Author: D. A. Hosek

  • Beautiful Sentences: Salman Rushdie

    At the beginning of love there is a private treaty each of the lovers makes with himself or herself, an agreement to set aside what is wrong with the other for the sake of what is right, Love is spring after winter. It comes to heal life’s wounds, inflicted by the unloving cold. When that…

  • Beautiful Sentences: Katherine Anne Porter

    The sailors were out again washing down the decks, which rolled gently as the Vera set out resolutely for the Canaries with only a head or two looking out of her portholes to watch the eternal love affair between the moon and the sea. Katherine Anne Porter, Ship of Fools.

  • Beautiful Sentences: Laudomia Bonnani

    The faded saints swayed from the frescoes in elusive benevolence. Laudomia Bonnani. The Reprisal. 

  • Beautiful Sentences: Elena Ferrante

    All that struggle, all that time spent camouflaging myself when I could be doing something else. The colors that suited me, the ones that didn’t, the styles that made me look thinner, those that made me fatter, the cut that flattered me, the one that didn’t. A lengthy, costly preparation. Reducing myself to a table…

  • Beautiful Sentences: Laudomia Bonnani

    Priests are curious, as everyone knows, a priest never just takes a look and moves on. Everyone’s business is his business. Everybody in the end had already understood that. Laudomia Bonnani. The Reprisal. 

  • Beautiful Sentences: Elena Ferrante

    Each of us narrates our life as it suits us. Elena Ferrante, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay.

  • Beautiful Sentences: Laudomia Bonnani

    They were round, meek eyes, with straight eyelashes, the eyes of a pet. Laudomia Bonnani. The Reprisal. 

  • Beautiful Sentences: Elie Wiesel

    But if all living people are guilty, can’t we deduce from this that no one is? Elie Wiesel, The Judges.

  • Beautiful Sentences: Tom Rachman

    What I really fear is time. That’s the devil: whipping us on when we’d rather loll, so the present sprints by, impossible to grasp, and all is suddenly past, a past that won’t hold still, that slides into these inauthentic tales. Tom Rachman. The Imperfectionists.