Dmitry Glukhovsky Quotes

Humans had always been better at killing than any other living thing.

There's only one thing that can save a man from madness and that's uncertainty.

And what if there’s nothing in there?’ You die and there’s nothing beyond that. Nothing. Nothing remains. Someone might remember you for a little while after but not for long.

And then, after five minutes of silence, almost inaudibly, the old man sighed and said, more to himself than to Artyom: ‘Lord, what a splendid world we ruined . . .

The number of places in paradise is limited; only in hell is entry open to all.

Never discuss the rights of the strong. You are too weak to do that. -Khan

Cut the chatter!' interrupted Melnick, fiercely. 'Don't you know librarians can't stand noise? For them, noise is like waving a red rag in front of a bull.

Люди всегда умели убивать лучше, чем любое другое живое существо.

we live by legends, and not by bread alone.

Who came up with the idea that telling the truth is easy? That's already a lie.

But if they have a flashlight, it means they're human and not some kind of monsters from the surface,' objected Artyom. "I don't know what's worse," said Melnik, cutting off Artyom.

Lord, what a splendid world we ruined

As long as man is alive, he will always deem himself to be the light of the world, and consider his enemies as the darkness. And they will be thinking like that on both sides of the front.

Do you know the parable about the frog in the cream? Two frogs landed in a pail of cream. One, thinking rationally, understood straight away that there was no point in resistance and that you can’t deceive destiny. But then what if there’s an afterlife – why bother jumping around, entertaining false hopes in vain? He crossed his legs and sank to the bottom. The second, the fool, was probably an atheist. And she started to flop around. It would seem that she had no reason to flail about if everything was predestined. But she flopped around and flopped around anyway . . . Meanwhile, the cream turned to butter. And she crawled out. We honour the memory of this second frog’s friend, eternally damned for the sake of progress and rational thought.

Any faith served man only as a crutch supporting him.

I 'm reading now Metro 2033.It looks intresting so far

He who is brave and patient enough to peer into the darkness his whole life will be first to see a flicker of light in it.

Welcome to the First International Red Fighting Brigade of the Moscow Metropolitan in the name of Ernesto Che Guevara!

Hate is a fine antidote for fear.

Could anyone who had never seen stars possibly imagine what infinity is, when, most likely, the very concept of infinity first appeared among humans inspired, once upon a time, by the nocturnal vault of the heavens?

There are some things that you don’t want to do and you pledge to yourself that you won’t do, you forbid yourself, and then suddenly they happen all by themselves. You don’t even have time to think about them, and they don’t make it to the cognitive centres of the brain: they just happen and that’s it, and you’re left just watching yourself with surprise, and convincing yourself that it wasn’t your fault, it just happened all by itself.

There was nothing: just an empty, dark tunnel he was supposed to plod his way through, from “Birth” station to “Death” station. Those looking for faith had simply been trying to find the side branches in this line. But there were only two stations, and only tunnel connecting them.

Getting a new version of the answer every day, Artyom was unable to compel himself to believe what was true, because the next day another, no less precise and comprehensive one, might arise. Whom should he believe? And in what? ... Any faith served man only as a crutch supporting him. ... He understood why man needs this support. Without it, life would have become empty, like an abandoned tunnel.

His delight at seeing this creation of human hands was mixed with the bitterness of finally understanding that nothing like it ever would be created again.

Slowly, slowly, his soul was filled with bitterness at the fact that he had stood a step away from enlightenment, from the most real enlightenment, but he hadn’t been resolute, he hadn’t dare give himself to the flow of the tunnel’s ether, and now he would be left to wander in the darkness for his whole life because he was once too afraid of the light of authentic knowledge.

Now he only had an abstract interest in what was surrounding him, as though none of this was happening to him, but he was just reading a book about it. The fate of the main character interested him, of course, but if he was killed then he could just pick another book off the shelf - one with a happy ending.

Quien tenga el valor y la perseverancia necesarios para pasarse la vida escudriñando las tinieblas, también será el primero que reconozca el despuntar de la aurora. Kan

Hope is like blood. While it still flows through your veins, you’re alive. I want to hope.

И все это для чего? Чтобы своей кровью искупить грех первого человека, которого Бог сам же спровоцировал и наказал, и чтобы люди вернулись в рай и вновь обрели бессмертие. Какая-то бессмысленная возня, ведь можно было просто не наказывать так строго их всех за то, чего они даже не делали. Или отменить наказание за сроком давности. Но зачем жертвовать любимым сыном, да еще и предавать его? Где здесь любовь, где здесь готовность прощать, где здесь всемогущество?

El ser humano ha sido siempre un asesino muy superior al resto de criaturas".

Този, който има достатъчно храброст и търпение да се вглежда цял живот в мрака, пръв ще види проблясъка светлина в него.

Millions of shining lights, silver nails driven into a dome of dark blue velvet . . .

It was as if, having been driven off course, he nevertheless was able to recover his feet on the shining rails of his fate.

It’s so much easier for people to die when they believe in something! For those who believe that death isn’t the end of everything. For those in whose eyes the world is separated into black and white – who know exactly what they need to do and why, who hold the torch of an idea, of beliefs, in their hands, and everything they see is illuminated by it. Those who have nothing to doubt and nothing to regret. They must have an easy time of dying. They die with a smile on their face.

Why was he doing this? So that life could continue in the metro? Right. So that they could grow mushrooms and pigs at VDNKh in the future, and so that his stepfather and Zhenkina’s family lived there in peace, so that people unknown to him could settle at Alekseevskaya and at Rizhskaya, and so that the uneasy bustle of trade at Byelorusskaya didn’t die away. So that the Brahmins could stroll about Polis in their robes and rustle the pages of books, grasping the ancient knowledge and passing it on to subsequent generations. So that the fascists could build their Reich, capturing racial enemies and torturing them to death, and so that the Worm people could spirit away strangers’ children and eat adults, and so that the woman at Mayakovskaya could bargain with her young son in the future, earning herself and him some bread. So that the rat races at Paveletskaya didn’t end, and the fighters of the revolutionary brigade could continue their assaults on fascists and their funny dialectical arguments. And so that thousands of people throughout the whole metro could breathe, eat, love one another, give life to their children, defecate and sleep, dream, fight, kill, be ravished and betrayed, philosophize and hate, and so that each could believe in his own paradise and his own hell . . . So that life in the metro, senseless and useless, exalted and filled with light, dirty and seething, endlessly diverse, so miraculous and fine could continue.

He was seized by a cheerful sort of desperation. The whole world was against him, everything was going awry. However, the obstacles that the tunnels put in the way of his mission had awoken in Artyom a rage, and this obstinate rage re-lit his weakening vision with a rebellious fire, devouring in him any fear, sense of danger, reason and force.

They're naked, covered in black, glossy skin, with huge eyes and mouths like gashes... they're striding rhythmically ahead, towards the fortifications, towards death, with reckless abandon, without wavering, closer and closer... there are three, five, eight beasts... and the first among them suddenly throws back its head and emits a howl like a requiem.

Do I really deserve this? Artyom thought. Is my life so much more important than the lives of all these people? No, he was glad to have been rescued. But all these people – randomly scattered, like bags and rags, on the granite of the platform, side by side, on the rails, left forever in the poses that Hunter’s bullets had found them in – they all died so that he could live? Hunter had made this exchange with such ease, just as though he had sacrificed some minor chess figures to safeguard one of the most important pieces . . . He was just a player, and the metro was a chessboard, and all the figures were his, because he was playing the game with himself. But here was the question: Was Artyom such an important piece to the game that all these people had to perish for his preservation?

The planet of people lives in three shifts: we’d be too crowded if we all went to sleep in the evening and woke up in the morning at the same time. So a third of us live in the morning, a third of us live in the evening and a third of us live at night. Europe never closes all its eyes.

„Jeder, der Licht braucht, muss es selbst mitbringen. Und genauso verhält es sich mit der Zeit: Wer Zeit braucht, weil er das Chaos fürchtet, bringt seine Zeit mit

„Nicht Weisheit und Erfahrung sprachen aus ihm, sondern Alter und Müdigkeit.

Die Rettung des Volkes liegt im Wodka.

ადამიანი ყოველთვის ყველა ცოცხალ არსებაზე უკეთ კლავდა

It often happens that an idea that appears in a dream to be a stroke of genius, turns out to be a meaningless jumble of words when one wakes up . . .

Cel care are curaj și răbdare să privească toată viața cu atenție întunericul va vedea cel dintâi în el un licăr de lumină.

No era un monstruo. Era un ser humano normal y corriente. Cruel, imbécil y rencoroso. Igual que todos los demás.

Para tratarse de unos revolucionarios, comían sorprendentemente bien.

Wenn niemand da ist, die Zeit abzulesen, bleibt sie stehen.

A stupid indifference about what would happen to him gradually crept up on Artyom. Now he only had an abstract interest in what was surrounding him, as though none of this was happening to him, but he was just reading a book about it. The fate of the main character interested him, of course, but if he was killed then he could just pick another book off the shelf – one with a happy ending.

the metro was not merely a transportation facility, built at a certain point in time, that it was not merely an atomic bomb shelter, or home to some tens of thousands of people . . . Rather, somebody had breathed into it their own, mysterious, incomparable life, and it possessed a certain extraordinary kind of reason, which a human being could not fathom, and a consciousness that was alien to him.

It was true, it was easy enough for an old man like him, with no children, to risk his moth-eaten skin, but the young man still had a long life ahead of him - too long to be concerned about immortality.

Está claro que no me fío de ninguno de los dos. Espero traición. Sin embargo cuento con ellos. Puede ser que esta última noche me dé miedo quedarme completamente solo y cualquier Judas me sirve de amigo.

In Russia they have a strange disease. It makes membrane grow across the sick person's throat, and they start to choke. there's less and less air until they eventually die. They treat it with a strange gizmo, A little silver tube. the membrane can't tolerate silver. The healer inserts the little silver tube in the patient's throat and he breaths through it until it gets over the illness. You're my little silver tube. With you, I have started breathing.

Surrender, Homo sapiens! You are no longer the king of nature! You’ve been dethroned! No, you don’t have to die instantly, nobody will insist on that. Crawl on a little more in agony, choking on your own excrement... But know this, Homo sapiens: you are obsolete!

El tiempo es como el mercurio: aunque intentes dividirlo en partes más pequeñas, se reconstituye al instante, de nuevo entero sin forma. Los hombres lo han domesticado, lo han encadenado a sus relojes y cronómetros, y fluye igual para todos los que lo han encadenado. Pero déjalo libre, y verás.

And the stars! Could anyone who had never seen stars possibly imagine what infinity is, when, most likely, the very concept of infinity first appeared among humans inspired, once upon a time, by the nocturnal vault of the heavens? Millions of shining lights, silver nails driven into a dome of dark blue velvet . .

You know,” says Mr. Schreier, handing me the glass. “Eternal life and immortality are different things, aren’t they? Eternal life here…” – he touches his chest – “… and immortality here…” – he touches his finger to his temple. “Eternal life,” he chuckles, “is included in the basic social benefits package. But immortality is only accessible to the chosen few. And I think… I think you could attain it.” “Attain it? But aren’t I already one of the Immortals?” I joke. “The difference is the same as between a man and an animal.” He suddenly shows me his empty face again. “Obvious to the man and not obvious to the animal.” “You mean I still need to evolve.

Any faith served man only as a crutch supporting him. When Artyom was young, his stepfather’s story about how a monkey took up a cane and became a man made him laugh. After that, apparently, the clever macaque no longer let the cane out of his hand because he couldn’t straighten up. He understood why man needs this support. Without it, life would have become empty, like an abandoned tunnel.

Our bodies are eternal, friction doesn’t wear them out, and we don’t need to make careful decisions about the people on whom we ought to spend our limited resources of youth and beauty. It’s the natural order of things. Ordinary people are created to enjoy pleasure. To take pleasure in the world, food, each other – and for what else? To be happy. And people like me are created to protect their happiness.

Так вот, если их бог и имеет какие-то качества или отличительные свойста - это уж точно не любовь, не справедливость и не всепрощение. Судя по тому, что творилось на земле с момента ее... эээ... сотворения, богу свойственна только одна любовь: он любит интересные истории. Сначала устроит заваруху, а потом смотрит, что из этого выйдет. Если пресновато получается, перцу добавит. Так что прав был старик Шекспир: весь мир - театр. Вот только вовсе не тот, на который он намекал.

You know, when one day’s like any other, they fly by so fast and it seems like the last one is really close already,’ Homer tried to explain. ‘You feel afraid of not getting anything finished. And every one of those days is full of a thousand little things to be done. Do one, take a break, and it’s time to start on the next one. You have no time or strength left for what’s really important. You think: never mind – I’ll start tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes, it’s always just one long, endless today.

а лифт всё тащился – выше, выше… Потом он вздрогнул и встал. Это произошло так неожиданно, что я перепугался: застрять где-то на уровне вершины Джомолунгмы было бы сейчас очень некстати. Попробовал выбраться – дверцы распахнулись; я очутился на забросанной окурками лестничной площадке, выложенной мелкой коричневой плиткой. Передо мной была скучная дверь с приклеенной к ней пластмассовой табличкой – белой с чёрными буквами, из тех, на которых в поликлиниках пишут обычно «Терапевт» или «Окулист». На этой значилось: «БОГ». Я постучал.

Auch wir selbst sind ja nicht das Urbild, nach dem alle folgenden Kopien erstellt werden, sondern nur eine Chimäre, jeweils zur Hälfte bestehend aus inneren und äußeren Merkmalen unserer Väter und Mütter, genauso wie jene ihrerseits aus den Hälften ihrer Eltern bestehen. Gibt es somit in uns gar nichts Einzigartiges, sondern nur eine endlose Mischung winziger Mosaiksteinchen, die unabhängig von uns existieren und sich zu Milliarden zufälliger Bilder zusammensetzen, welche ihrerseits keinen eigenen Wert besitzen und sofort wieder zerfallen?

These were strange, freakish, and dangerous creatures, the likes of which might well have brought Darwin himself to despair with their obvious lack of conformity to the laws of evolutionary development. As much as these beasts might differ from the animals humans were used to, and whether they had been reborn under the invisible and ruinous rays of sunlight, turned from inoffensive representatives of urban fauna into the spawn of hell, or whether they had always dwelled in the depths, only now to be disturbed by man – still, they were an evident part of life on earth.

— Видяхте ли гибелта на този свят? — продължаваше жрецът. — Разбирате ли кой е виновен за нея? Кой знае имената на онези, които с едно натискане на бутона, дори без да виждат това, което правят, са изтривали от лицето на земята стотици хиляди хора? Превръщали са безкрайните зелени гори в изпепелени пустини? Какво направихте с този свят? С моя свят?! Как посмяхте да поемете върху себе си отговорността да го превърнете в нищо? Земята не знае по-голямо зло от вашата адска машинна цивилизация, цивилизацията, противопоставяща неживите механизми на природата! Тя направи всичко възможно да смачка, да изяде и смели света, но се самозабрави и изтреби самата себе си… Вашата цивилизация е раков тумор, тя е огромна амеба, която жадно поглъща всичко, което е полезно и хранително наоколо, и изхвърля само зловонни отровени отпадъци. И сега отново са ви нужни ракети! Нужно ви е най-страшното оръжие, създадено от цивилизация на престъпници! Защо? За да довършите започнатото? За да шантажирате последните оцелели? Да се доберете до властта? Убийци! Ненавиждам ви, ненавиждам ви всичките! — закрещя истерично той, после се закашля и млъкна.

Мне так кажется, что жизнь, конечно, пустая, и смысла в ней в целом нет, и нет судьбы, то есть такой определенной, явной, так чтобы родился – и все, уже знаешь: моя судьба – быть там, космонавтом, или, скажем балериной, или погибнуть во младенчестве, хотя это, конечно, хуже. Нет, не так. Когда живешь сквозь отведенное время… как бы это объяснить… Может случиться, что происходит с тобой какое-то событие, которое заставляет тебя совершать определенные поступки и принимать определенные решения, причем у тебя есть свободный выбор – хочешь, сделай так, хочешь, этак. Но если ты примешь правильное решение, то дальнейшие вещи, которые с тобой будут происходить – это уже будут не просто случайные, как ты выражаешься, события… Они будут обусловлены тем выбором, который ты сделал. Я не имею ввиду, что если ты решил жить на Красной Линии до того, как она стала красной, тебе оттуда уже никуда не деться, и вещи с тобой будут происходить соответствующие, я говорю о более тонких материях. Но в-общем, если ты опять встал на перепутье и опять принял нужное решение, потом перед тобой встанет выбор, который тебе уже не покажется случайным, если ты, конечно, догадаешься и сумеешь осмыслить его. И твоя жизнь перестанет постепенно быть просто набором случайностей, она превратится… в сюжет, что ли, все будет соединено некими логическими, не обязательно прямыми связями, и вот это и будет твоя судьба. На определенной стадии, если ты достаточно далеко зашел по своей стезе, твоя жизнь настолько превращается в сюжет, что с тобой начинают происходить странные, необъяснимые с точки зрения голого рационализма или твоей теории случайных событий вещи. Но зато они будут очень хорошо вписываться в логику сюжетной линии, в которую теперь превратилась твоя жизнь. То есть судьбы просто так не бывает, к ней надо прийти, и если события в твоей жизни соберутся и начнут выстраиваться в сюжет, тогда тебя может забросить в такие дали… Самое интересное, что сам человек может и не подозревать, что с ним это происходит, или представлять себе происходящее в корне неверно, пытаться систематизировать события в соответствии со своим мировоззрением. Но у судьбы – своя логика.

„»Und wie gefällt dir dein Leben ohne Sinn?« »Wie, ohne Sinn? Mein Leben hat sehr wohl einen Sinn, den gleichen wie für alle anderen. Diese ganze Sinnsuche haben die meisten Leute doch mit der Pubertät überwunden. Bei dir scheint das offenbar etwas länger zu dauern

„»Was wollen Sie mir denn tun? Mich foltern? Töten? Bitte, tun Sie mir den Gefallen, ich bin ohnehin alt, und unserem Glauben fehlt es an Märtyrern.

„Im Westen nannte man sie ›Satan‹. Dieser Name war der einzige lichte Moment der ansonsten blindgeborenen menschlichen Zivilisation.

„Als ich und meine Kollegen begriffen, dass sich das Phänomen Kannibalismus hier bereits etabliert hatte und nichts mehr dagegen zu unternehmen war, beschlossen wir, uns wenigstens um die kulinarische Seite der Angelegenheit zu kümmern. Und da erinnerte sich einer von uns daran, wie in Korea Hunde zubereitet werden: Man steckt sie lebend in einen Sack und schlägt sie mit Prügeln tot. Das Fleisch gewinnt dadurch an Qualität. Es wird weich und zart. Was für den einen multiple Hämatome sind, ist für den anderen sozusagen ein geklopftes Schnitzel. Also nehmt es uns bitte nicht übel. Ich könnte mir ja durchaus vorstellen, zuerst den Exitus herbeizuführen und dann prügeln zu lassen, aber leider sind innere Blutungen ein absolutes Muss. Rezept ist Rezept.«

„Doch Gebote, die von göttlichen Lippen verkündet werden, überdauern Jahrhunderte. Es braucht gar nicht viel. Man muss nur einen Gott schaffen und ihm beibringen, die richtigen Worte zu sprechen.

„»Allein heute Morgen«, bemerkte Sergej Andrejewitsch, »hast du dir mit deinen Reden schon wieder ein paar Jahrhunderte Hölle verdient.« »Dann hast du wenigstens jemanden, mit dem du dich unterhalten kannst.«

„Angesichts all dessen, was auf der Erde geschehen ist seit ihrer Erschaffung, hat Gott nur eine Art von Liebe an den Tag gelegt: die Vorliebe für interessante Geschichten. Erst brockt er irgendwem was ein, und dann schaut er, was dabei herauskommt.

„Er sah den Menschen nun als eine komplexe Maschine zur Vernichtung von Lebensmitteln und zur Produktion von Scheiße.

„die Anzahl der Plätze im Paradies war begrenzt, nur zur Hölle stand das Tor für alle offen.

„»Du sagst, es sind Menschen? Nein, mein Freund, es sind Tiere. Ein Rudel Schakale. Sie wollten uns zerreißen. Und hätten es auch getan. Aber eines haben sie nicht bedacht: Sie mögen Schakale sein, ich aber bin ein Wolf

»Sprich nie vom Recht des Stärkeren. Du bist zu schwach dafür«,

„Wie auch immer, wir haben nicht gegeizt – wir haben das Paradies und die Hölle zugleich zerstört.

„»Doch will ich euer Alter und die allgemeine Hirnlosigkeit zum Zeitpunkt der Tat berücksichtigen.

„Gib auf, Homo sapiens! Du bist nicht mehr der Herrscher über die Natur! Nein, du musst nicht gleich verrecken, wir wollen nicht so sein. Kriech noch ein wenig herum in deinem Todeskampf und ersticke an deinen Exkrementen.

„Die historische Erfahrung hatte klar gezeigt: Es gab keinen besseren Überträger der kommunistischen Bazille als das Bajonett.

„»Ja, ja. Ein Referendum. Wenn das Volk ›ja‹ sagt, ist alles klar. Sagt es aber ›nein‹, hat es nur schlecht nachgedacht. Und soll sich die Sache bitte schön noch mal überlegen.«

„alle haben Angst vor irgendwas, aber wovor, weiß keiner.

„Jene seltsamen, missgestalteten und gefährlichen Geschöpfe, von denen jedes einzelne Darwin zur Verzweiflung gebracht hätte, so wenig entsprach es den Gesetzen der Evolution

„Der Mensch war schon immer ein besserer Mörder gewesen als jedes andere Lebewesen.

Ни ученые, ни фантасты никогда не умели как следует предсказывать будущее, думал старик. К две тысячи тридцать четвертому году человек давно бы уже должен был стать властителем если и не половины Галактики, то хотя бы Солнечной системы. Гомеру это обещали еще в детстве. Но и фантасты, и ученые исходили из того, что человечество рационально и последовательно. Как будто оно не состояло из нескольких миллиардов ленивых, легкомысленных, увлекающихся личностей, а было неким ульем, наделенным коллективным разумом и единой волей.

Though, of course, they haven’t even heard of Schiller.

We will become as pale and sick as Wells’ Morlocks. Remember them? From The Time Machine where beasts of the future lived underground?

Have you read Wells’ The Time Machine? Well, there they had these Morlocks . . .

In order to force it down, I cut myself a piece of meat. It’s already cold. It’s too tough for my taste, on the dry side. The beef that I eat usually melts in my mouth. But this roast has to be chewed, as if it actually used to be an animal’s muscles. Damn, what if it really is genuine?

I too should have been born a carefree idler in this garden of paradise and taken the bright sunshine for granted, I should never have seen walls or been afraid of them, but lived at liberty, breathing deeply and freely! But instead… I made just one solitary mistake – I came out of the wrong mother: and now I’ve got to pay for that for the rest of my endless life.

Znasz przypowieść o żabie w śmietanie? Jak dwie żaby wpadły do dzbanka ze śmietaną? Jedna, myśląc racjonalnie, szybko zrozumiała, że opór jest bezcelowy i że losu nie da się oszukać. A może jest jakieś życie pozagrobowe, więc po co się niepotrzebnie wysilać i na próżno pocieszać płonnymi nadziejami? Złożyła łapki i poszła na dno. A druga była na pewno durna, albo niewierząca. I zaczęła się szamotać. Wydawałoby się, po co się szarpać, jeśli wszystko przesądzone? Szamotała się i szamotała... Aż ubiła śmietanę na masło. I wylazła z dzbanka. Uczcijmy pamięć jej towarzyszki, przedwcześnie poległej w imię postępu filozofii i racjonalnego myślenia.

One day this station will burn to the ground,’ Artyom thought aloud, looking despondently at the hall. ‘In four hundred and twenty days,’ his companion said calmly.

Stalker. Dokładnie tak ich sobie wyobrażał – z opowiadań ojczyma i historyjek straganiarzy. Poplamiony i miejscami osmalony skafander ochronny, długa ciężka kamizelka kuloodporna, potężne bary, na prawym ramieniu niedbale zarzucona potężna bryła erkaemu, z lewej, na podobieństwo bandoletu, zwisa pobłyskująca smarem taśma z nabojami. Masywne sznurowane buty, wpuszczone do środka spodnie, na plecach przepastny płócienny plecak. Stalker zdjął okrągły hełm specnazu, ściągnął gumową maskę przeciwgazową i, zaczerwieniony, mokry, rozmawiał o czymś z dowódcą posterunku.

Jak by powiedział Puszkin, służba muzom nie znosi pośpiechu.

Cum să nu, cum sa nu. Un referendum. Dacă poporul o sa spună da, așa să fie. Iar dacă poporul o sa spună nu, înseamnă că poporul s-a gândit prost. Lasă poporul să se mai gândească o dată.

Ce părere aveți dumneavoastră, Ivan Mihalici, chiar există Dumnezeu?’ Și atunci m-a uimit cu adevărat. ‘Pentru mine’, a spus el, ‘problema aceasta nici nu se pune. Eu provin dintr-o familie credincioasă, m-am obișnuit cu ideea că există. Din punct de vedere psihologic, nu încerc sa analizez cat e de adevărat, pentru că nu vreau. Și, de fapt, pentru mine asta nu e atât o problema de cunoaștere bazată pe un principiu, cat mai degrabă una de comportament cotidian. Vreau sa spun, credința mea nu consta in faptul că sunt sincer convins de existenta unei forțe superioare, ci de faptul că îndeplinesc poruncile prescrise: mă rog seara, mă duc la biserica.

تو مترو اساسا همیشه شبه و پیگیری زمان با این دقت اصلا با عقل جور در نمیاد. وقتت رو همین‌طوری بگذرون تا ببینی زمان چطوری خودش رو باهات هماهنگ می‌کنه. خیلی جالبه، عوض می‌شه. حتی متوجهشم نمی‌شی. دیگه قطعه قطعه و تقسیم شده به ثانیه، دقیقه و ساعت نیست. زمان مثل جیوه‌ست، اگه پخشش کنی دوباره جمع می‌شه. هم جنس و هم نوع خودش رو پیدا می‌کنه. مردم رامش کردن، تو قالب ساعت جیبی و ساعت دیواری درش آوردن. برای اونایی که زمان رو روی زنجیر نگه می‌دارن، هموار پیش می‌ره. ولی اگه آزادش کنی، می‌بینی که پیشرویش برای هرکس متفاوته. برای بعضیا آروم و آهسته‌ست. گذرش رو تو هر دود سیگاری که فرو می‌بری و بیرون می‌دی، می‌شه شمرد. برای بعضی‌ها با سرعت جلو می‌ره و فقط زندگی‌های قبلیشونه که گذرش رو براشون محسوس می‌کنه.

همه می‌دانند مرگ اجتناب ناپذیر است. مرگ جزئی از زندگی روزانه در مترو بود. ولی همیشه به نظر می‌رسد اتفاق بدی برایت نمی‌افتد. گلوله‌ها از بغلت رد می‌شوند، بیماری از تو صرف‌نظر می‌کند. مرگ از روی پیری هم فرایند کندی دارد، پس جای نگرانی نیست. نمی‌توانی با توجه دائمی به میرا بودنت زندگی کنی. باید آن را فراموش کنی. گرچه که این افکار به هر حال سراغت می‌آیند، باید آن‌ها را از خود برانی و خفه‌شان کنی. در غیر این صورت، در روح و روانت ریشه می‌دوانند و زندگی را برایت تلخ می‌کنند. نمی‌توانی به این حقیقت که می‌میری فکر کنی، وگرنه ممکن است دیوانه شوی. فقط یک چیز است که انسان را از دیوانگی نجات می‌دهد و آن عدم اطمینان است. زندگی کسی که به مرگ محکوم شده با زندگی یک انسان معمولی تنها در یک چیز تفاوت دارد: اولی دقیقا می‌داند کی می‌میرد و دومی نه. در نتیجه به نظر می‌رسد می‌تواند تا ابد زندگی کند، گرچه که ممکن است طی یک حادثه‌ی مصیبت‌بار در همان روز کشته شود. مرگ به خودی خود ترسناک نیست؛ به انتظار نشستنش ترسناک است.

مردن برای کسانی که به چیزی اعتقاد دارند، بسیار راحت‌تر است! برای کسانی که اعتقاد دارند مرگ پایان همه چیز نیست. برای کسانی که دنیا برایشان به سیاه و سفید تقسیم می‌شود. کسانی که دقیقا می‌دانند چه کاری را انجام دهند و به چه دلیل. کسانی که مشعل یک ایده و باور را در دست دارند و هر چیزی را که می‌بینند، با آن روشن می‌کنند. کسانی که به چیزی شک ندارند و از کارهایی که کرده‌اند، پشیمان نیستند. احتمالا مردن برای آن‌ها بسیار راحت است. با لبخندی بر لب می‌میرند.