Defenders of the Kamarg. Part of Count Brass’s army, form Michael Moorcock’s Hawkmoon novels.
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Defenders of the Kamarg. Part of Count Brass’s army, form Michael Moorcock’s Hawkmoon novels.

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Si yo pudiera morder la tierra toda y sentirle el sabor, serĂa más feliz por un momento... Pero no siempre quiere ser feliz, es necesario ser de vez en cuando infeliz para poder ser natural... No todo es dĂas de sol y la lluvia cuando falta mucho, se pide. Por esto tomo la infelicidad con la felicidad. Naturalmente, como quien no se extraña con que existan montañas y planicies y que haya rocas y hierbas... Lo que es necesario es ser natural y calmado en la felicidad o en la infelicidad. Sentir como quien mira. Pensar como quien anda, y cuando se ha de morir, recordar que el dĂa muere y que el poniente es bello y es bella la noche que queda. AsĂ es y asĂ sea.Â
    · · Pessoa  · Si yo pudiera morder la tierra todaÂ
He carries his fingers along her waist and feels his own waist caressed. She holds him closer and his own arms tighten around her.
Leonard Cohen
Te desnudarás ante el espejo de luna, conservando las medias negras y las ligas rojas, y ocultarás tu hermosa cabeza bajo la máscara de una fiera feroz, de preferencia la tigre en celo de RubĂ©n DarĂo de Azul... o una leona sudanesa.  Quebrarás la cadera derecha, flexionarás la pierna izquierda, apoyarás tu mano en la cadera opuesta, en la pose más salvaje y provocativa.Â
Sentadito a mi silla, amarrado al espaldar, yo te estarĂ© mirando y adorando, con mi servilismo acostumbrado. Sin mover una pestaña, sin gritar me estarĂ©, mientras me clavas tus zarpas en los ojos y tus blancos colmillos desgarran mi garganta y devoras mi carne y sacias tu sed con mi sangre enamorada. Ahora estoy dentro de ti, ahora soy tĂş tambiĂ©n, amada estofada de mi.Â
Vargas Llosa // Elogio de la madrastra
Si el corazĂłn pudiera pensar, se detendrĂa.
Pessoa

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Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightnings,--a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss.
Gustave Flaubert
Te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
// Soneto XVII
toska
No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.
Nabokov