Jana Juranova

  Ilona. My Life with the Bard   (an excerpt)   Ilona. My Life with the Bard A novel by Jana Juráňová Translated from...
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Ondrej Stefanik

Yuck. What an awful sound. I’m dead. Jesus, I’m seriously dead. It can’t be true! I’m going to die on the toilet. No one dies on the toilet. Not that.

Ondrej Stefanik

“I’m serious, man. Please. I need arms,” the snowman interrupts us. “Where am I supposed to get you arms?” I’m getting irritated. I’m starting to get really cold. “How about the morgue,” the snowman suggests. “Are you crazy?” “I don’t have much time left. I’ll melt soon. Couldn’t you do this for me? Run to the morgue and get me some arms. Dead people don’t need arms.

Vito Staviarsky

He invited Sabina to dance, reached out and pulled her up. Karolko sat in the wardrobe playing Romany dance tunes but Olda asked for Roll Out the Barrel and later the Firemen’s Song. They danced on the table making the cats run for cover under the wardrobe, meowing mournfully.

Pavel Vilikovsky

As far as I’m aware, none of the big shots in the Third Reich was a sadist.

Ursula Kovalyk

Nothing matters except the movement itself. The way I walk. I am aware of the present. I am here and now.

Balla

He examined my testicles and after feeling them for a while he made an announcement that turned out to be quite crucial later on: “Don’t procreate, comrade! Don’t ever procreate because you will father a beast.”

Irena Brezna

Father comes home on the weekends and shoots sparrows. He’s not allowed to live with us, he’s a bourgeois element. Once, when our life wasn’t happy yet, he helped rich people get even richer and exploited the proletariat. He was a lawyer with his own office, and wore a white shirt and tie.

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