16288175
>>16288181

>>16239480
Based 'feeling-based' anon. Based as usual.

>>16239211
Based. Fuck people who brain drain you with useless drivel then go do the same shit they were complaining about. Endless fucking cycle they enjoy being in. And when you need to vent a little? Like cockroaches, they hide.

>>16234339
Based response.

>>16232677
I always avoided this book because I thought it was just some stupid book people shilled after watching the garbage movie but god fucking damn this page changed my mind.

Just downloaded a copy. Thanks!

>>16223889
The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism by Max Weber

>Earth is choking to death on homo sapiens...
Jesse would would win this hands-down. No mercy and no remorse.

>>16020322
checked

>>15776753
>Falcon Densetsu! poster

>>15749999
Epin

>>15725515
Can you reccomend some? Or where to download them?
>>15725668
See pic related

>>15672241

>>15671200
>Levantine virgin BTFO by Arab BVLL

>>15622869
Is swedish really that easy to learn? Looks like a mixture of german and english.

>>15325716
>Eliade

>hacking

>>15061256

>>15030630
Stirner & Nietzsche are 'par excellance' the best 'wombo combo'

The smell of burning was only the beginning. No sooner had he
registered it than half a dozen other scents filled his head. Perfumes he had
scarcely noticed until now were suddenly overpoweringly strong. The lingering
scent of filched blossoms; the smell of the paint on the ceiling and the sap
in the wood beneath his feet-all filled his head. He could even smell the
darkness outside the door, and in it, the ordure of a hundred thousand birds.
He put his hand to his mouth and nose, to stop the onslaught from
overcoming him, but the stench of perspiration on his fingers made him giddy.
He might have been driven to nausea had there not been fresh sensations
flooding his system from each nerve ending and taste bud.
It seemed he could suddenly feel the collision of the dust motes with
his skin. Every drawn breath chafed his lips; every blink, his eyes. Bile burned in the back of his throat, and a morsel of yesterday's beef that had
lodged between his teeth sent spasms through his system as it exuded a droplet
of gravy upon his tongue.
His ears were no less sensitive. His head was filled with a thousand
dins, some of which he himself was father to. The air that broke against his eardrums was a hurricane; the flatulence in his bowels was thunder. But there were other sounds-innumerable sounds-which assailed him from somewhere beyond himself. Voices raised in anger, whispered professions of love, roars and rattlings, snatches of song, tears. Was it the world he was hearing-morning breaking in a thousand homes? He had no chance to listen closely; the cacophony drove any power of analysis from his head. But there was worse. The eyes! Oh god in heaven, he had never guessed
that they could be such torment; he, who'd thought there was nothing on earth left to startle him. Now he reeled! Everywhere, sight! The plain plaster of the ceiling was an awesome geography of brush
strokes. The weave of his plain shirt an unbearable elaboration of threads. In the corner he saw a mite move on a dead dove's head, and wink its eyes at him, seeing that he saw. Too much! Too much!

Classic Martial
>Pēdīcābō ego vōs et irrumābō,
>Aurēlī pathice et cinaede Fūrī,
>quī mē ex versiculīs meīs putāstis,
>quod sunt molliculī, parum pudīcum.
>Nam castum esse decet pium poētam
>ipsum, versiculōs nihil necesse est;
>quī tum dēnique habent salem ac lepōrem,
>sī sint molliculī ac parum pudīcī
>et quod prūriat incitāre possunt,
>nōn dīcō puerīs, sed hīs pilōsīs
>quī dūrōs nequeunt movēre lumbōs.
>Vōs, quod mīlia multa bāsiōrum
>lēgistis male mē marem putātis?
>Pēdīcābō ego vōs et irrumābō.

I will sodomize you and face-fuck you,
bottom Aurelius and catamite Furius,
you who think, because my poems
are sensitive, that I have no shame.
For it's proper for a devoted poet to be moral
himself, [but] in no way is it necessary for his poems.
In point of fact, these have wit and charm,
if they are sensitive and a little shameless,
and can arouse an itch,
and I don't mean in boys, but in those hairy old men
who can't get it up.
Because you've read my countless kisses,
you think less of me as a man?
I will sodomize you and face-fuck yo

>The dystopian YA novel starts reciting FBI crime statistics