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Last words…

 

Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.

– Jorge Luis Borges, from The Art of Poetry

To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen is to do pretty well; and professing myself moreover convinced, that the General’s unjust interference, so far from being really injurious to their felicity, was perhaps rather conducive to it, by improving their knowledge of each other, and adding strength to their attachment, I leave it to be settled by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny, or reward filial disobedience.

– Jane Austen, from Northanger Abbey

This game is seven-card stud.

– Tennessee Williams, from A Streetcar Named Desire

More final sentences from literary works of all sorts at “The Final Sentence.”  (Even more here— from whence the end tile card, above.)

***

As we sum up, we might send carefully-composed birthday wishes to Alexandr Sergeyevich Pushkin; the Russian author was born on this date in 1799 (using the calendar then in effect in Russia).  Pushkin was born into the nobility, an achieved literary acclaim early in his creer.  But his free-thinking bought him trouble with the Tsar.  Indeed, it was while he was under surveillance by the Imperial secret police that he wrote the work for which he’s probably best known, Boris Godunov.

(The people are silent with horror.)

– The stage direction that is the last line of Boris Godunov

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