Eren Quotes

The world is merciless, and it's also very beautiful.

If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. If you don’t fight, you can’t win!

I'm sorry Eren. . . I can't. . . Give up. If I die now. . . I won't even be able to remember you. So no matter what. . . I'm going to win! Whatever I have to do, I'm going to live!!

There's something I firmly believe in: the people who have the ability to change something in this world. All, without exception, have guts to abandon things important to them if they have to. They are those who even abandon their humanity if they're pressed hard to outdo monsters. People who can't throw away something important can never hope to change anything!

What's so good about giving up? Is it better to escape from reality, to the point where you're throwing away your hope?

L'angoixava la certesa monstruosa que eren feliços sobre una muntanya de cadàvers.

Most people are not prepared to have their minds changed," he said. "And I think they know in their hearts that other people are just the same, and one of the reasons people become angry when they argue is that they realize just that, as they trot out their excuses." "Excuses, eh?" Well, if this ain't cynicism, what is?" Erens snorted. "Yes, excuses," he said, with what Erens thought might just have been a trace of bitterness. "I strongly suspect the things people believe in are usually just what they instinctively feel is right; the excuses, the justifications, the things you're supposed to argue about, come later. They're the least important part of the belief. That's why you can destroy them, win an argument, prove the other person wrong, and still they believe what they did in the first place." He looked at Erens. "You've attacked the wrong thing.

On that day, mankind received a grim reminder. We lived in fear of the titans, and were disgraced to live in these cages we called walls.

If you win, you live, if you lose, you die. If you don't fight, you can't win.

No, I don’t want that. Mikasa finding another man. I want her to think about me and no one else for the rest of my life! Even after I die... I want to be at the front of her mind for a while. Ten years at least. -Eren Yeager (Attack on Titan)

I'll kill them all! I'll wipe every one of them...off the face of this earth!"~Eren Yeager's bow to kill all the titans from Hajime Isayama's Attack on titan "To become Hokage is my dream!"~Uzumaki Naruto from Masashi Kishimoto's Naruto "It's meaningless to just live. It's meaningless to just fight. I want to win."~Ichigo Kurosaki from Tite Kubo's Bleach

Thank you.. for wrapping this scarf.. around me, Eren.. -Mikasa Ackerman

Van entretenir-se més en arribar a les dues cases contigües on havien viscut i que, passatgerament, ressuscitaren en ells una emoció fàcil de contenir, perquè ara ja no eren aquelles dues criatures que, de sobte, ho perdien tot, sinó un noi i una noia aleshores inexistents, la història dels quals començava al moment que es decidien a ser origen i no acabament.

In the spring and summer I watched my plants flower, but it was, perhaps, in winter that I loved them best, when their skeletons were exposed. Then I felt they had more to say to me, were not simply dressing themselves for the crowds. Stripped of their leaves, their identities showed forth stark, essential.

For your little sister, who was eaten by dogs... Isn't it to get revenge? For your comrades from the restoration, for Dina, for Kruger, we need to keep moving forward to avenge them. Even if you die. Even after you die. This is the story... that you started.

Writers know all the good reasons for subjecting their work to a sharp trim. Early drafts are notorious for repetition, indirection and overdevelopment of the trivial.

I just wanted freedom.

See you later, Eren.

Why... did I choose *this*?! I might've been able to save them... I left them to die! I... I... That's it... It's because... I wanted... something new to rely on... something to believe in... like I did when I was with them... I'm sick of... being treated like a monster. I've had enough... of being shunned... So... I just wanted to think... that I should believe in my comrades... because it's easier that way...

Que la guerra l’havien guanyada els presoners obligats a lluitar i que ells eren els qui havien arribat fins a Berlín sota el foc de les metralladores. Una victòria, això? Vam omplir Europa de cadàvers.

Eger onundeki kapilar bir daha yuzune kapanacak olursa, hayatinin sona ermedigini dusun. Sona eren sey yalnizca hayatlarinin birincisidir ve digeri baslamak uzere sabirsizlanmaktadir. O zaman bir gemiye bin, seni bekleyen bir kent vardir.

Saat perang dimulai, hanya ada satu cara untuk menghentikannya. Membuat salah satu dari mereka kalah.

In her questioning eyes her story of pain is spilling silently out. But Lore does not want to know that story. There is time, right now, for her pain only.

In my experience, cutting back is the crucial act that allows the vitality, precision and emotional heart of a piece of writing to emerge.

Bisakah sekali saja kau berhenti bersikap sinis dan menjauhkan pikiran negatif pada hal-hal di sekelilingmu? Tidak semua orang di dunia ini harus memiliki motif saat melakukan sesuatu!

How naive Lore had been, despite being the daughter of a father no one spoke of, despite the strange, incomplete conversations at her mother’s deathbed; how again and again she was caught up short by the discovery that other people had stories they didn’t tell, or told stories that weren’t entirely true. How mostly you got odd chunks torn from the whole, impossible truly to understand in their damaged form.

Kadın olsaydınız, hiçbir şey düzeltmeyen, ama her şeyi düzelttikleri sanılan özenlere konu olduğunu gördükçe, gururlu bir ruhun nasıl tiksintiyle karışık hüzünlere kapıldığını anlardınız. Birkaç gün, pohpohlanacağım, yapılan haksızlık bağışlattırılmak istenecek. O zaman en akla uymaz istekleri bile kabul ettirebilirim. Bu düşüş, her şeyin unutulduğuna inanıldığı gün sona eren bu okşayışlar, beni alçaltıyor. Efendisinin iyiliklerini yalnız onun kusurlarına borçlu olmak...

Fight! You must fight! If you win, you live. If you loose, you die. If you don't fight, you can't win!

A Book Keeper! Gods of the word, they are. Finest of the brave. You know, it's them that keep books, (he says) that know things in the end.

Göze göz hepimizi kör eder.

Avui els records eren millors que qualsevol realitat que pogués veure.

No pots tornar enrere i reviure les coses tal com eren, com creies que eren. El que realment tens… és el present.

Tots aquells pensaments eren moments perdus en una vida composta d'una sèrie de tals moments finita per definició.

Gaudia de cadascun dels meus batecs perquè sabia que eren comptats.

While I am still concerned about what the constructs are doing, I think this specific case is clear.’ Jess smirked at Eren. ‘Perhaps you need to work on your specificity.

A casa vivíem sense paraules i les coses que jo duia per dintre em feien por perquè no sabia si eren meves...

Tanco el llibre en silenci, deixo que s'esvaeixin les últimes vivències provocades per les escenes finals, per les paraules dites, per l'atmosfera que m'ha acompanyat durant us dies o tal volta unes setmanes. I em sento neguitós perquè a partir d'aquell instant ja no conviuré amb uns personatges amb els quals he gaudit d'una estranya intimitat perquè eren tan meus com els meus pensaments.

Moltes coses havien estat possibles perquè ell no havia dit no. Perquè els altres que eren com ell no havien dit que no. No n'hi havia prou de refusar-se interiorment i obeir de mala gana. Calia dir que no.

I was playing rainbow six siege and that's the moment when I saw a dick on the wall so i knew I needed to masturbate so I uploaded thumbnail representing a dick so I can clickbait while masturbating” ~Eren Yeager

Els nous somnis eren fer-se construir una casa, comprar-se un cotxe bo, plantar un groseller. Es va constatar que la llibertat era la rehabilitació d’aquell esperit petitburgès que a Rússia es tenia el costum de denigrar. La llibertat de Sa Majestat el Consum.

Hi ha ciutats secundàries que ja no són les ames del seu destí però amaguen en els seus carrers el tresor d’un gegant vençut. València és una d’elles. Amb el pas del temps el desdeny propi i alié les reduïx a tòpic. El tòpic preval com a mantra i sosté interpretacions fal·laces. Hi ha una resposta majoritària, la de propagar frases fetes. Era i és tan comú que mai va ser la meua. Les ruïnes no eren un decorat de ficció. El veïnat fugia, callava, mirava cap a un altre costat. Contràriament, les pedres exhalaven l’empremta d’una derrota per incompareixença.

El va estremir la revelació enlluernadora que la boja cursa entre els seus mals i els seus sonis arribava en aquell instant a la meta final. La resta eren tenebres. "Carall", va sospirar. "Com m'ho faré per sortir d'aquest laberint!". De Gabriel García Márquez, a El general en su laberinto.

Finalment, va exhalar el fum i va llegir: —«El va estremir»… Parla de Simón Bolívar, eh? «El va estremir la revelació enlluernadora que la boja cursa entre els seus mals i els seus somnis arribava en aquell instant a la meta final. La resta eren les tenebres. "Carall", va sospirar. "Com m'ho faré per sortir d'aquest laberint!"».

As long as there's people, there's tales.

They grabbed a woman held in Death’s grasp and shook and shook and forced Death to drop her

He oído algo sobre que te rindes porque piensas que no puedes ganar. Dime, ¿de qué sirve tirar la toalla? ¿Qué tiene de bueno renunciar a toda esperanza y escapar de la realidad?

A Book Keeper! Gods of the word, they are. Finest of the brave. You know, it's them that keep books, (he says) that know things in the end.

Kıyametimiz çoktan kopmuş, yok oluşumuz zaman alıyor, hepsi bu…

Güç en etkili afrodizyaktır!

The external world disappears; all she hears is her own sound; she is a cave filled with a great echoing voice. When she is done she closes her eyes for a moment, returning to herself.

Les nostres mirades es varen creuar uns instants. Els seus ulls daurats eren tan profunds que em vaig imaginar que podia veure fins al fons de la seva ànima. Em semblava absurd que se n'hagués qüestionat mai l'existència […]. Tenia l'ànima més bella de totes les ànimes […]. Em va tornar la mirada com si també hagués pogut contemplar la meva ànima i li hagués agradat.

Crec en el que pensava el gran poeta Samuel Taylor Coleridge sobre quins eren els punts cardinals de l'educació primerenca: «Treballar amb amor i així crear amor. Acostumar la ment a la precisió intel·lectual i la veritat. Estimular el poder de la imaginació». Coleridge conclou la seva obra Lecture on Education amb aquestes paraules: «Ben poc s'aprèn de la competició o la baralla, tot s'aprèn de la comprensió i de l'amor».

But she let him stay that one time. Fatigue from fighting him, maybe. Maybe the sense of loneliness when the man’s body withdrew so quickly, and you felt the cold between your legs and the abrupt sense of separateness again.

The Idoni Primor’s gaze fell on Eren immediately. Her head tilted in idle curiosity while a fingertip dipped into a crystal bowl beside her. “I know your face, anarch.” She brought her fingertip to her mouth and sucked it dry of gods only feared what hypnol. “You have been a most troublesome little asi of late. Have you come here to repent, to fall to your knees and beg to be allowed to return to the fold? Fair warning—you’ll be on those knees for a while.

Üzerlerine çiğ damlaları düşmüş gür çiçeklerin boy attığı parkı, bahçeyi, saçaklı kökleriyle başı göklere eren çam ağaçlarını, çavdar tarlasını, geliştirdiği bilimi, gençliğini, cesaretini, sevinçlerini, güzelliğine doyamadığı yaşamı yardıma çağıracaktı... Halının üzerinde, yüzünün yanında oluşan kan birikintisini görüyor, bağırmak istediği halde duyduğu dermansızlık yüzünden bir şey söyleyemiyor, ama anlatması zor, sınırsız bir mutluluk bütün bedenini dolduruyordu.

El tremolor se'm va aturar de cop i el foc em va envair, amb més força que mai, però era una calor diferent, no abrasava. Lluïa. Tot el meu interior es va ensorrar […]. Tots els fills que em lligaven a la vida varen quedar fets bocins amb tisorades veloces, com si es tallessin els cordills que aguanten un munt de globus. Tot el que em definia —[…] la meva llar, el meu nom, el meu jo— es va desconnectar de mi en aquell instant, amb unes quantes tisorades, i va marxar volant cel enllà. No m'havia quedat vagant. Ara un nou fil em lligava allà on era. No un, sinó un milió. I no eren fils, sinó cables d'acer. Un milió de cables d'acer que m'unien a una sola cosa, al mateix centre de l'univers. Ara ho podia veure, notava com l'univers girava al voltant d'aquell punt. Fins llavors mai n'havia vist la simetria, però ara em quedava ben clar. Ja no era la gravetat de la Terra el que em lligava on estava… …ara era [ella] […] qui em mantenia allà.

I like bare as well as lush, probably better. What speaks to me most is close to the ground: the shrubs and vines, rather than the great elms, oaks, and maples. The understory, as botanists call it…It is the shrubs that allow the park to survive.

Sobriety had happened at a strange time in my sex life, and maybe I wouldn’t have held onto it had it not been for both of the men involved in the transition. But sobriety made me realize, in lonely moments and long introspective jags, that while sex wasn’t the only thing that I was good at, it was still something I enjoyed. The difference was choosing the people I invited to the playground, so to speak. If Eren had been any less fired up than he was, pushing firmly and slowly into me, watching my face for silent cues while I pushed my head back into the bed, stretching my neck and growling, reacquainting myself with the feeling of being filled, it wouldn’t have been right. But it was right. I’d chosen well. I almost laughed when he was completely inside of me and I got swept up in the truth of the matter, the reasonably overwhelming knowledge that yeah, this was something I might not fuck up. And god, I loved sex. God, I loved not having to feel like I was hiding inside of its fortress.

Her mother’s quiet disapproval and withdrawal was a death in itself, and Franckline’s despair at it was transmitted, she was sure of it, to the child. She transgressed twice, first by making the child, then by giving it her despair, the despair that left it unable to live.

Drae sighed. “I appreciate your flair for the dramatic, and I’m glad to learn it’s survived your hypnol poisoning. But there’s no need for you to go through the hassle of regenesis this time. We can drop the bomb from half a kilometer above the meeting and have time to escape the blast.” Eren forced a confident smile, pulling the correct muscles into a barely remembered pattern and holding them there. “This is where you’re wrong—there is absolutely a need for me to go through the hassle of regenesis.” He reached up and rubbed a palm over the stubble covering his scalp. “If I am going to continue living in this world, I have got to get my hair back.” Drae stared at him incredulously, then burst out laughing. “You know, that may be the first true thing you’ve said to me since this ordeal began.

But the moan this time is not simply a moan of will and pain but a call into the emptiness: Is anyone there? There is a blackness spreading into her vision and she feels herself spinning in an unlit sky. Empty, empty, her moan cries. The moan goes on, spiraling deeper into space, and at the end of it Lore falls directly into sleep, with no sense of transition, into a dream of gray waters, of swimming with weary arms and trying to spy the shore.

Un professor de pintura molt amable que donava classe als nanos del gueto deia que pintar era una forma d'evadir-se molt lluny. Era un home culte i tan apassionat que ella mai no va gosar contradir-lo. Però, a ella, la pintura no la transportava a fora ni la feia pujar al tren d'altres vides, a diferència dels llibres. Ben al contrari, la pintura la catapultava cap endins de si mateixa. Pintar no era una via de sortida, sinó d'entrada. Per això els quadres que pintava a Terezín eren foscos, de traços rampelluts, cels carregats d'un gris dens i tenebrós, com si ja aleshores intuís que aquest cel interior es convertiria en l'únic que veurien quan els portessin a Auschwitz, un cel on els núvols són de cendra. Pintar va ser una manera de conversar amb si mateixa molts d'aquells vespres en què la vencia el desànim d'una joventut que encara no havia començat i que ja semblava haver conclòs.

Tenien a les mans una cosa rigorosament prohibida a Auschwitz i si els descobreixen els poden condemnar a mort. Aquests objectes, tan perillosos que la seva possessió és motiu de pena màxima, no es disparen ni serveixen per punxar, tallar o colpejar. Això que tant temen els implacables guàrdies del Reich simplement són llibres: vells, desenquadernats, amb els fulls deslligats, pràcticament desfets. Però els nazis els busquen, els persegueixen, els veten de manera obsessiva. Al llarg de la història tots els dictadors, tirans i repressors, tant si eren aris, negres, orientals, àrabs, eslaus com de qualsevol color de pell, tant si defensaven la revolució popular, els privilegis de les classes patrícies, el manament de Déu com la disciplina sumària dels militars, fos quina fos la seva ideologia, tots s'han caracteritzat per una cosa en comú: sempre han perseguit els llibres amb acarnissament. Són molt perillosos, fan pensar.

Fossin com fossin les nostres formes i els nostres trets físics, ho volguéssim o no, representaven un parany, una temptació; per culpa de la nostra naturalesa, que feia els homes embogir de luxúria, érem la causa innocent i irreprensible que ells trontollessin, ensopeguessin, caiguessin pel caire—¿el caire de què?, ens preguntàvem, ¿d'un penya-segat?—i es precipitessin cap avall en flames, com una allau de sofre ardent llançada per la mà furiosa de Déu. Érem les zeladores d'un tresor inestimable que s'amagava a dintre nostre; érem flors precioses que calia guardar dins d'un hivernacle per por que una emboscada no permetés que els predadors, que podien sotjar-nos des de qualsevol cantonada de l'ample món despietat en què regnava el pecat, ens arrenquessin els pètals, ens robessin el nostre tresor, ens estripessin i ens trepitgessin. Aquestes eren la mena de coses que ens deia a escola la Tia Vidala, sempre amb la gota al nas, quan fèiem brodats per a mocadors i tamborets i quadres emmarcats.

Desde el momento en que nacemos, todos nosotros...somos libres. Rechazar eso, incluso si no eres lo suficientemente fuerte, no es algo que piense hacer. Incluso la brillante agua, o las vastas tierras de hielo...todo está bien. Para poder ver lo que sigue más adelante. Está en mis manos ser libre. Lucha. Una vida utilizada para eso es algo de lo que no me arrepentiré. No importa cómo de terrorífico pueda ser el mundo, eso es algo que no me importa. No importa que tan cruel sea el mundo, es algo que no me preocupa. ¡Lucha!, ¡¡Lucha!!, ¡¡LUCHA!!

Pel motiu que a Tità res no presentava una finalitat (en cap moment i per a ningú), i pel motiu que no actuava cap guillotina de l'evolució, amputant de cada genotip el que no contribuïa a la supervivència, la natura, que no estava frenada ni per la vida que creés ni per la mort que provoqués, podia causar l'alliberament de la matèria, la natura podia mostrar la prodigalitat característica d'ella mateixa, una desolació il·limitada, una magnificència brutal que resultava inútil, un poder etern de creació sense objectiu, sense necessitat, sense significança. Aquesta veritat, que s'emparava gradualment de l'observador, era més pertorbadora que la impressió de ser testimoni d'un mimetisme còsmic de la mort, o la impressió que eren despulles d'éssers desconeguts situades per sota de l'horitzó curull de tempestes. Per tant, calia capgirar la manera tradicional de pensar, que només seguia una sola direcció: aquestes formes eren semblants a ossos, costelles, cranis i ullals no pas perquè haguessin tingut vida alguna vegada (mai no n'havien tinguda), sinó perquè els esquelets dels vertebrats terrestres i la seva pell, i la cuirassa quitinosa dels insectes, i les closques dels mol·luscs presentaven la mateixa disposició estructural, la mateixa simetria i gràcia, ja que la natura podia crear-les, tot i que manquessin i sempre haguessin de mancar la vida i la finalitat pròpia de la vida.

Night is the worst time. After the long regimentation of the day, the enforced silences, the men want to talk. At first it doesn’t matter what about: TV, movies, travel, jobs. I lie on my side on my mattress as the words pool around me, reciting to myself the botanical classifications for peach, cherry, apple. Magnoliophyta, Magnoliopsida, Rosales, Rosaceae… I smell the smell of other bodies: stale skin, flatulence, cologne. I long to open the windows and let the fresh air sweep the smells away, sweep the bodies away too. Gradually one man drops out of the conversation, then another. Soon there will be only two men left speaking. And these two—they are not the same two every night—will drop their voices, speak in an intimate murmur. Perhaps they are only gossiping about one of the monks. Perhaps they are complaining about the food. But no, there is a reticence that lets me know that they are trying, clumsily, to reach each other.

Wanneer aan het bed van een stervende zijn naasten zich over zijn gestamel buigen, is dat niet om een laatste wens te ontcijferen, maar eerder om een gevatte uitdrukking op te vangen die ze later kunnen citeren om zijn herinnering te eren. De Romeinse historici vergeten nooit om de doodsstrijd van hun keizers te beschrijven, want dan konden ze een uitspraak of een schreeuw toevoegen die ze hadden geuit of zouden kunnen hebben geuit. Dat geldt voor elke doodsstrijd, zelfs de meest gewone. Dat het leven niets betekent, dat weet of voorvoelt iedereen: maar laat het dan op zijn minst gered worden door een verbale kunstgreep!

Eren oportunitats que la vida ens dóna per bufar, per demanar desigs.

La meva mare m'havia ensenyat de ben petit a acceptar que els sentiments que altres persones tenien per nosaltres, encara que no els corresponguéssim, eren importants. — Has d'entendre que aquest amor no desitjat, aquest desig no correspost, és un gran regal que et fan —em va dir [...]—. No el menyspreïs simplement perquè no t'és útil.

Children were in fact ferocious little animals, sharp and canny and hurt and eager to inflict hurt themselves, who were trying to get what they needed in life.

Et ies nit oe, 'eren, toekestan de passee mon broek zondèr me betaal de tolle!

The only truth in this world is that there is no truth. Anyone can become God or the Devil, all it takes is for people to believe it.

I May Be Humanity's Enemy But I'm Your Friend, Eren. I Can't Be A Good Girl And I Don't Want To Be A God. But When I See Someone Crying, Saying No One Needs Them, I Want To Tell Them It's Not True.

Això és tot el contrari als escuts i les llances que s'han alçat contra el coronavirus, fins i tot als llocs on encara no s'ha donat cap cas, com a Barcelona ara mateix. He fet servir voluntàriament un lèxic bèl·lic, que tan sovint s'utilitza amb relació a certes malalties. Sontag també en parla, i situa l'origen d'aquest ús metafòric a la segona meitat del segle XIX, després que Louis Pasteur demostrés que determinats microorganismes eren els causants de les malalties infeccioses. Recordem que coincideix amb l'època colonial i el reforçament de la idea de l'excepcionalitat d'Europa com a espai on les malalties, tant en sentit literal com figurat, sempre venen de fora -mentre que, recorda Sontag, Europa ha oblidat alegrement les malalties que va exportar amb els seus < i assentaments colonials, que van resultar devastadors per a molts pobles nadius.

Això és tot el contrari als escuts i les llances que s'han alçat contra el coronavirus, fins i tot als llocs on encara no s'ha donat cap cas, com a Barcelona ara mateix. He fet servir voluntàriament un lèxic bèl·lic, que tan sovint s'utilitza amb relació a certes malalties. Sontag també en parla, i situa l'origen d'aquest ús metafòric a la segona meitat del segle XIX, després que Louis Pasteur demostrés que determinats microorganismes eren els causants de les malalties infeccioses. Recordem que coincideix amb l'època colonial i el reforçament de la idea de l'excepcionalitat d'Europa com a espai on les malalties, tant en sentit literal com figurat, sempre venen de fora -mentre que, recorda Sontag, Europa ha oblidat alegrement les malalties que va exportar amb els seus «descobriments» i assentaments colonials, que van resultar devastadors per a molts pobles nadius.

The sole truth of this world, I’ve found, is that there is no truth. Any one of us can become a god or a devil. All it takes is for people to believe it.

Jahia l'amich en llit d'amor. Los lançols eren de plaers, e lo cobertor era de languiments, el cuxí era de plors. E era qüestió sil drap del cuxí era drap dels lançols o del cobertor.

De vegades, pensava en el que devien fer el sol i la lluna quan eren petits. Que el sol era una bola podrida que en anar-se'n deixava esquitxada tota la nit. I que la lluna estava corcada, amb cucs a tots els forats, com els morts dins dels nínxols. Rosegada com un formatge i calenta de desesperació, que es moria sense adonar-se'n com el nostre cervell.

Have you always been able to turn into a bear, or did a radioactive polar bear bite you?

True love is like centauri honey extracted from deep caves.

i don't have time to worry whether it's right or wrong. You can't hope for a horror story with a happy ending! Yeah, it's a cruel world out there.

Les anècdotes que ell i la seva muller, la inoblidable Rosa Artís, germana del Tísner, explicaven en els sopars eren extraordinàriament divertides, un pèl surrealistes, i semblaven extretes directament d'un dels seus contes. L'imaginari de Calders li devia molt a la seva dona, que era una narradora vivaç i entretingudíssima, una mestra en la literatura oral.

The thing – was he a bat? – was too huge to see. His wings merged into the shadows, his shape too fuzzy to make out. He grinned at me with small, sharp teeth and darkness whirled around him. He cocked his head and bowed it slightly. "Once upon a time," he said, "a boy dreamed, and all his wishes came true. Once upon a time, old things woke up, and magic – real magic – came back into the world.

Yarns and tales and the telling, they're all about unraveling the truths that life hides, you ken? It's about finding out, if a princess is locked in a tower, how would you get her down? It's about you, and the story, and where the two things meet.

No greater fear or happiness," he whispers, "than for those who keep the books alive.

El Pepe Rubianes i en Miquel Periel compartien habitació a casa de la sogra del Pepe, la Lucila, que els feia un pisto manchego que era l'enveja de tots els altres membres de la companyia. Com que el pis era molt petit, el Pepe i en Miquel dormien en una llitera i el Pepe llegia al seu company els poemes d'amor que escrivia a la seva dona absent. Eren poemes de tall lorquià, molt abrandats, i una d'aquelles nits poètiques, mentre llegia en veu alta, li va caure del cel una gran gota d'aigua salada que es va escampar pel paper i en va difuminar les lletres: era una llàgrima d'en Miquel, que escoltava emocionat, abocat a la seva llitera.

I am older than everything you could ever dream of! I am the very essence of stories and you and all your human world are nothing but mist, nothing but vapour, as far as I'm concerned!

I have seen worlds grow and die, until their ashes don't even float on the wind of the highest mountains. I've loved the legends of men whose names are lost, loved people who aren't even memories. The trees you climb now will be the coal that heats the rooms in a thousand years that house the babies that grow to found the empires that will crumble to dust while I sit and watch. I've seen libraries burn, my boy, I've seen books crackle and spit and crack to black earth and shadows. I've waited and slept and ignored more history than you and your islanders will ever know happened. Don't tell me I can't have a moment of thought before the bite.

A book keeper! Gods of the word, they are. Finest of the brave. You know, it's them that keep books," he says, "that know things in the end.

The world turns, and there are new horrors and terrors every day. But it's like ... like there is something deeper, something truer, going on. And if we can just tell the right story, we might all work it out. Poets and writers have tried for thousands of years to capture in words that spark of humanity that makes us what we are.

Genel olarak biz Ruslarda; Almanların, özellikle Fransızların başı yıldızlara eren akılsız romantiklerini bulamazsınız. Yer yerinden oynasa, bütün Fransa barikatlarda can verse gene de bir yararı olmaz; Fransız, nezaket için olsun istifini bozmadan, ömrünün sonuna dek, aptalcasına, yıldızların şarkısını söylemeyi sürdürür. Biz Rusların yurdunda böyle aptalların bulunmadığını biliyoruz, bizleri Almanlardan ayıran da budur zaten. İşte bu yüzdendir ki, bizde yüzde yüz saf, bası yıldızlarda gezen yaratıklar aranmamalıdır. Akıllarını Kostancoğlularıyla, Pyotr İvanoviç Amcalarla bozarak, onlarda ülkümüzü aramak ahmaklığını gösteren çağımızın birtakım "işgüzar" yazarlarıyla eleştirmenlerdir ki, bizim romantiklerimizi Almanların, Fransızların bası göğe eren romantikleriyle bir tutmaya kalkışmışlardır. Oysa, bizim romantiklerimizin özellikleri Avrupa'nın bası gökte gezen romantiklerinin özellikleriyle taban tabana karşıttır, hiçbir Avrupa ölçüsü bizimkilere uygulanamaz.

Totes les teories, dutes a les últimes conseqüències, resulten absurdes. Això significa que ja ho eren en principi, almenys en part. I no cal dir que aquesta conclusió ens ha d'induir a practicar un escepticisme moderat. A practicar-lo; no a professar-lo, que no en valdria la pena.

Bir örnek vereyim: Bugünlerde çıkan iki albümde “Fikrimin İnce Gülü” şarkısına yer verilmiş. Bekir Ünlüataer’in söylediği “Gözlerin gözlerimde” dizesi, Sertab Erener’de “Leblerin leblerimde” (dudakların dudaklarımda) diye geçiyor ki doğrusu bu. Dudağı göze çevirerek bir sansür uygulanmış.

Només pel fet de sobreviure'ls, els anys i els fets et regalen una certa saviesa. No la trobo preferible a la innocència, però fa temps que vaig acceptar que totes dues eren incompatibles.

Natalie will always love the night now: its inventions, its richness, its sympathy. There are creatures of the day (alert, energetic, strict, practiced in loss) and there are creatures of the night (rebellious, vague, imaginative, greedy), and Natalie moves to join the night creatures, receives their hot, loyal embrace.

A breeze of expectation lifts up the crowd--the thick red nourishment will work its magic. But Lore’s blood pressure still drops, and drops again. Franckline looks up and sees, like a shadow drawing away from a window, the soul retreat from Lore’s face

Sonsuz bir yol korkutucudur fakat sona eren yol daha da korkutucudur!

El sol penjava damunt del cèrcol obscur com una amenaça. A mida que s'hi atansava anava percebent l'olor de la brutícia i de les pedres escalfades per aquell sol eixut i fatigat. Se sentien pocs sorolls, i quan hi era a la vora tot fou silenci. Els qui s'atansaven al camp eren familiars que hi acudien sols o de dos en dos, capcots, tristos amb la desesperació resignada dels vençuts.

What speaks to me most is close to the ground: the shrubs and vines, rather than the great elms, oaks, and maples. The understory, as botanists call it. In the decades after the war, when the city turned its back on the park—firing the groundskeepers, ceding greater and greater swaths of land to the muggers and drug dealers—it was not the big trees that began to disappear; it was the shrubs: the witch hazel and jetbead, black haw and sweet pepperbush. The park became like the city: skyscrapers, no texture. And that meant it was dying. The things that live at ground level are what hold the earth fast. . . . It is the shrubs that allow the park to survive.