Success is subjective. Your dream bank balance could be someone else’s nightmare.
Mokokoma MokhonoanaMots clés money success dream nightmare
Therefore I see no wrong in riding with the Nightmare to-night; she whinnies to me from the rocking tree-tops and the roaring wind; I will catch her and ride her through the awful air. Woods and weeds are alike tugging at the roots in the rising tempest, as if all wished to fly with us over the moon, like that wild, amorous cow whose child was the Moon-Calf. We will rise to that mad infinite where there is neither up nor down, the high topsy-turveydom of the heavens. I will ride on the Nightmare; but she shall not ride on me.
G.K. ChestertonMots clés nightmare fancies fantastic-beasts
I can be anything – and nothing, and everything at the same time. It all depends on the role I am in.
Simona PanovaMots clés everything sacrifice nothing pretend nightmare anything pretending role nightmarish cardew
I lie more convincingly than I tell the truth.
Simona PanovaMots clés truth romance lie lying sacrifice gothic young-adult pretend nightmare convincing pretending tell nightmarish
My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.
Simona PanovaMots clés romance soul melancholy sadness death dead crying mystery sacrifice grave gothic young-adult dying graveyard funeral cry nightmare ghost cemetery sincere skies nightmarish odda
Paranoia. The more you think of an imaginary problem, the more you feel as though it’s real –
Simona PanovaMots clés fear imagination truth reality lies romance fantasy lie horror dread mystery paranoia true sacrifice suspense false gothic young-adult problem pretend afraid real nightmare imagine paranoid fake scared fantastic imaginary love-story gothic-romance freya horrified imagined nightmarish cardew nightmarish-sacrifice
The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.
Simona PanovaMots clés love romantic frost vision world god romance silence sinister dark darkness dream secret myth secrets trees mystery worship brothers gods sacrifice haunted ritual visions ancient tree gothic tower forest unknown young-adult mythology atmospheric deity land mysterious brotherhood atmosphere nightmare coldness brother cold numb heard forbidden occult order ghost silent rite pine occultism secretive ominous realm gothic-romance mute grey goth gray deities haunt severe nightmarish resemble noiseless benumbed forbid mystify mystifying tremendous
Oh, he did look like a deity – the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.
Simona PanovaMots clés love man woman romantic beauty god romance relationships danger temptation myth balance charming legend character suspense personality looks girl perfect perfection boy description gothic hero young-adult attraction mythology relationship deity beautiful possession charm dangerous pretty nightmare in-love forbidden female look crush goddess handsome heroic male character-description flawless tempted distant attractive tempt attract gothic-romance dismay entice demonstrate fascinating goth possessive possess bewitched bewitching he enticing she tempting forbid young-adult-gothic-romance bewitch demonstrative dismaying enticed flawlessness inaccessible
I do dream every night but in the morning I regret.
M.F. MoonzajerMots clés reality night dream nightmare
In the course of my life I have had pre-pubescent ballerinas; emaciated duchesses, dolorous and forever tired, melomaniac and morphine-sodden; bankers' wives with eyes hollower than those of suburban streetwalkers; music-hall chorus girls who tip creosote into their Roederer when getting drunk...
I have even had the awkward androgynes, the unsexed dishes of the day of the *tables d'hote* of Montmartre. Like any vulgar follower of fashion, like any member of the herd, I have made love to bony and improbably slender little girls, frightened and macabre, spiced with carbolic and peppered with chlorotic make-up.
Like an imbecile, I have believed in the mouths of prey and sacrificial victims. Like a simpleton, I have believed in the large lewd eyes of a ragged heap of sickly little creatures: alcoholic and cynical shop girls and whores. The profundity of their eyes and the mystery of their mouths... the jewellers of some and the manicurists of others furnish them with *eaux de toilette*, with soaps and rouges. And Fanny the etheromaniac, rising every morning for a measured dose of cola and coca, does not put ether only on her handkerchief.
It is all fakery and self-advertisement - *truquage and battage*, as their vile argot has it. Their phosphorescent rottenness, their emaciated fervour, their Lesbian blight, their shop-sign vices set up to arouse their clients, to excite the perversity of young and old men alike in the sickness of perverse tastes! All of it can sparkle and catch fire only at the hour when the gas is lit in the corridors of the music-halls and the crude nickel-plated decor of the bars. Beneath the cerise three-ply collars of the night-prowlers, as beneath the bulging silks of the cyclist, the whole seductive display of passionate pallor, of knowing depravity, of exhausted and sensual anaemia - all the charm of spicy flowers celebrated in the writings of Paul Bourget and Maurice Barres - is nothing but a role carefully learned and rehearsed a hundred times over. It is a chapter of the MANCHON DE FRANCINE read over and over again, swotted up and acted out by ingenious barnstormers, fully conscious of the squalid salacity of the male of the species, and knowledgeable in the means of starting up the broken-down engines of their customers.
To think that I also have loved these maleficent and sick little beasts, these fake Primaveras, these discounted Jocondes, the whole hundred-franc stock-in-trade of Leonardos and Botticellis from the workshops of painters and the drinking-dens of aesthetes, these flowers mounted on a brass thread in Montparnasse and Levallois-Perret!
And the odious and tiresome travesty - the corsetted torso slapped on top of heron's legs, painful to behold, the ugly features primed by boulevard boxes, the fake Dresden of Nina Grandiere retouched from a medicine bottle, complaining and spectral at the same time - of Mademoiselle Guilbert and her long black gloves!...
Have I now had enough of the horror of this nightmare! How have I been able to tolerate it for so long?
The fact is that I was then ignorant even of the nature of my sickness. It was latent in me, like a fire smouldering beneath the ashes. I have cherished it since... perhaps since early childhood, for it must always have been in me, although I did not know it!
Mots clés woman sex rotten horror decadence vice alcoholic nightmare macabre depravity lesbian decadent decadents cocaine morphine perversity street-walkers ether montmartre pallor androgyne androgynes chorus-girls fervour levallois-perret maurice-barres paul-bourget
« ; premier précédent
Page 6 de 7.
suivant dernier » ;
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.