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Quote by Vladan Desnica

“Zar se, dakle, i heroji pod kožom tako malograđanski boje smrti? Sasvim logično. Jedno je javna smrt, smrt u punom ornatu, a drugo je sitna, privatna smrt, Jedno je izložiti se zalutalom tanetu "na polju časti", atentatorskom metku u krunidbenoj povorci, pasti prosvirana šešira s perjem, "pod ešarpom izvršene dužnosti", a drugo je pasivno dotrajavanje sred četiri zida našeg tmurnog doma, među našim altdajč kredencima, rastočena trbuha pod kordonom kućne haljine, iz koje davno upijeni mirisi jela, kućevnosti, ishlapljena naftalina već čudno udaraju mirisom smrti.”

Quote by Vladan Desnica

Book:Proljeća Ivana Galeba
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Proljeća Ivana Galeba

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Vladan Desnica

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Life Philosophy
Book:The Blooming Yard
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“that alley stood like a thief stealing time, the world in front of me, looking straight at me, a beautiful crime which could only be punishable by death, hung as a thief for the crime of defiling minutes, 'for what reason might the defendant commit such a crime?' the only judge asks 'for the ultimate reason, for beauty, for passing, for eternity…..for my love had gone beyond madness beyond sanity beyond every attribute of gods earth sat absorbed in self destruction in sweet love in chaotic peace with all that glorious vision and insight swimming headlong through the mind, taking up the bag in the morning the tragic sky casting sideways glances below trees pulling on shoes those ghost-like fingers the holy emptiness seemingly there and immediate yet already gone hopeless and clumsy now rife with thick dust kicking up the death and dust of the living Sun, 'I'll write' but I didn't care maddened, more mad than ever, pure lonesomeness caught mid stride down the road, a tumultuous storm of present wanting to be all, all at once, the postman, the undertaker, the bus driver, the seaman, the fruit picker, the bandit, and hold every moment know it breathe it, steal a some milk white steed and melt with anyone in the Mexican sun, prolongation of eternity the cold stare of the countless eyes conscious of every step given up to that endless facade of manners of proper and well delivered of simplicity in silence and fading slowly lulled gently back into that corner that lonely town of buried thought, high above in some lofty proscenium of sky and weeping like a child”

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Book:The Blooming Yard
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