De Duitse dichteres en schrijfster Angela Kraußwerd geboren op 2 mei 1950 in Chemnitz. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 mei 2007 en ook mijn blog van 2 mei 2008 en ook mijn blog van 2 mei 2009 en ook mijn blog van 2 mei 2010.
Uit: Ich muß mein Herz üben
Im Osten Weidezäune im rechten Winkel zum Hang,
auch Vieh in der Stellung.
Im Süden die Alpen, scharf wie vom Faustkeil behauen.
Im Westen Rosetten von Autobahnen aus rosa Schaum,
hoch im Norden das Eis.
Ein blitzschnelles Abbild muß reichen.
Die Stoffe sind es,
Partikel mit Oberflächen,
dort beginnt es.
Fäden, Wimpern, Tentakel, Gräten.
Was schwindet, fasert aus –
Haare im All !
Selbst Kunststoffe zerfallen, vermehren
die Fasern des Erdmantels.
schweben die Seekühe der Sehnsucht heran.
Sodann, nach hundert Millionen Jahren
(innerhalb eines einzigen Tages)
dreht sich das Ganze, es wechseln die Pole.
Gott steht auf der Spitze –
Angela Krauß (Chemnitz, 2 mei 1950)
Uit: Beau Brummell
“BEAU: I heartily congratulate you, my dear Miss Vincent, on having escaped a scene. Nothing but the regard I bear you could have persuaded me to so nearly incur a possible fracas. Lord Manly was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he has thought it necessary to keep that spoon full ever since. But now that we have found one another, may I not be permitted to continue the conversation where it was broken off? I desire to speak with you seriously. I wish to make a confession. I want to tell you what perhaps you know–when I first sought your hand, I did not bring my heart. I admired you, ‘tis true, but I did not love you–not then–not madly! I was–I am so deeply in debt, so hemmed in by my creditors, so hard pressed on every side, it was necessary for me to do something to find the wherewithal to satisfy their just demands, or sink under my misfortunes and give up forever the life of the world which had become my very breath and being. The one means at my disposal to free myself from my difficulties was a marriage. I knew your fortune and I sought you out. The admiration I entertained for you the first few days deepened into esteem, and finally expanded into love–mad love! That is why I have rehearsed this to you. At first it was your fortune which allured me–but now it is yourself! Yet, were you penniless, I would not wed you. Because I would not drag you down to share this miserable, uncertain lot of mine. No! I would seek you once to tell you of my love, and then step aside out of your path, and never cross it again.”
Clyde Fitch (2 mei in 1865 – 4 september 1909)
Uit: The Stolen Child
„It is not requisite to tell when Mr. Mordant, the barrister, flourished ; few of his years and of his age promised to excel him in ability; all his friends looked forward to his attainment of the most splendid eminences of the profession ; and he was not more admired for his talents than beloved for his virtues. The only fault that could be ascribed to him was an occasional absence of mind, which wiped out from his memory impressions which to others would have been indelible.
He married early in life a lady to whom he was as much attached as it was possible for an ambitious man to be; and to his studies be was devoted. He had no enjoyment but in her company, out of his library, and in it he was wholly absorbed in the most recondite researches of the law. With her the cup of domestic felicity could hold no more; but in the long bright vista of his professional career he saw before him every thing to stir emulation, and he studied in the lives of his predecessors those incidents in their conduct crowned with renown and success.
While he was yet a young man, his lady bore him two sons, in whom the fondest affections of both parents were wrapped up ; but before the youngest was a year old, the health of the mother began to break, and she became so delicate as to be often confined to the house. But for her delicate state the happiness of Mr. Mordant was unmingled with alloy : it is not, however, ordained for man to taste of unadulterated pleasure.“
John Galt (2 mei 1779 – 11 april 1839)
Uit: Three Men on a Boat
„I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I had a touch – hay fever, I fancy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an unthinking moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indolently study diseases, generally. I forget which was the first distemper I plunged into – some fearful, devastating scourge, I know – and, before I had glanced half down the list of “premonitory symptoms,” it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it.
I sat for awhile, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever – read the symptoms – discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months without knowing it – wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus’s Dance – found, as I expected, that I had that too, – began to get interested in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, and so started alphabetically – read up ague, and learnt that I was sickening for it, and that the acute stage would commence in about another fortnight. Bright’s disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form, and, so far as that was concerned, I might live for years.
Cholera I had, with severe complications; and diphtheria I seemed to have been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six letters, and the only malady I could conclude I had not got was
Jerome K. Jerome (2 mei 1859 – 14 juni 1927)
Zie voor onderstaande schrijvers ook mijn blog van 2 mei 2007.
De Duitse schrijver en dichter Klaus Konjetzky werd geboren op 2 mei 1943 in Wenen.
Zie voor onderstaande schrijver ook mijn blog van 2 mei 2010.