Tag: Literature and War

One’s prime is elusive

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We took everything upon ourselves

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She regarded life as an expedition into the unknown,

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The milk of incomprehension

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A strange carousel from which there was no getting off

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Hope is a wound

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Look at the colour of it

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Trespassing on one’s own ground

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If you know about yourself, presumably you know about at least one other person

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Who do you think you are, Cluny Brown?

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Everyone was fleeing and everything was temporary

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They didn’t dare before; now they do, that’s all

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The walls of her home were falling down, there was no refuge

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Pain never belonged to just one of us

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and the jungle passed in on them, seeking to cover them up

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Love was so vulnerable

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Everyone was shut in upon themselves

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All this has been described a thousand times

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