#mihail sebastian

[soracities]

Mihail Sebastian, Women (trans. Phillip Ó Ceallaigh)

[Text ID: "September has arrived, lovely in its weakening light."]

[petaltexturedskies]

Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years

[adiradirim]

Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years (trans. Philip Ó Ceallaigh), originally published 1934, Romania

[thebluesthour]

Below, on the guesthouse terrace, chairs and shawls and white dresses can be seen. And beyond, the idyllic, clear, blue lake. A postcard.

Mihail Sebastian, Women (trans. Phillip Ó Ceallaigh)

[bulletpillarsinorion]

writings about november

[oldwinesoul]

“Nothing destroys general ideas and conclusions more radically than being in love, since love reduces everything down to your own sensibility, reinventing superstitions, certainties, and doubts and values, obliging you to live them, to test them, to re-create them. There is something profoundly original in every love, a principle of birth, of creating all things from the beginning.”

—Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years (tr. by Philip o Ceallaigh)

[imaginemirage]

I was happy three days ago. Today I'm depressed. What happened? Nothing. An inner crutch slipped. Some poorly suppressed memory rose to the surface.

Mihail Sebastion

[mossandfern]

my time of year, november. the month when i re-read books, leaf through papers, gather notes. it's a kind of hunger for work, for activity, for taking up all the old tasks once again. and that damp organic smell in the morning when i go out — and the warm halos of lamplight in the evening when i return.

[joybank]

“Those November evenings, when the streets were sad and the first fire brought warmth and laziness in the house, and something indistinguishable that could have been called happiness...”

Mihail Sebastian, The Town with Acacia Trees

[cristinaboncea]

Mihail Sebastian - Femei | Recenzie literară

Astfel mi-am început incursiunea în colecția feminIN de la Publisol – cu autorul meu român clasic favorit și cartea care l-a propulsat în lumea literară a vremurilor sale. Pe tot parcursul lecturii m-am gândit la similitudinile dintre această colecție de nuvele și romanul lui Bukowski cu același nume. IntroducereDespre ce este vorbaRenée, Marthe, OdetteEmiliaMariaArabelaFeedback…

[soracities]

Mihail Sebastian, Women (trans. Phillip Ó Ceallaigh) [transcript in ALT]

[petaltexturedskies]

(…) the melancholy of summer's end, when the sun is still strong and the light is clear but the tops of the evening trees shiver with a presentiment of the coming decline, a knowledge it contains within itself the way a loaf of bread recalls the hot embers of the fire where it was baked.

Mihail Sebastian, from Women

[adiradirim]

Now that I think about it, the problem isn't that three boys can stand at a street corner and cry "Death to the Yids', but that the cry goes unobserved and unopposed, like the tinkling of a bell on a tram. Sometimes, sitting alone at home, I realize I can suddenly hear the ticking of the clock. It has been beside me all along but, either because I wasn't paying attention or because I'm accustomed to it, I don't notice it. It has got lost, along with many other familiar little noises, in a kind of silence that swallows the sound of things around. Out of this stillness, you get suddenly caught off-guard by the clock ticking with unsuspected violence and energy. The ticks strike in short, clipped beats, like the blows of tiny metal fists. It's not a clock any more, it's a machine gun. The sound covers everything. fills the room, grates on your nerves. I hide it in the wardrobe - it resounds even from there. I smother it beneath a pillow - the sound continues, distant and vehement. There's no cure but to resign yourself. You have to wait. After a while, by some miracle, the attack is over, the cogs settle down, the second hand relaxes. You can no longer hear it: the ticking has blended back into the general silence of the house, merged with the general hum of all the other objects. Exactly the same thing happens with that age-old call for death, which is always present somewhere on Romanian streets, but audible only at certain moments. Year after year it resounds in the ear of the common man, who is indifferent, in a hurry, with other things on his mind. Year after year it rumbles and echoes in street and byway, and nobody hears it. And one day, out of nowhere, behold how it suddenly pierces the wall of deafness around it, and issues from every crack and from under every stone. Out of nowhere? Well, not really. What is required is a period of exhaustion, of stress, of tense expectancy, a period of disillusionment. And then the unheeded voices are audible again."

Mihail Sebastian, Two Thousand Years (trans. Philip Ó Ceallaigh), originally published 1934, Romania

[codename-adler]

Seth Gordon. - II

x. / miranda july / being unwanted is a language, fatima aamer bilal / vincent van gogh / for two thousand years, mihail sebastian / @sweatermuppet / @traumacure / richey edwards & x. / the landing, marie howe / one more time, matt mccormick

[emiliosandozsequence]

bones and all (2022) dir. luca guadagnino / the dreamers, gilbert adair / a self portrait in letters, anne sexton / the phantom of the opera (2004) dir. joel schumacher / orestes, anne carson / 'everywhere, everything' by noah kahan / yellowjackets (2021-present) cr. ashley lyle & bart nickerson / caffeine, pt 1, sean glatch / women, mihail sebastian / the fountain (2006) dir. darren aronofsky / toward the amaranth gates of war or love, natalie diaz /the portrait of a lady, henry james / in a week by hozier

for @morbidgf ♡

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

{Sarah Kane, Sarah Kane: Complete Plays: "Crave"/ Mahmoud Darwish/ Oliver Masters/ Mary Oliver, When Did It Happen?/ Ryan O' Connell/ Unknown/ Victoria Chang, "Dear D", Dear Memory: Letters on Writing, Silence, and Grief/ Unknown/ Frank Bidart, Half-Light: Collected Poems, "End of a Friendship"/ Marion, from the film Another Woman, written & directed by Woody Allen (Orion Pictures, 1988)/ Charles Baudelaire, Poems in Prose, "A Hemisphere in Your Hair"/ F. Scott Fitzgerald/ Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years/ Anne Carson, Glass, Irony and God/ Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore/ Donte Collins, "Grief, Again"/ Joyce Carol Oates, We Were Mulvaneys (Plume, 1997)/Pictures from Pinterest}