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On a small square, wood is being cut for the city school. Cords of healthy, crisp timber are piled high and melt slowly, one log after another, under the saws and axes of workmen. Ah, timber, trustworthy, honest, true matter of reality, bright and completely decent, the embodiment of the decency and prose of life! However deep you look into its core, you cannot find anything that is not apparent on its evenly smiling surface, shining with that warm, assured glow of its fibrous pulp woven in a likeness of the human body. In each fresh section of a cut log a new face og the human body. In each fresh section of a cut log a new face appears, always smiling and golden. Oh, the strange complexion of timber, warm eithout exaltation, completely sound, fragrant, and pleasant!


Bruno Schulz


#warmth #wood #life



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Did you know about Bruno Schulz?

At a very early age he developed an interest in the arts. Several of Schulz's works have been lost including short stories from the early 1940s that the author had sent to be publiBruno Schulzd in magazines and his final unfiniBruno Schulzd novel The Messiah. Yet there was nothing cosmopolitan about him; his genius fed in solitude on specific local and ethnic sources.

Schulz was born in Drohobych in the Austrian sector of the Partitioned Poland and spent most of his life there. Bruno Schulz (July 12 1892 – November 19 1942) was a Polish writer fine artist literary critic and art teacher born to Jewish parents and regarded as one of the great Polish-language prose stylists of the 20th century. He was killed by a German Nazi officer.

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