Georges Perec Quotes

Question your tea spoons.

It is on a day like this one, a little later a little earlier that you descover without surprise that something is wrong that you don't know how to live and you will never know

The idea occurred to him when he was twenty. At first it was only a vague idea, a question looming — what should I do? — with an answer taking shape: nothing.

What we need to question is bricks, concrete, glass, our table manners, our utensils, our tools, the way we spend our time, our rhythms. To question that which seems to have ceased forever to astonish us. We live, true, we breathe, true; we walk, we go downstairs, we sit at a table in order to eat, we lie down on a bed on order to sleep. How? Where? When? Why? Describe your street. Describe another. Compare.

As the hours, the days, the weeks, the seasons slip by, you detach yourself from everything. You discover, with something that sometimes almost resembles exhilaration, that you are free. That nothing is weighing you down, nothing pleases or displeases you. You find, in this life exempt from wear and tear and with no thrill in it other than these suspended moments, in almost perfect happiness, fascinating, occasionally swollen by new emotions. You are living in a blessed parenthesis, in a vacuum full of promise, and from which you expect nothing. You are invisible, limpid, transparent. You no longer exist. Across the passing hours, the succession of days, the procession of the seasons, the flow of time, you survive without joy and without sadness. Without a future and without a past. Just like that: simply, self evidently, like a drop of water forming on a drinking tap on a landing.

What a marvellous invention man is! He can blow on his hands to warm them up, and blow on his soup to cool it down.

To want nothing. Just to wait, until there is nothing left to wait for. Just to wander, and to sleep. To let yourself be carried along by the crowds, and the streets. To follow the gutters, the fences, the water’s edge. To walk the length of the embankments, to hug the walls. To waste your time. To have no projects, to feel no impatience. To be without desire, or resentment, or revolt.

To write: to try meticulously to retain something, to cause something to survive; to wrest a few precise scraps from the void as it grows, to leave somewhere a furrow, a trace, a mark or a few signs.

It is on a day like this one, a little later, a little earlier, that you discover, without surprise, that something is wrong, that, without mincing words, you don't know how to live, that you will never know." -from "A Man Asleep

A gap will yawn, achingly, day by day, it will turn into a colossal pit, an abyss without foundation, a gradual invasion of words by margins, blank and insignificant, so that all of us, to a man, will find nothing to say.

This is how space begins, with words only, signs traced on the blank page. To describe space: to name it, to trace it, like those portolano-makers who saturated the coastlines with the names of harbours, the names of capes, the names of inlets, until in the end the land was only separated from the sea by a continuous ribbon of text. Is the aleph, that place in Borges from which the entire world is visible simultaneously, anything other than an alphabet?

ما يثير انفعالك، ما يخيفك، لكنه أحيانًا يهيجك، ليس الطابع المباغت لتحولك، إنما هو تحديدًا الشعور الغامض والشديد الوطأة أنك لا تعيش تحولًا، أن شيئًا لم يتغير،أنك كنت هكذا على الدوام حتى إن لم تعلم هذا حتى اليوم: ذاك في المرآة المشقوقة ليس وجهك الجديد، إنما الأقنعة هي التي تهاوت، حجرتك جعلتها تنصهر، الخمول جعلها تسيخ، أقنعة الطريق القويم، الأفكار اليقينية الجميلة.

Vivir es pasar de un espacio a otro sin golpearse

I have neither one nor the other, and that has been going on for so long now that I have stopped wondering whether it is hate or love which gives us the strength to continue this life of lies, which provides the formidable energy that allows us to go on suffering, and hoping.

لم تتعلم شيئا، إلا ما كان من أن العزلة لا تعلّم شيئاً، من أن اللامبالاة لا تعلم شيئا: كانت خدعة مراوغة، وهما آسراً ومفخخاً. كنت وحيداً وهذا كل شيء فكنت تريد حماية نفسك؛ أن تنقطع الجسور بينك وبين العالم إلى الأبد. لكنك ضئيل الشان جدا والعالم كلمة كبيرة جداً: لم تفعل ابداً أي شيء سوى أنك تشردت في مدينة كبيرة.

It seems we only sleep well in our own bed.

Tu as tout à apprendre, tout ce qui ne s'apprend pas: la solitude, l'indifférence, la patience, le silence. Tu dois te déshabituer de tout: d'aller à la rencontre de ceux que si longtemps tu as côtoyés, de prendre tes repas, tes cafés à la place que chaque jour d'autres ont retenue pour toi, ont parfois défendue pour toi, de traîner dans la complicité fade des amitiés qui n'en finissent pas de se survivre, dans la rancoeur opportuniste et lâche des liaisons qui s'effilochent.

From this, one can make a deduction which is quite certainly the ultimate truth of jigsaw puzzles: despite appearances, puzzling is not a solitary game: every move the puzzler makes, the puzzlemaker has made before; every piece the puzzler picks up, and picks up again, and studies and strokes, every combination he tries, and tries a second time, every blunder and every insight, each hope and each discouragement have all been designed, calculated, and decided by the other.

أنت وحيد. تتعلم أن تمشي كرجل وحيد, أن تتسكع, أن تجر قدميك, أن ترى دون أن تنظر, أن تنظر دون أن ترى. تتعلم الشفافيه, الهمود, عدم الوجود. تتعلم أن تكون طيفاً, و أن تنظر للناس كما لو كانوا حجاره

Quien no trabaja no come, sí, pero quien trabaja no vive.

شيء ما يتكسر. شيء ما قد تكسر. لم تعد تشعر بأنك -كيف تقولها- متماسك: شيء ما، فيما كان يبدو لك، فيما يبدو لك، كان حتى حينه قد طمأنك، أشعرك بالدفء في القلب، الشعور بوجودك، تقريبًا بأهميتك، الانطباع بالارتباط، بالاستغراق في العالم، قد بدأ يتملّص منك.

إنه في مثل هذا اليوم، بعيد ذلك بقليل، قبيل ذلك بقليل، حين اكتشفت دون أن تفاجأ ان شيئاً ما لا يسير على ما يرام، وأنك كي تتحدث دون حذر لا تعرف كيف تعيش، وأنك لن تعرف أبداً.

Kayıtsızlık dili geçersiz kılıyor,işaretleri anlaşılmaz hale getiriyor.Sabırlısın ama beklemiyorsun, özgürsün ama seçmiyorsun,müsaitsin ama hiçbir şey seni harekete geçirmiyor. Hiçbir şey istemiyor,hiçbir şey talep etmiyor, hiçbir şeyi dayatmıyorsun.Hiç dinlemeden duyuyor,hiç bakmadan görüyorsun.

It is on a day like this one, a little later, a little earlier, that you discover, without surprise, that something is wrong, that, without mincing words, you don’t know how to live, that you will never know.

ليس لأنك تكره البشر, و لماذا تكرههم؟ لماذا قد تكره نفسك؟ لو فقط أن ذلك الإنتماء للجنس البشري لا يصاحبه ذلك الضجيج الذي لا يُحتمل.

If you do not keep on sorting your books, your books unsort themselves

What they liked in things they called luxury was only the money behind them; they loved wealth before they loved life.

Какво чудно творение е човекът! Може да духа в шепите си, за да си стопли ръцете, както и да духа в супата си, за да я охлади.

Tu n'as rien appris, sinon que la solitude n'apprend rien, que l'indifférence n'apprend rien: c'était un leurre, une illusion fascinante et piégée. Tu étais seul et voilà tout et tu voulais te protéger: qu'entre le monde et toi les ponts soient à jamais coupés. Mais tu es si peu de chose et le monde est un si grand mot: tu n'as jamais fait qu'errer dans une grande ville, que longer sur quelques kilomètres des façades, des devantures, des parcs et des quais. L'indifférence est inutile. Tu peux vouloir ou ne pas vouloir, qu'importe! Faire ou ne pas faire une partie de billard électrique, quelqu'un, de toute façon, glissera une pièce de vingt centimes dans la fente de l'appareil. Tu peux croire qu'à manger chaque jour le même repas tu accomplis un geste décisif. Mais ton refus est inutile. Ta neutralité ne veut rien dire. Ton inertie est aussi vaine que ta colère.

As soon as you close your eyes, the adventure of sleep begins." -from "A Man Asleep

Önceden düşünülmüş bir hareket değil bu, bir hareket de değil zaten, bir hareket yokluğu, yapmadığın bir hareket,yapmaktan kaçındığın hareketler.

cela fait si longtemps que ça dure que j'ai cessé de me demander si c'est dans la haine ou dans l'amour que nous trouvons la force de continuer cette vie mensongère, que nous puisons l'énergie formidable qui nous permet encore de souffrir, et d'espérer.

Non. Tu n'es plus le maître anonyme du monde, celui sur qui l'histoire n'avait pas de prise, celui qui ne sentait pas la pluie tomber, qui ne voyait pas la nuit venir.Tu n'es plus l'inaccessible, le limpide, le transparent. Tu as peur, tu attends. Tu attends, place Clichy, que la pluie cesse de tomber.

Bir şeyler kırılıyordu, bir şeyler kırıldı. Kendini-nasıl demeli?-dayanıklı hissetmiyorsun artık: Sana bugüne kadar güç veren-öyle sanıyordun, öyle sanıyorsun-,yüreğini ısıtan şey, varoluş duygun,neredeyse önemli olduğun duygusu, dünyaya bağlanma,dünyada kalma duygusu eksikliğini hissettirmeye başlıyor.

Yine böyle bir günde, biraz daha önce, biraz daha sonra, bir şeylerin yolunda gitmediğini, açık konuşacak olursak, yaşamayı bilmediğini, hiç bilmeyeceğini şaşırmadan keşfediyorsun. ____________________ İnsanlardan nefret ettiğin anlamına gelmez bu, ne diye nefret edesin ki? Ne diye kendinden nefret edesin ki? Keşke insan türüne ait olmak, o dayanılmaz ve sağır edici gürültüyü de beraberinde getirmeseydi…

Ölümün için her şey çoktan hazır: Seni öldürecek top güllesi çok uzun zaman önceden eritilip döküldü, tabutunun peşinden ağlayacak olan kadınlar çoktan tutuldu.

لم تعش كثيراً, و مع ذلك... ها قد قيل كل شيء, ها قد انتهى. عمرك ليس إلا خمسة و عشرين عاماً, و لكن طريقك ارتسم بأكمله.

Ne kimseyi görme, ne konuşma, düşünme, dışarı çıkma, yerinden kımıldama isteği duyuyorsun.

Leur vie était comme une trop longue habitude, comme un ennui presque serein : une vie sans rien.

لن تحطم الحلقة المسحورة للعزلة.. أنت وحيد ولا تعرف أحدًا، لا تعرف أحدًا وأنت وحيد، ترى الآخرين يتلاصقون دبقين، يتحاضنون، يحمي بعضهم بعضًا، يلف بعضهم بعضًا، لكنك لست -وأنت ميت النظرة- سوى شبح شفاف، مجذوم بلون الجدار، طيف اكتمل رجوعه إلى التراب، ساحة محتلة لا يقترب منها أحد

You will never stop seeing yourself. You can do nothing, you cannot escape yourself, you cannot escape your own gaze, you never will be able to: even if you were to fall into a sleep so deep that no shock, no shout, no burning pain could rouse you, there would still be this eye, your eye, that will never close, that will never sleep. You see yourself, you see yourself seeing yourself, you watch yourself watching yourself. Even if you were to wake up, your vision would remain the same, immutable. Even if you managed to grow thousands, billions of extra eyelids, there would still be this eye, behind, which would see you. You are not asleep but sleep will never come again. You are not awake and you will never wake up. You are not dead and even death could never set you free." -from "A Man Asleep

Sen bir aylak, bir uyurgezersin, bir istiridyesin. Tanımlar saatlere, günlere göre değişiyor ama taşıdıkları anlam az çok belli: Yaşamanın, harekete geçmenin, bir şey yapmanın pek sana göre olmadığını hissediyorsun; sadece sürüp gitmek istiyorsun, sadece bekleyişi ve unutuşu istiyorsun.

Parfois, tu rêves que le sommeil est une morte lente qui te gagne, une anestésie douce et terrible à la fois, une nécrose heureuse : le froid monte le long de tes jambes, le long de tes bras, monte lentement, t'engourdit, t'annihile. Ton orteil est une montagne lointaine, ta jambe un fleuve, ta joue est ton oreiller, tu loges tout entier dans ton pouce, tu fonds, tu coules comme du sable, comme du mercure.

Duyarsız değil, yansız.

فلتكن حياتك مغلقه, ملساء, مدوره مثل بيضه, فلتصبح حركاتك و سكناتك محدده بنظام لا يتغير يقرر كل شيئ لك , يحميك رغماً عنك.

أنت وحيد، ولأنك وحيد، يجب ألا تنظر أبداً إلى الساعة، يجب ألا تحصي أبداً الدقائق

Above all, they had the cinema. And this was probably the only area where they had learned everything from their own sensibilities.

لقد توقفت عن الكلام و الصمت وحده الذي جاوبك. لكن تلك الكلمات, ألاف, ملايين الكلمات تلك التي توقفت ففي حلقك, الكلمات التي لا تكمله لها, صرخات الفرح, كلمات الحب, الضحكات البلهاء, متى تستعيدها..؟؟

Impatience [...] is a twentieth-century virtue. At twenty, when they saw, or thought they saw, what life could be, the sum of bliss it held, the endless conquests it allowed, they realised they would not have the strength to wait. Like anyone else, they could have made it; but all they wanted was to have it made. That is probably the sense in which they were what are commonly called intellectuals.

Te t'es arrêté à parler et seul le silence t'a répondu. Mais ces mots, ces milliers, ces millions de mots qui se sont arrêtés dans ta gorge, les mots sans suite, les cris de joie, les mots d'amour, les rires idiots, quand donc les retrouveras-tu? Maintenant tu vis dans le terreur du silence. Mais n'es-tu pas le plus silencieux de tous?

I re-read the books I love and I love the books I re-read, and each time it is the same enjoyment, whether I re-read twenty pages, three chapters, or the whole book: an enjoyment of complicity, of collusion, or more especially, and in addition, of having in the end found kin again.

Who, on seeing a Parisian apartment house, has never thought of it as indestructible? A bomb, a fire, an earthquake could certainly bring it down, but what else? In the eyes of an individual, of a family, or even a dynasty, a town, street, or house seems unchangeable, untouchable by time, by the ups and downs of human life, to such an extent that we believe we can compare and contrast the fragility of our condition to the invulnerability of stone.

Like the librarians of Babel in Borges’s story, who are looking for the book that will provide them with the key to all the others, we oscillate between the illusion of perfection and the vertigo of the unattainable. In the name of completeness, we would like to believe that a unique order exists that would enable us to accede in knowledge all in one go; in the name of the unattainable, we would like to think that order and disorder are in fact the same word, denoting pure chance. It’s possible also that both are decoys, illusions intended to disguise the erosion of both books and systems. It is no bad thing in any case that between the two our bookshelves should serve from time to time as joggers of the memory, as cat-rests and as lumber-rooms.

Uzunca bir süre kendine sığınaklar kurup yıktın: düzen ya da eylemsizlik, başıboş sürüklenme ya da uyku, geceleyin devriye gezmeler, yansız anlar,gölgelerin ve ışıkların kaçışı.Daha uzun bir süre kendine yalan söylemeyi,kendini sersemleştirmeyi,kendi oyununa gelmeyi sürdürebilirsin belki.Ama oyun bitti,büyük şenlik,ertelenmiş yaşamın yalancı sarhoşluğu bitti.Dünya yerinden kıpırdamadı ve sen değişmedin. Kayıtsızlık seni farklı kılmadı.

Busco a un tiempo lo eterno y lo efímero

يمضون في طريقهم دون أن يروك, و مه ذلك, فأنت على بُعد سنتيمرات منهم, جالس على رصيف مقهى, و لا تكف عن مراقبتهم.

مثل سجين, مثل محنون في زنزانته. مثل جرد في المتاهه يبحث عن المخرج. تعبر باريس في جميع الاتجاهات. مثل جوعان, مثل ساعٍ حامل لرساله دون عنوان

Ils t'identifient, ils te reconnaissent. Ils ne savent pas que ces simples saluts, ces seuls sourire, ces signes de tête indifférents sont tous ce qui chaque jour te sauve.

Tu n'est pas mort et la mort même ne saurait te délivrer...

Stellen Sie Ihrem Kaffeelöffel Fragen. Was ist hinter der Tapete? Wie viele Bewegungen sind notwendig, um eine Telefonnummer zu wählen? Warum? (S. 8)

Ya bir devamı vardır,ya da yoktur.. Ya anlatılabilecek bir devamı vardır,ya da yoktur.

Je me souviens d'un fromage qui s'appelait la Vache sérieuse (la Vache qui rit lui a fait un procès et l'a gagné).

All utopias are depressing because they leave no room for chance, for difference, for the 'miscellaneous'.

why count the buses? probably because they're recognizable and regular:they cut up time, they punctuate the background noise; ultimately, they're foreseeable

على مر الساعات, الأيام, الأسابيع, الفصول, تنفض يدك من كل شيئ, تنفصل عن كل شيء. تكتشف تقريباً, أحياناً, بما يشبه الثمل, أنك حر, أن لا شيء يثقل عليك, لا ميلاً و لا نفوراُ. تكتشف, في هذه الحياة غير المتآكله و الخاليه من كل ارتعاش -ما عدا تلك اللحظات المعلقه التي يوفرها لك ورق اللعب أو بعض أصوات الضجيج- بعض المشاهد التي تقدمها لنفسك, سعاده تكاد تكون تافهه, آسره, أحياناُ مشحونه بإنفعالات جديده. تعيش راحه كامله, أنت, في كل لحظه محفوظ, محمي. تعيش داخل هامش سعيد, داخل فراغ عامر بالوعود و لا تتوقع منه شيئاً. أنت غير مرئي, صاف, شفاف. لم تعد موجوداً: تلاحق ساعات, تلاحق أيام, مرور الفصول, جريان الزمن, أنت مستمر على قيد الحياة, دون بهجه و دون حزن, دون مستقبل و دون ماض, هكذا ببساطه, بوضوح, مثل قطرة ماء بلورية تنعقد في صنبور خزان على مصطبة سلم.

Maintenant tu n'as plus de refuges. Tu as peur, tu attends que tout s'arrête, la pluie, les heures, le flot des voitures, la vie, les hommes, le monde, que tout s'écroule, les murailles, les tours, les planchers et les plafonds; que les hommes et les femmes, les vieillards et les enfants, les chiens, les chevaux, les oiseaux, un à un, tombent à terre, paralysés, pestiférés, épileptiques; que le marbre s'effrite, que le bois se pulvérise, que les maisons s'abattent en silence, que les pluies diluviennes dissolvent les peintures, disjoignent les chevilles des armoires centenaires, déchiquettent les tissus, fassent fondre l'encre des journaux; q'un feu sans flammes ronge les marches des escaliers; que les rues s'effondrent en leur exact milieu, découvrant le labyrinthe béant des égouts; que la rouille et la brume envahissent la ville.

People who choose to earn money first, people who put off their real plans until later, until they are rich, are not necessarily wrong. People who want only to live, and who reckon living is absolute freedom, the exclusive pursuit of happiness, the sole satisfaction of their desires and instincts, the immediate enjoyment of the boundless riches of the world [...] such people will always be unhappy. It is true [...] that there are people for whom this kind of dilemma does not arise, or hardly arises, either because they are too poor and have no requirements beyond a slightly better diet, slightly better housing, slightly less work, or because they are too rich, from the start, to understand the import or even the meaning of such a distinction. But nowadays and in our part of the world, more and more people are neither rich nor poor: they dream of wealth, and could become wealthy; and that is where their misfortunes begin." -from "Things: A Story of the Sixties

People who choose to earn money first, people who put off their realplans until later, until they are rich, are not necessarily wrong. People who want only to live, and who reckon living is absolute freedom, the exclusive pursuit of happiness, the sole satisfaction of their desires and instincts, the immediate enjoyment of the boundless riches of the world - such people will always be unhappy.

This is your life. This is yours. You can establish an exact inventory of your meager fortune, the precise balance sheet of your first quarter-century. You are twenty-five years old, you have twenty-nine teeth, three shirts and eight socks, a few books you no longer read, a few records you no longer play. You do not want to remember anything else, be it your family or your studies, your friends and lovers, or your holidays and plans. You traveled and you brought nothing back from your travels. Here you sit, and you want only to wait, just to wait until there is nothing left to wait for: for night to fall and the passing hours to chime, for the days to slip away and the memories to fade.

اللامبالاه تفكك اللغة, تشوش الاشارات. أنت صبور و لا تنتظر, أنت حر و لا تختار, أنت في جاهزيتك و لا شيء يحركك. لا تطلب شيئاً, لا تفرض شيئاً, لا تلزم بشئ. تسمع دون أن تصغى أبداً, ترى دون أن تنظر أبداً.

لا تعود من بعد ذلك سوى عين. عين هائلة وثابتة، ترى كل شيء، على حد سواء جسمك المتراخي، وأنت، منظورًا وناظرًا، كما لو أنها انقلبت كليّا في محجرها وأنها تتأملك دون أن تقول لك شيئّا، أنت، داخلك أنت، الداخل الأسود، الفارغ، المخضرّ، المذعور، العاجز، داخلك أنت. يراقبك ويثبتك بالمسامير. لن تكف أبدًا عن رؤية نفسك. لا تستطيع القيام بشيء، لا تسطيع الفرار بنفسك، لا تستطيع الفرار من نظرتك، لن تستطيع أبدًا: حتى لو تمكنت من النوم بعمق كبير حتى لا يمكن لأي هزة، لأي نداء، لأي حرق إيقاظك، تظل ماتزال تلك العين، عينك، التي لن تنغلق أبدًا، التي لن تنام أبدًا. ترى نفسك، ترى نفسك بأنك ترى نفسك، تراقب نفسك أنك تراقب نفسك. حتى لو استيقظت، تظل رؤيتك هي نفسها، دون تغيير. حتى لو تمكنت أن تضيف لنفسك آلاف، مليارات الأجفان، تظل أيضًا، من الخلف، تلك العين، كي تراك. أنت غير نائم، لكن النوم لن يأتي بعد تلك اللحظة. أنت غير مستيقظ ولن تستيقظ أبدًا. أنت غير ميت وحتى الموت لن يستطيع تخليصك.

Kayıtsızlık işe yatamaz. İsteyebilir ya da istemeyebilirsin, ne fark eder! Bir parti tilt oynamak ya da oynamamak; nasıl olsa biri aygıtın deliğine bir yirmibeşlik atacak. Her gün aynı yemeği yemekle kararlı bir hareket yaptığını sanabilirsin. Ne var ki reddedişin işe yaramaz. Yansızlığın hiçbir anlam taşımaz. Cansızlığın öfken kadar abes.

insanlardan nefret ettiğin anlamına gelmez bu, ne diye onlardan nefret edesin ki? ne diye kendinden nefret edesin ki? keşke insan türüne ait olmak, o dayanılmaz ve sağır edici gürültüyü de beraberinde getirmeseydi; keşke hayvanlar aleminden çıkıp aşılan o birkaç gülünç adımın bedeli, sözcüklerin, büyük tasarıların, büyük atılımların o dinmek bilmeyen hazımsızlığı olmasaydı! karşı karşıya getirilebilen başparmaklara, iki ayak üstünde duruşa, omuzlar üzerinde başın yarım dönüşüne fazla ağır bir bedel bu. yaşam denen bu kazan, bu fırın, bu ızgara, bu milyarlarca uyarı, kışkırtma, tembih, coşkunluk, bu bitmek bilmeyen baskı ortamı, bu sonsuz üretme, ezme, yutma, engelleri aşma, durmadan ve yeniden baştan başlama makinesi, senin değersiz varoluşunun her gününü, her saatini yönetmek isteyen bu yumuşak dehşet.

How can you explain that what he is seeing is not anything horrific, not a nightmare, not something he will suddenly wake from, something he can rid his mind of? How can you explain that this is life, real life, this is what there’ll be every day, this is what there is, and nothing else, that it’s pointless believing something else exists or to pretend to believe in something else, that it’s not even worth your time trying to hide it, or to cloak it, it’s not even worth your time pretending to believe there must be something behind it, or beneath it, or above it? That’s what there is, and that’s all. There are competitions every day, where you Win or Lose. You have to fight to live. There is no alternative. It is not possible to close your eyes to it, it is not possible to say no. There’s no recourse, no mercy, no salvation to be had from anyone. There’s not even any hope that time will sort things out. There’s this, there’s what you’ve seen, and now and again it will be less horrible than what you’ve seen and now and again it will be much more horrible than what you’ve seen. But wherever you turn your eyes, that’s what you will see, you will not see anything else, and that is the only thing that will turn out to be true.

Vakit öldürmenin binbir yolu vardır ve hiçbiri ötekine benzemez, ama hepsi de eşdeğerdedir; bir şey beklememenin bin şekli vardır, uydurabileceğin ve anında vazgeçebileceğin binlerce oyun vardır. ____________________ Artık sen dünyanın adsız efendisisin, tarihin üzerinde artık etki yapmadığı kişisin, yağmurun yağdığını artık hissetmeyen, gecenin gelişini artık görmeyen kişisin.

You are alone. You learn how to walk like a man alone. To stroll, to dawdle. To see without looking, to look without seeing. You learn the art of transparency, immobility, inexistence.You learn how to be a shadow and how to look at men as if they were stones.

El tiempo que vela todo, ha dado la solución a tu pesar. El tiempo, que conoce la respuesta, ha seguido transcurriendo. En un día como éste, algo más tarde o más temprano, todo vuelve a empezar, todo empieza , todo continúa. Deja de hablar como un hombre que sueña.

What speaks to us, seemingly, is always the big event, the untoward, the extra-ordinary: the front-page splash, the banner headlines....Behind the event there is a scandal, a fissure, a danger, as if life reveals itself only by way of the spectacular, as if what speaks, what is significant, is always abnormal. [But] how should we take account of, question, describe what happens everyday and recurs everyday: the banal, the quotidian, the obvious, the common, the ordinary, the infra-ordinary, the background noise, the habitual? (209-210)

Time, which sees to everything, has provided the solution, despite yourself. Time, that knows the answer, has continued to flow. It is on a day like this one, a little later, a little earlier, that everything starts again, that everything starts, that everything continues

Pero entre estos sueños demasiado grandes, a los que se entregaban con una complacencia extraña, y la nulidad de sus acciones reales no se insertaba ningún proyecto racional, que hubiera conciliado las necesidades objetivas y sus posibilidades financieras. Los paralizaba la inmensidad de sus deseos.

They would have liked to be rich. They believed they would have been up to it. They would have known how to dress, how to look and how to smile like rich people. They would have had the requisite tact and discretion. They would have forgotten they were rich, would have grasped how not to flaunt their wealth. They wouldn't have taken pride in it. They would have drunk it into themselves. Their pleasures would have been intense. They would have liked to wander, to dawdle, to choose, to savour. They would have liked to live. Their lives would have been an art of living. But such things are far from easy.

Estás solo, y al estar solo, no has de mirar nunca la hora, no has de contar nunca los minutos. No has de abrir de nuevo tu correo febrilmente, no has de seguir decepcionado si sólo encuentras en él un prospecto invitándote a adquirir por la módica suma de setenta y siete francos los tesoros del arte occidental o una vajilla de postre con tus iniciales grabadas. Has de olvidarte de esperar, de emprender, de tener éxito, de perseverar. Te dejas llevar, y eso te resulta casi fácil.

No, you are not the nameless master of the world, the one on whom history had lost its hold, the one who no longer felt the rain falling, who did not see the approach of night. You are no longer the inaccessible, the limpid, the transparent one. You are afraid, you are waiting. You are waiting, on Place Clichy, for the rain to stop falling.

J'écris : j'écris parce que nous avons vécu ensemble, parce que j'ai été un parmi eux, ombre au milieu de leurs ombres, corps près de leur corps ; j'écris parce qu'ils ont laissé en moi leur marque indélébile et que la trace en est l'écriture : leur souvenir est mort à l'écriture ; l'écriture est le souvenir de leur mort et l'affirmation de ma vie.

Grace Slaughter - the surname of her fifth husband, a manufacturer of pharmaceutical toners and "prophylactic" products, recently deceased due to a ruptured peritoneum - was sharply chauvinistic and would allow no more than two exceptions to her all-American views, exceptions with which her first spouse, Astolphe de Guéménolé-Longtgermain, no doubt had something to do: cooking had to be done by French nationals of male gender, laundry and ironing by British subjects of female gender (and absolutely not by Chinese). That allowed Henri Fresnel to be hired without having to hide his original citizenship, which is what had to be done by the director (Hungarian), the set designer (Russian), the choreographer (Lithuanian), the dancers (Italian, Greek, Egyptian), the scriptwriter (English), the librettist (Austrian), and the composer, a Finn of Bulgarian descent with a large dash of Romanian.

قراءة اللموند, ما هي إلا خساره, أو ربح ساعه, ساعتين... هي أن تقيس مره إضافيه, إلى أي مدى كل أمر سيان لديك

توجد ألف طريقه لقتل الوقت, و كل واحده مختلفه عن الأخرى, لكنها جميعاً متساوية الشأن, ألف وسيله لعدم انتظار أي شيئ, ألف لعبه يمكنك أن تبتكرها و تهجرها على الفور

المأساه لم تنقض عليك, لم تقع عليك, لقد تغلغلت على مهل, انسلت تقريباً بعذوبه لذيذه. لقد دفعت دفعاً دقيقاً حياتك, حركاتك, ساعاتك, حجرتك, مثل حقيقه تقنعت فتره طويله

Madame Altamont was leaving for a holiday. With her characteristic concern for propriety and orderliness, she emptied her refrigerator and gave the left-overs to the concierge: two ounces of butter, a pound of fresh green beans, two lemons, half a pot of redcurrant jam, a dab of fresh cream, a few cherries, a port of milk, a few bits of cheese, various herbs, and three Bulgarian-flavour yoghurts.

I would like there to exist spaces that are stable, unmoving, intangible, untouched and almost untouchable, unchanging, deep-rooted; places that might be points of reference, of departure, of origin: My birthpalce, the cradle of my family, the house where I may have been born, the tree I may have seen grow (that my father may have planted the day I was born), the attic of my childhood filled with intact memories . . . Such places don't exist, and it's because they do'nt exist that space becomes a question, ceases to be self-evident, ceases to be incorporated, ceases to be appropriated. Space is a doubt: I have constantly to mark it, to designate it, It is never mine, never given to me, I have to conquer it. My spaces are fragile: time is going to wear them away, to destroy them. Nothing will any longer reseble waht was, my memories will betray me, oblivion will infiltrate my memory, I shall look at a few old yellowing photographs with broken edges without recognising them. The words 'Phone directory available within' or 'Snacks served at any hour' will no longer be written up in a semi-circle in white porcelain letter on the window of the little café in the Rue Coquillière. Space melts like sand running through one's fingers. Time bears it away and leaves me only Shapeless shreds: To write: to try meticulously to retain something, to cause something to survive; to wrest a few precise scraps from the void as it grows, to leave somewhere a furrow, a trace, a mark or a few signs. Paris 1973-1974

أحب أن أظل مستلقيا على سريري وأحدق في السقف بنظرة وديعة. كنت سأكرس لذلك معظم وقتي (صباحاتي على الخصوص) لو لم تعقني عن ذلك في الأغلب مشاغل تعتبر أشد استعجالا. أحب السقوف، أحب زخارفها الناتئة ونجمياتها: إنها غالبا ما تنوب عن ربات الإلهام وتُحيلني احتباك التزاويق دون عناء نحو تلك المتاهات الأخرى التي تنسجها الاستيهامات، والأفكار والكلمات. لكن ما عاد أحدٌ يهتم بالسقوف، إنها تُصنع مستوية تبعث على القنوط، أو أدهى من ذلك، تكسى بزي غريب من العوارض المزعوم أنها ناتئة.

I would like there to exist places that are stable, unmoving, intangible, untouched and almost untouchable, unchanging, deep-rooted; places that might be points of reference, of departure, of origin: My birthplace, the cradle of my family, the house where I may have been born, the tree I may have seen grow (that my father may have planted the day I was born), the attic of my childhood filled with intact memories… My spaces are fragile: time is going to wear them away, to destroy them. Nothing will any longer resemble what was, my memories will betray me, oblivion will infiltrate my memory, I shall look at a few old yellowing photographs with broken edges without recognising them… Space melts like sand running through one’s fingers. Time bears it away and leaves me only shapeless shreds: To write: To try meticulously to retain something, to cause something to survive; to wrest a few precise scraps from the void as it grows, to leave somewhere a furrow, a trace, a mark or a few signs.

في بادئ الأمر لا غير نوع من التعب, من الإرهاق, كأنما تنتبه فجأه أنك, منذ فتره طويله جداً, منذ ساعات عديده فرسة وعكه مراوغه, مخدره, تكاد تكون دون أي وجع, و رغم ذلك فهي لا تحتمل, ذلك الانطباع المفرط العذوبه و الخانق, الإنطباع بأنك دون عضلات و دون عظام, بأنك كيس من الجبس, في قلب أكياس من الجبس

Çalar saatin çalıyor, kesinlikle kımıldamıyorsun, yatağında kalıyor, gözlerini yeniden yumuyorsun. Komşu odalarda başka çalar saatler çalmaya başlıyor. Su seslerini, kapanan kapıları, merdivenlerdeki hızlı ayak seslerini işitiyorsun. Saint Honoré sokağı araba gürültüleri, lastik gıcırtıları, vites değiştirmeler, kesik kesik korna sesleriyle dolmaya başlıyor. Pancurlar çarpıyor, satıcılar kepenklerini kaldırıyorlar. Kımıldamıyorsun. Kımıldamayacaksın. Bir başkası, bir benzerin, senin hayaletimsi, işine düşkün bir eşin artık yapmadığın hareketleri senin yerine, bir bir yapıyor belki: Kalkıyor, yıkanıyor, traş oluyor, giyiniyor, çıkıyor. Onun merdivenlerde sekmesine, sokakta koşmasına, otobüse tam kalkarken yetişmesine, söylenen saatte nefes nefese, neşeyle salonun kapısına varmasına ses çıkarmıyorsun. Genel Sosyoloji Yüksek Öğrenim Sertifikası. Birinci yazılı sınav

No son los elementos los que determinan el conjunto, sino el conjunto el que determina los elementos. Aisladamente, una pieza de un puzzle no quiere decir nada; es tan sólo pregunta imposible, reto opaco; pero no bien logramos conectarla con una de sus vecinas, desaparece, deja de existir como pieza: la intensa dificultad que precedió aquel acercamiento, no sólo no tiene ya razón de ser, sino que parece no haberla tenido nunca, hasta tal punto se ha hecho evidencia: las dos piezas milagrosamente reunidas ya sólo son una, a su vez fuente de error, de duda, de desazón y de espera

توجد بداية صور, أليفه أو موسوسه, أوراق لعب منشوره تتناولها مره بعد مره, دون توقف, دون التمكن أبداً من ترتيبها كما قد ترغب, مع ذلك الانطباع المنغص بضرورة إتمام, إنجاح هذا الترتيب, كما لو كان من ورائه كشف حقيقه جوهريه, لكنها دائماً الورقه نفسها تتناولها و تعيد تناولها, تضعها و تعيد وضعها, تصنفها و تعيد تصنيفها, جماعات تصعد و تنزل, تروح و تجيء جدران تحيط بك و تبحث فيها عن الخرج السرس, الزر الخفي الذي سيجعل الجدان تتهاوى

4. Or else: Rough draft of a letter I think of you, often sometimes I go back into a cafe, I ist near the door, I order a coffee I arrange my packet of cigarettes, a box of matches, a writing pad, my felt-pen on the fake marble table I Spend a long time stirring my cup of coffee with the teasspoon (yet I don't put any sugar in my coffee, I drink it allowing the sugar to melt in my mouth, like the people of North, like the Russians and Poles when they drink tea) I pretend to be precoccupied, to be reflecting, as if I had a decision to make At the top and to the right of the sheet of paaper, I inscribe the date, sometimes the place, sometimes the time, I pretend to be writing a letter I write slowly, very slowly, as slowly as I can, I trace, I draw each letter, each accent, I check the punctuation marks I stare attentively at a small notice, the price-list for ice-creams, at a piece of ironwork, a blind, the hexagonal yellow ashtray (in actual fact, it's an equilaterial triangle, in the cutoff corners of which semi-circular dents have been made where cigarettes can be rested) (...) Outside there's a bit of sunlight the cafe is nearly empty two renovatior's men are having a rum at the bar, the owner is dozing behind his till, the waitress is cleaning the coffee machine I am thinking of you you are walking in your street, it's wintertime, you've turned up your foxfur collar, you're smiling, and remote (...)

Sometimes Valène dreamt of cataclysms and tempests, of whirlwinds that would carry the whole house off like a wisp of straw and display the infinite marvels of the solar system to its shipwrecked inhabitants; or that an unseen crack would run through the building from top to bottom, like a shiver, and with a long, deep, snapping sound it would open in two and be slowly swallowed up in an indescribable yawning chasm; then hordes would overrun it, bleary-eyed monsters, giant insects with steel mandibles, blind termites, great white worms with insatiable mouths: the wood would crumble, the stone would turn to sand, the cupboards would collapse under their own weight, all would return to dust. But no. Only these shabby squabbles over buckets and tubs, over matches and sinks. And behind that ever-closed door the morbid gloom of that slow revenge, that ponderous business of two senile monomaniacs churning over their feigned histories and their wretched traps and snares.

The second project is in the field of metaphysics: with the aim of showing that, in the words of Professor H. M. Tooten, “evolution is a hoax”, Olivier Gratiolet has undertaken an exhaustive inventory of all the imperfections and inadequacies to which the human organism is heir: vertical posture, for example, gives man only a precarious balance: muscular tension alone keeps him upright, thus causing constant fatigue and discomfort in the spinal column, which, although sixteen times stronger than it would have been were it straight, does not allow man to carry a meaningful weight on his back; feet ought to be broader, more spread out, more specifically suited to locomotion, whereas what he has are only atrophied hands deprived of prehensile ability; legs are not sturdy enough to bear the body’s weight, which makes them bend, and moreover they are a strain on the heart, which has to pump blood about three feet up, whence come swollen feet, varicose veins, etc.; hip joints are fragile and constantly prone to arthrosis or serious fractures; arms are atrophied and too slender; hands are frail, especially the little finger, which has no use, the stomach has no protection whatsoever, no more than the genitals do; the neck is rigid and limits rotation of the head, the teeth do not allow food to be grasped from the sides, the sense of smell is virtually nil, night vision is less than mediocre, hearing is very inadequate; man’s hairless and unfurred body affords no protection against cold, and, in sum, of all the animals of creation, man, who is generally considered the ultimate fruit of evolution, is the most naked of all.

Họ sống như vậy, họ và các bạn họ, trong những căn hộ nhỏ dễ thương chất đầy các thứ lủng củng, với những buổi đi dạo và những bộ phim, những bữa đại tiệc thân thiện, những dự án tuyệt vời của họ. Họ không bất hạnh. Có những niềm hạnh phúc sống, thoáng qua, mờ dần, làm bừng sáng những buổi ban ngày. Có những chiều, sau bữa ăn, họ chần chừ không đứng lên khỏi bàn; họ uống hết một chai vang, gặm những trái hồ đào, châm những điếu thuốc lá. Có những đêm, họ không sao ngủ được, và, nửa nằm nửa ngồi, gối kê sau lưng, một chiếc gạt tàn để giữa, họ nói đến tận sáng. Có những ngày, họ đi dạo, vừa đi vừa tán gẫu suốt nhiều giờ. Họ tự nhìn mình trong gương của các mặt hàng, mà mỉm cười. Họ thấy tất cả đều hoàn hảo; họ bước đi một cách tự do, các cử động của họ cởi mở, thời gian như không còn tác động tới họ. Họ chỉ cần hiện hữu ở đó, trên phố, một ngày lạnh khô, gió to, mặc ấm, vào lúc chiều rơi, đi về một nơi ở của bạn bè, không vội vã nhưng sải bước, để cho một cử chỉ nhỏ nhất của mình – châm một điếu thuốc, mua một gói hạt dẻ nóng, luồn lách trong đám nhốn nháo vừa ra khỏi nhà ga – cũng hiện ra như biểu hiện rõ ràng, tức khắc, của một niềm hạnh phúc không bao giờ cạn.