Author: Isabel Allende

Cites

• Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz (1)
  • IN: The Japanese Lover (2015) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Pause, shadow of my elusice love, image of my most dear enchanter, Beautiful illusion for whom I die gladly Sweet fiction for whom I live sadly.
    FROM: NULL, (None), Poem, Mexico
• Mary Oliver (1)
  • IN: Maya's Notebook (2011) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life?
    FROM: The Summer Day, (1990), Poem, US
• Pablo Neruda (1)
  • IN: The House of The Spirits (1982) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: How much does a man live, after all? Does he live a thousand days, or one only? For a week, or for several centuries? How long does a man spend dying? What does it mean to say "for ever"?
    FROM: And How Long?, (1958), Poem, Chile
• NULL (1)
  • IN: The Stories of Eva Luna (1989) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: The King ordered the Grand Vizier to bring him a virgin every night, and when the night was over, he ordered her to be killed. And thus it had happened for three years, and in all the city there was no damsel left to withstand the assaults of this rider. But the vizier had a daughter of great beauty, named Scheherazade...and she was very eloquent, and pleased all who heard her.
    FROM: A Thousand and One Tales of the Arabian Nights, (1705), Book, NULL
• Albert Camus (2)
  • IN: In the Midst of Winter (2017) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: In the midst of winter, I finally found there was within me an invincible summer.
    FROM: Return to Tipasa, (1954), Essay, France
• Robert Bly (1)
  • IN: Paula (1994) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: We did not come to remain whole. We came to lose our leaves like the trees, The trees that are broken And start again, drawing up from the great roots.
    FROM: A Home in Dark Grass, (1987), Poem, US
• Gregory Reeves (1)
  • IN: The Infinite Plan (1993) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: I am alone, at dawn, on the mountaintop. Below, through the milky mist, I see the bodies of my friends. Some that have rolled down the slopes lie like disjointed red dolls; others are ashen statues surprised by the eternity of death. Stealthy shadows are climbing toward me. Silence. I wait. They approach. I fire against dark silhouettes in black pajamas, faceless ghosts. I feel the recoil of the machine gun; I grip it so tightly my hands burn as incandescent lines of fires cross through the sky, but there is no sound. The attackers have become transparent; they are not stopped by the bullets that pass right through them, they continue their implacable advance. I am surrounded... Silence... My own scream wakes me, and I keep screaming, screaming...
    FROM: NULL, (1993), Fictional, NULL