DRI

In the forty-fifth year of his life, Mr. Matache Pisălog noticed he could no longer button up the last three buttons of his brand-new waistcoat he had had made barely three years before. He also noticed then that his belly had started following the fashion of balloons -

Neamţu Monastery: My coat hanging loosely on my shoulders. I was slowly climbing the road to the hermitage. I was drinking in the bracing mountain air like some life – giving elixir. Now and then I stopped to embrace with eager eyes the flint rocks whitening the distant

Mr. Guţă Gheorghiu had just one weakness, which as a matter of fact dominated him to a greater extent than anything else in the world: oleanders. And he did feel it was a weakness, because whenever you asked him how come so much love for a flower, he just shrugged his

Oh, what inclement weather! Now it rains and then it snows; it snows in the morning and rains in the afternoon; the devil alone knows what else he can invent, but anyhow the streets are full of mud. How can I reach Porunceanu's house?! If I hire a cab, I have to keep

At nightfall, after a rather sultry day, in a small station on the Braşov-Cluj line in Transylvania, I was waiting for the express train to Budapest… I did not have to wait too long… the train arrived… I picked up my travelling bag and climbed into the nearest second

My friend Mr. Manolache Cuvidi is a well-known character in our society; he is a man of substance, his rather comfortable wealth has been earned through honest work; he's an intelligent and earnest fellow, an ideal husband and an ideal father of a family. Given so many

It's during the summer months, when public services open at 7 in the morning and close at 2 p. m. The night was sultry and now the sun has risen in the clear sky, threatening to scorch everything and everybody. Just think of what it it's going to be at noon? It

The thermometer stands at 33 centigrade in the shade. In the scorching heat, a coach stops in Patience Street at 11 A, at around three in the afternoon. A gentleman gets off the carriage and, at a sluggish pace, approaches the door with a marquee, then rings the doorbell.

There was once an old woman who had three sons, tall like steeples and of virtue mighty but dumb as fishes. The old woman had a plentiful household, with a fine piece of land, a stout manor and annexes, a vineyard and nice orchard, cattle and lots of poultry. Besides all

There is an old Romanian saying – Romanians are born poets. Judging by the amount of poetry produced in Romania in the past two centuries, there may be more to it than mere preconception. But although one may discover a fair number of gems upon reading it, and critics

Modernism has brought to paroxysm the need of personal mythologies, immanent to Western civilization. No wonder that some of the heroes and saints of the avant-garde came from those peripheral European territories still uncharted from a spiritual point of view. By the beginning

Simplicity is not an end in art, but one arrives at simplicity in spite of oneself, in approaching the real sense of things. Simplicity is at bottom complexity and one must be nourished on its essence to understand its significance. Catalog of Brâncuşi exhibition, Brummer