Archive for the '16 Years Old' Category

Sixteen Year Old – Stephen Dedalus


He began to confess his sins: masses missed, prayers not said, lies.

–  Anything else, my child?

Sins of anger, envy of others, gluttony, vanity, disobedience.

–  Anything else, my child?

There was no help. He murmured:

–  I…committed sins of impurity, father.

–  With yourself, my child?

–  And…with others.

–  With women, my child?

–  Yes, father.

–  Were they married women, my child?

He did not know. His sins trickled from his lips, one by one, trickled in shameful drops from his soul, festering and oozing like a sore, a squalid stream of vice. The last sins oozed forth, sluggish, filthy. There was no more to tell. He bowed his head, overcome.

The priest was silent. Then he asked:

–    How old are you, my child?

–    Sixteen, father.

James Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Published in: 16 Years Old | on December 19th, 2009 | No Comments »

Sixteen Year Old – Sabina


Whenever she felt lost in the endless deserts of insomnia she would take up the labyrinthian thread of her life again from the beginning to see if she could find at what moment the paths had become confused.

Tonight she remembered the moon-baths, as if this had marked the beginning of her life instead of the parents, school, birthplace. As if they had determined the course of her life rather than inheritance or imitation of the parents. In the moon-baths perhaps, lay the secret motivation of her acts.

At sixteen Sabina took moon-baths, first of all because everyone else took sun-baths, and second, she admitted, because she had been told it was dangerous. The effect of moon-baths was unknown, but it was intimated that it might be the opposite of the sun’s effect.

The first time she exposed herself she was frightened. What would the consequences be? There were many taboos against gazing at the moon, many old legends about the evil effects of falling asleep in moon-light. She knew that the insane found the full moon acutely disturbing, that some of them regressed to animal habits of howling at the moon. She knew that in astrology the moon ruled the night life of the unconscious, invisible to consciousness.

But then she had always preferred the night to the day.

Anaïs Nin, Spy in the House of Love

Published in: 16 Years Old | on December 19th, 2009 | No Comments »