A borbotones

Me vino a buscar en el Ford T de su compañero de cuarto y nos fuimos al campo, donde hablamos, hicimos el amor y hablamos hasta el amanecer. Hablamos como yo nunca había hablado antes, a borbotones.

Los argonautas

Maggie Nelson

With books

there is no forced sociability. If we pass the evening with those friends—books—it’s because we really want to. When we leave them, we do so with regret and, when we have left them, there are none of those thoughts that spoil friendship: ‘What did they think of us?’—‘Did we make a mistake and say something tactless?’—‘Did they like us?’—nor is there the anxiety of being forgotten because of displacement by someone else.

Proust

Son ilusiones

Porque todo lo que piensas tú
Son ilusiones, que más me da
Son ilusiones, y así nací

Los chichos

Si són roses, floriran.

Que deia en Pedrolo.

Gornick!!!

In a chapter that touches on the novelist Elizabeth Bowen’s helpless, masochistic love for an indifferent man, Gornick tells us about Daniel, a man she met when she was eighteen and he was ten years older and “to whom I remained in thrall for decades” even though he swiftly proved himself to be a cheat and a pathological liar. Years later, he shows up at her door to ask what she got from the affair. She leaves the question hanging. At the time, she may not have known how to respond, but now she does: he gave her material, and it is she who will tell the tale.

Vam marxar

El mateix dia.

Pels bons moments, vas dir tu.

Jo vaig callar.

És potser

Que et feies el trobadís?