I realize I’m about to piss off some lovely people around here, but it can’t be helped: I dislike Virginia Woolf. A lot. The other day at the gym I was watching Family Guy on mute—yes, this is relevant—and the closed captions described a character’s unintelligible yammering as “pretentious babble.”

“É claro que tudo isto é difícil de entender para as inglesas, quando vocês andam constantemente a mostrar as pernas nos campos de cricket e a criar cães no jardim das traseiras. (...) Parece que estávamos realmente numa péssima situação. Será que o espírito romântico só abria as suas asas rosadas s

Short stories can be like photographs, catching people at some moment in their lives and trapping the memory for ever . There they are, smiling or frowning, looking sad, happy, serious, surprised ... And behind those smiles and those frowns lie all the experience of life, the fears and delights, the

I read this sometime in the last few years. It's an interesting collection.

"Hoo-wih!" shouted the wind, shaking the window-sashes.

...very creative!