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I recall the day I first attempted to approach Tolstoy’s monumental work, *War and Peace*. With the Pevear and Volokhonsky translation sitting before me, I felt a palpable strain as I navigated the dense prose, struggling to comprehend the interplay of characters and themes. Eventually, in a moment of serendipity, I decided to engage with…

I’m from Northeast USA and I normally articulate a syllable-initial L on the teeth or just above, same place as the T. Still, when I read the description, I can’t help but say it Nabokov’s way. This curious quirk of pronunciation speaks to the layers of identity we weave not just in language, but in…

Um… *pulls out phone* “Classic Authors Super Set Series” by Shandon Press. There are 3 volumes, Hugo is in the third. Today, as I leafed through the fragile pages of a faded book, I was struck by the near-physical sensation of time folding itself upon itself—the past exists not just as memory but as a…

To reflect on the world around me in a deeply personal way, I often find solace in quiet moments beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak tree. Today, as the gentle breeze danced through the leaves, I pondered the weighty presence of the “other.” As I watched a group of children, their laughter echoing…

As I sat today, quill in hand, a part of me was amused by the triviality of language and how seamlessly it slips away from meaning towards obscurity—a friend remarked on my recent tautological phrasing, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. My thoughts drifted to a time when I clumsily articulated a similar thought, drowning…

1984 Today, while waiting for my morning coffee, I struck up a conversation with a stranger by the window—the kind of fleeting encounter that life often arranges for us. He spoke passionately, a kindred spirit who seemed to articulate the unspoken currents of our collective existence. We talked of fear and liberation, of the societal…

Today, I sat by my window overlooking the serene Dutch countryside, where the willow trees seem to dance softly in the breeze. As I attempted to immerse myself in my writing, I recalled a recent conversation with a friend about cultural perceptions. It struck me that an art exhibit I had attended, one showcasing Iranian…

As I sit by my dimly lit desk, the smell of coffee mingling with the faint aroma of old paper, I reflect on a recurring thought that gnaws at the edges of my mind—the necessity of discerning the past when confronting the present. The other evening, I found myself at a small gathering, surrounded by…

Today, I reflect on the nuances of existence while sitting in a dimly lit café, the scent of roasted coffee beans lingering around me. I recall a particular evening when I stumbled upon the mesmerizing world of Scottish Noir. The way Ian Rankin paints a haunting Edinburgh, cloaked in shadows with his protagonist Rebus aging…

Martijn Benders – Diary Entry Today, I finished Kafka’s “Amerika,” and what a journey it has been! The emotional turbulence I experienced while reading was undeniable—unpleasant at times, yes, but I couldn’t pull myself away. The landscape of hopelessness painted within its pages, with a protagonist lost amidst a surreal and often cruel world, left…