Bruno Schulz: Booking

Bruno Schulz was Polish novelist and painter. Explore interesting quotes on booking.

Bruno Schulz: 68 quotes0 likes

“In July, my father left to take the waters; he left me with my mother and older brother at the mercy of the summer days, white from the heat and stunning. Stupefied by the light, we leafed through that great book of the holiday, in which the pages were ablaze with splendour, their sickly sweet pulp, deep within, made from golden pears.”

“August” http://www.schulzian.net/translation/shops/august1.htm <br class="br">His father, The seasons

“Have you ever noticed flocks of swallows flying past between the lines of certain books, whole verses of trembling, pointed swallows? One must interpret the flights of those birds…”

“Spring” http://www.schulzian.net/translation/sanatorium/spring01.htm <br class="br">His father, Books

“Autumn! Autumn! The Alexandrine epoch of the year, gathering into its enormous libraries all the sterile wisdom of the three hundred and sixty-five days of the solar cycle! Oh, those aged mornings, as yellow as parchment, sweet with wisdom, like late evenings. Oh, those cunningly smiling mornings, like shrewd palimpsests, many-layered like old, yellowed books. Oh, the autumnal day, that old jester-librarian clambering up ladders in his slipped-down dressing gown, sampling the preserves of all ages and cultures!”

“The Second Autumn” http://www.schulzian.net/translation/sanatorium/second_autumn.htm <br class="br">His father, The seasons

“I call it simply the Book, with no qualifications or epithets, and in this abstinence and restraint there is a helpless sigh, silent capitulation to the immeasurableness of the transcendent; for no word, no allusion, could glisten, scent the air, or drift with such a shudder of terror, with any inkling of that unnameable thing, the very first taste of which, on the tip of the tongue, surpasses the capacity of our rapture.”

“The Book” http://www.schulzian.net/translation/sanatorium/book1.htm <br class="br">His father, Books

“For ordinary books are like meteors; each has its moment, that instant when it flies shrieking into the air, like a phoenix, all of its pages ablaze. For that moment, that single instant, we love them; although they are mere ashes by then. Sometimes, late at night, we wander in bitter resignation through their congealed pages, whilst they go on insisting, with their wooden clattering, like a rosary, on their dead formulæ.”

“The Book” http://www.schulzian.net/translation/sanatorium/book1.htm <br class="br">His father, Books

“Ah! And in writing down these stories of mine, arranging these tales of my father in the used up margin of its text, do I not yield to the secret hope that, someday, they will strike root imperceptibly between the faded leaves of that most magnificent, scattering book; that they will fall into the great rustle of its pages, which will enfold them?”

“A Night of the High Season” http://www.schulzian.net/translation/shops/night.htm <br class="br">His father, Books