All in a moment Hurlow forgot the beauty of the sounds and smelt fear. He smelt it as an animal smells it, the breath cold in his nostrils. He had read about Pan, a dead...

In her fantastic mood she stretched her soft, clasped hands upward toward the moon. ‘Sweet moon,’ she said in a kind of mock prayer, ‘make your white light come down in music into my dancing-room...

The last thing he ever said to me was, ‘Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.

Your bread assumes the shape of the pan you use to bake your flour. Therefore stand still and know that you can’t use a rounded pan and ever get squared bread. Change the pan and...

Jeg har aldri i mitt liv skrevet “slibrig”; men jeg kunne gi anvisning på dristigere ting i mine bøker enn hva som stod i den tyske fortelling. De er å finne f.eks. både i “Sult”...

I think ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’ is genius.

The fractured self is not something that needs to be rectified fixed and made whole; by freeing thought of the blinkers of representation, the space of fracture, of multiplicity (as opposed to unity) becomes a...

You must carry on my spirit. It can no longer be carried by a god. It must be taken up by all of you. – Pan