The Floating Library

The Library is Open…

Menu

Skip to content
  • Home
  • About Your Host
  • Averno
  • Dreamtigers
  • Reference
    • Books and Bookstores
    • Depression​
    • Legos in the News
  • Rilke
    • A Year with Rilke
      • January
      • February
      • March
      • April
      • May
      • June
      • July
      • August
      • September
    • Poems from the Book of Hours

Legos in the News

  • Lego Struggles to Pick Itself Up – Danish toy maker reports declines in profit, revenue for 2017 as demand in mature markets continues to falter

  • Lego’s new kit teaches kids to code!

Share this:

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Print

Like this:

Like Loading...

Search

In all the edifice of thought, I have found no category on which to rest my head. . . .

- E. M. Cioran

Top Entries

  • Poems from the Book of Hours
  • Averno
  • Bullet in the Brain :: Tobias Wolff
  • Modern Fiction :: Virginia Woolf
  • Blue Rotunda :: Louise Glück
  • What will you do, God, when I die?
  • You, neighbor god, if sometimes in the night
  • Dreamtigers
  • If I had grown up in a land where days
  • Poem about Gifts :: J. L. Borges

'Self-knowledge'? A contradiction in terms.

- E. M. Cioran

. . . feast on ancient books to the lazy enchanting lap of wavelets in the Floating Library, in memoriam of Dr. Sineokov, who had drowned at just that spot in the city river. The grinding of chains, the little gallery with its orange-colored lamp shades, the plash, the water's smooth surface oiled by the moon, and, in the distance, lights flickering past in the black web of a lofty bridge . . .

- Vladimir Nabokov

Recent Comments

Anonymous on Sonnet XXVIII
August 21st 6:00 PM… on A Dialogue About a Dialogue ::…
My Site on October :: Louise Glück
Fatima on Put out my eyes, and I can see…
Osip Haas on An aesthetic quietism with reg…

I have at this moment so many fundamental thoughts, so many truly metaphysical things to say, that I suddenly get tired and decide not to write any more, not to think any more, but to allow the fever of speaking to make me sleepy, and with my eyes closed, like a cat, I play with everything I could have said.

- Bernardo Soares

Raison d’être

There they are, in my own handwriting: the words that have been my prayer, evening after evening. I copied them from the books I found them in, so that they would be right in front of me, issued from my hand as if they were my own words. And now I want to write them again, kneeling here before my tablet I want to write them; for in this way I can have them with me longer than when I read them, and every word will last and have time to echo and fade away.

- R. M. Rilke

Blog at WordPress.com.
  • Follow Following
    • The Floating Library
      • Join 338 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • The Floating Library
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Copy shortlink
    • Report this content
    • View post in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
%d bloggers like this: