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Marts 10., 2003
 | 00:10 - tā grāmata par vilkačiem ir riktīgi laba...
I have seen an accomplished young woman of considerable refinement and of a highly strung nervous temperament, string flies with her needle on a piece of thread, and watch complacently their flutterings. Cruelty may remain latent till, by some accident. it is aroused, and then it will break forth in a devouring flame. It is the same with the passion for blood as with the passions of love and hate; we have no conception of the violence with which they can rage till circumstances occur which call them into action. Love or hate will be dominant in a breast which has been in serenity, till suddenly the spark falls, passion blazes forth, and the serenity of the quiet breast is shattered for ever. A word, a glance, a touch, are sufficient to fire the magazine of passion in the heart, and to desolate for ever an existence. It is the same with bloodthirstiness. It may lurk in the deeps of some heart very dear to us. It may smoulder in the bosom which is most cherished by us, and we may be perfectly unconscious of its existence there. Perhaps circumstances will not cause its development; perhaps moral principle may have bound it down with fetters it can never break.
(teksts ņemts no šīs nodaļas)
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| 04:15 - peec zhuu pieprasiijuma :D
In 1553, a wife cut her husband's throat, and gnawed the nose and the left arm, whilst the body was yet warm. She then gutted the corpse, and salted it for future consumption. Shortly after, she gave birth to three children, and she only became conscious of what she had done when her neighbours asked after the father, that they might announce to him the arrival of the little ones.
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| 16:41 - atskaite par padarīto ;)
Tas ir kā zveja pazemes alās, domāja Kiters, tu jūti, kad tuvojas zivs, dzirdi tās spuras šļakstinām straumi, redzi tās zvīņas kā tikko jaušamu gaismu, jūti tās ilgas un bailes. Tas ir kā prasmīgam zvejniekam izcelt zivi no ūdens; tam nevajag tīklus vai āķus, tu vienkārši iegremdē ūdenī sauju un maigi, bez pūlēm satver slideno atvaru vārpstiņu.
Tas ir kā naktī tuvoties viņam miegā, tu pēkšņi aizmirsti visu, kas bijis un kas varētu būt, un tikai jūti, kā staro viņa augums, tas siltums, kas tevi ieskauj, ir daudz vairāk par dusmām vai bēdām, daudz vairāk par pieradumu vai nodevību – tam vispār nav vārda un tas pastāv ārpus visiem laikiem. Tev var būt desmitiem draugu un biedru, un varbūt pat mīļāko, bet tai stundā, kad tu, neko negaidot, ej cauri tumšsiltai straumei, tev līdzi nāks tikai viens. Un visi, kas bijuši pirms un pēc tam, ir tikai jūsu kopīgā mitekļa sienas.
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