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torsdag 28. februar 2013

Few of us now have seen the star as they saw them then: our cities and towns cast too much light into the night: but from the village of Wall, the stars were laid out like worlds or like ideas, uncountable as the trees in a forest or the leaves on a tree, and he would stare into the darkness of the sky until he thought of nothing at all, and then he would go back to his bed, and sleep like a dead man. 

Fra boka Stardust av Neil Gaiman.

tirsdag 26. februar 2013

Best of everything, Samantha Black Crow liked closing up the Coffee House at night. It was a perfectly calming thing to do: it gave her a feeling that she was putting order back into the world. She would put on an Indigo Girls CD, and she would do her final chores of the night at her own pace and in her own way. First, she would clean the espresso machine. Then she would do the final rounds, ensuring that any missed cups or plates were deposited back in the kitchen, and that the newspapers that were always scattered around the Coffee House by the end of each day were collected together and piled neatly by the front door, all ready for recycling.
She loved the Coffee House. It was a long, winding series of rooms filled with armchairs and sofas and low tables, on a street lined with second-hand bookstores. 
She covered the leftovers slices of cheesecake and put them into the large refrigerator for the night, then she took a cloth and wiped the last of the crumbs away. She enjoyed being alone. 

Fra romanen AMERICAN GODS av Neil Gaiman.

mandag 25. februar 2013

The air was warm, and it smelled of wet dust, like a city street after the summer's first rain. 

Fra romanen AMERICAN GODS av Neil Gaiman.

torsdag 14. februar 2013

Guro merket at det luktet en blanding av grønnsåpe og skillingboller i kjøkkenet. Samme lukt som hun kunne huske fra mormors kjøkken da hun var liten. 

Fra romanen Stryk meg over håret av Agnes Lovise Matre.

onsdag 13. februar 2013

Lange, slake, skogkledde åser lente seg mot morgensolen, og dannet et grønt bakteppe til hagene som bugnet av blomster. Små palmer strakte seg mot himmelen, før de bøyde bladene som for å tilbe marken de fikk vokse i. 

Fra romanen Stryk meg over håret av Agnes Lovise Matre.

tirsdag 5. februar 2013

You do much ice-fishing Mr Ainsel?'
'Never.'
'Best thing a man can do. It's not the fish you catch, it's the peace of mind that you take home at the end of the day.'

Fra romanen AMERICAN GODS av Neil Gaiman.  

mandag 4. februar 2013

What I say is, a town isn't a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it's got a bookstore, it knows it's not fooling a soul. 

Fra romanen AMERICAN GODS av Neil Gaimen.

søndag 3. februar 2013

The last dead leaves of the automn crackled underfoot, wintercrisp. 

Fra romanen AMERICAN GODS av Neil Gaiman.

lørdag 2. februar 2013

Tonight I have been 
amusing myself
Watching the blood-red moon droop slowly
Into black sea through burst of dry lightning and distant 
thunder.

Deler av diktet THE DAY IS A POEM av Robinson Jeffers.

fredag 1. februar 2013

The future is a misted landscape,
no man sees clearly, but at cyclic turns
There is a change felt in the rhythm of events, as when an
exhausted horse
Falters and recovers then the rhythm of the running hoof-
beats is changed: he will run miles yet,
But he must fall: we have felt it again in our own life time,
slip, shift and speed-up
In the gallop of the world

Deler av diktet PRESCRIPTION OF PAINFUL ENDS av Robinson Jeffers.