All Quiet On The Western Front

By: Erich Maria Remarque

Slowly I take a deep breath and become calmer. Then I hold my breath, whip up the revolver, it cracks, the dog leaps howling to one side, I make for the door of the shed and foll head over heals over one of the scuttering geese.
At full speed I seize it again, and with a swing toss it over the wall and clamber up. No sooner an I on top than the dog is up again as lively as ever and springs at me. Quickly I let myself drop. Ten paces away stands Kat with the goose under his arms. As soon as he sees me we run.
At last we can take a breather.

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By: Jean - Paul Sartre

"I suddenly understood : the cloak! I wanted to stop it. It would have been enough to cough or open the gate. But in my turn I was fascinated by the little girl's face. Her features were drown with fear and her heart must have been beating horribly: yet I could also read something powerful and wicked on that rat like face. It was not curiosity but rather a sort of assured expectation.

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"The Excursion into the Mountains"

By: Franz Kafka

' I don't know', I cried in a toneless voice, 'I really don't know. If nobody comes, then nobody comes. I've done nobody any any harm, nobody ever did me any harm, yet nobody wants to come to my aid. Nobody upon nobody. But that's not it either. Only nobody comes to help me - nobody upon nobody would be fine. I would quite like - and why wouldn't I? - to go on an excursion with a crowd of nobodies.

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Albert Camus - The renegade, or the confused mind-

by A.Camus

This long this long dream, I awaken, but no I am going to die, the dawn is breaking, the first light of day for other living creatures, and for me the inexorable sun, the flies. Who is speaking, no one, the sky does not part, no, no, God does not speak in the desert, then what is the source of this voice saying: “If you consent to die for hatred and power, who will forgive us?” Is it another tongue inside me or still that other one who refuses to die at my feet, repeating:” Courage, courage,courage”? Ah! What if i were mistaken again! fraternal man in other times, last resort, O solitude, do not forsake me! Here, here, who are you, torn apart, mouth bleeding, it is you, sorcerer, the soldiers defeated you, the salt in burning over there, it is you my beloved master! Leave behind that face of hatred, be good now, we were mistaken, we shall begin again, we will rebuild the city of Gods mercy, I want to go home. Yes, help me, that’s it, hold out your hand, give…

A fistful of salt fills the mouth of the babbling slave.

“Exile and the Kingdom”

-from, the renegade, or a confused mind-


Albert Camus

Albert Camus


By: Mahmoud Darwish

They did not recognize me in the shadows

That suck away my color in this Passport

And to them my wound was an exhibit

For a tourist Who loves to collect photographs

They did not recognize me,

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Poem by: Naomi Shibab N.Y.E.

By: Naomi Shibab N.Y.E.

“a girl knocked,
wanted to see the Arab.
I said we didn’t have one.
After that, my father told me who he was,
‘Shihab’—’shooting star’—
a good name, borrowed from the sky.
Once I said, ‘When we die, we give it back?’
He said that’s what a true Arab would say.”

Anton Chekhov, A Writer For Grown Ups

By: Richard Ford

Until I began the long and happy passage of reading all of Anton Chekhov’s short stories for the purpose of selecting the twenty for inclusion in The Essential Tales of Chekhov, I had read very little of Chekhov. It seems a terrible thing for a story writer to admit, and doubly worse for one whose own stories have been so thoroughly influenced by Chekhov through my relations with other writers who had been influenced by him directly: Sherwood Anderson. Isaac Babel. Hemingway. Cheever. Welty. Carver...

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Certain things last

From: Sherwood Anderson

For a year now I have been thinking of writing a certain book. “Well, tomorrow I’ll get at it,” I’ve been saying to myself. Every night when I get into bed I think about the book. The people that are to be put between its covers dance before my eyes. I live in the city of Chicago and at night motor trucks go rumbling along the roadway outside my house. Not so very far away there is an elevated railroad and after twelve o’clock at night trains pass at pretty long intervals. Before it began I went to sleep during one of the quieter intervals but now that the idea of writing this book has got into me I lie awake and think...

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Head over knees

By: Eric Schlich*

In seventh grade, on the bus ride home from school, I heard what happened to the Stokleys. How late Friday night the oldest Stokley son, Jared, had driven home from a movie he’d seen with friends and parked the family van in the garage. Jared Stokley was sixteen, he’d just gotten his license. He was a careful driver. Hands on ten and two, mirror checks, all that. His parents trusted him to knock on their bedroom door to let them know he was back, safe and sound...

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Sonet 164

By: Juana Ines de la cruz

This evening, my love, as I with you I was speaking,
When on your face, your feelings I observed,
And when my words I saw could not persuade you
To see whereof it was my heart desired,..

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