Ia Genberg Quotes

That's all there is to the self, or the so-called 'self': traces of the people we rub up against. I loved Joanna's words and gestures and let them become part of me, intentionally or not. I suppose that is at the core of every relationship and the reason that in some sense no relationship ever ends.

We live so many lives within our lives – smaller lives with people who come and go, friends who disappear, children who grow up – and I never know which of these lives is meant to serve as the frame.

Anxiety's central task, as instructed by fear, is to run ahead and touch everything, circle potentialities with the intention of preventing them from happening, on and on and on in a process that never stops, that becomes one with life.

The words for "forgiveness" and "freedom" are the same in several languages; an obvious point perhaps, but in this moment I realized that "letting go" could be said in the same breath.

L'io , o meglio, il cosidetto "io", non è altro che questo: ciò che resta delle persone a cui ci siamo stretti.

Some books stay in your bones long after their titles and details have slipped from memory.

if we're searching we should look in each other

When I was younger, I often thought I should travel more and farther, spend more time in foreign countries, that I should be in a constant state of velocity so that I could get out of there and truly live, but with time I have come to understand that everything I was looking for was right here, inside of me, inside the things that surround me, in the money bobs that turned into my actual jobs, in the constancy of the everyday, in the eyes of the people I meet when I allow my gaze to linger. I'm writing again after the fever, as if an old, welcome wound has opened and started to bleed, and I guess it's an incomplete puzzle, these pictures of others and whoever they end up portraying. . . . 'Soon it will be too late,' [Sally] says, and hands me the thermos. 'And that's why we have to exert ourselves to the utmost.

Early on in our friendship we'd explored the possibility that we were in love, but those feelings had soon subsided and made space for something much more enduring, a multiyear conversation that went round and round, a true love without claim to ownership, a bracing pact in the face of every new circumstance in our respective lives.

Anxiety's central task, as instructed by fear, is to run ahead and touch everything, circle potentialities with the intention of preventing them from happening, on and on in a process that never stops, that becomes one with life.

Ever since my friendship with Niki I think of the anecdote as a form of chronic illness that attaches itself to some people; that compulsion to tell everything in the shape of a story, to turn life into a formula meant to captivate, impress, upset, or inspire laughter. An anecdote is a sealed box that cannot yield anything other than more sealed boxes until every party to the conversation - or the "so-called conversation" as Niki would put it - sits there with their own pile of sealed boxes, mentally obstructed, tied to the mast, and with the anecdote next in line tugging at their attention.

TV means that somebody else is trying to control my gaze, whereas books leave me to my own devices.

La vita mi ha regalato la mia buona dose di magia, e il più delle volte è successo all'incontro con gli altri. Lì c'è qualcosa. Lì, soltanto lì.

Getting attached, to me they were like tattoos, everything and every detail present and intact, everyone I’d loved and liked was still with me.

We had the entirety of the twentieth century behind us and an unknown millennium in front of us, an epic split, and still we gave ourselves to small things, corrupt feelings.

I might have given the impression of being dedicated but I was not, and the book stack on my nightstand always included one or two titles I'd abandoned midway through.

In one way life begins anew each day and every second, but it's also true that I keep returning to the same places in myself.

Trust, after all, is only a word when you can’t feel it in your body. As soon as trust attaches, as soon as it takes root, it fuses with the rest of what’s there, takes on other names.

Her breathing was so anxious through the end, her anxiety the last to leave the body. But shortly thereafter, when her partner had gone to tell the nurses it was over, I felt her streak past, right by me. Finally you're free of all this, I thought.

[Brigitte] was never granted peace, there was always some aspect of the world that had to be controlled les things went out of hand. And I suppose that's what's at the heart of it for every person suffering from anxiety; the fact that life, by its very nature, is impossible to manage.

Poi però ho capito di avere già tutto a portata di mano, nei dettagli che ci circondano; mi basta guardarli bene, e allora riesco a staccarmi da me stessa e dirigere il mio sguardo altrove, e con "altrove" intendo proprio fuori di me. È là che si trova quello stato vitale più elevato, nel mio sguardo vigile su qualcun altro.

So how did our friendship end? With a scolding, of course; it was in the cards from the very beginning. All relationships have the potential to end abruptly, it's an inherent risk, but when I became friends with Niki I knew that the brutal end wasn't just one of the many conceivable scenarios; it was the only possible end. I knew with certainty that no friendship survived her, and nevertheless I was surprised. Like death, I guess.

Birgitta Trotzig is the literary counterpart to the blurred picture you can find on a TV screen. It seems like there's something interesting going on there, but I can't tell what. I turn the knobs, try to change the settings, but the picture remains blurry.

Alla mina försök att skriva var en fåfäng strävan efter något som redan var förlorat

Förmodligen fick hon en jävla diagnos till slut, som alla andra som var "jävligt störda", "jävligt konstiga" eller "allmänt otrevliga, och kanske har hon snurrat några varv i psykiatrin med öppenvård och läkemedel och vårdplanering och automatiska genererade sms med påminnelser om bokade tider. Kanske har hon en liten dosett som hon skramlar med på morgnarna, piller som håller känslogudarna i hennes inre i schack

Olen saanut elämässäni enemmän kuin oman osani taikuutta, ja useimmiten tavatessani muita ihmisiä. Niissä tapaamisissa ja vain niissä on ollut jotakin... En osaa sanoa tarkemmin, vain sen että toisistamme meidän on etsittävä, jos jotakin haemme, että silmäparimme ovat kaksoispisteet, joista seuraa jotakin, täsmennys tai perustelu.

Vänskaper i den åldern (jag var 23) var något annat än nu. De kunde vara eviga i två månader, två år eller två timmar, det spelade ingen roll eftersom det inte var tiden som räknades utan magnituden, eller farten eller den sammanpressade massan av mening.

La fiducia resta lettera morta, se non la si sente nelle ossa.

Viviamo così tante vite dentro una vita sola, vite più piccole con persone che vanno e vengono, amici che spariscono, figli che crescono, e io non sono ancora riuscita a capire quale sia quella che le abbraccia tutte quante.

Qualsiasi rapporto può rompersi in modo brutale, è un rischio che si corre, ma quando ero diventata sua amica sapevo già che per noi quello non era un esito probabile, ma l'unico possibile.

I’ve had more than my share of magic in life, most often in the encounter with others. There is something there, and only there. I can’t be more specific than that, can only say that if we’re searching we should look in each other, that a pair of eyes are another’s sideways colon into something, or out of something.

Per andare in profondità bisogna essere capaci di perdere il controllo, di interrompere il costante monitoraggio del tempo e dello spazio per lasciarsi andare in caduta libera dentro se stessi, o dentro qualcun altro, o dentro una delle tante crepe dell'esistenza.

Per i morti la successione del tempo non ha importanza, l'unica cosa che conta sono i dettagli, la densità, il come e il cosa e tutto ciò che riguarda il chi.

Articles about anxiety often note that it was historically useful, so evolution made it part of our nature. Anxiety motivated us to make sure the fire was out and the children still breathing; it protected us in teaching us to protect ourselves and others.

un pacto de apoyo mutuo ante cualquier nueva circunstancia en nuestras respectivas vidas.

Pero después resultó que todo estaba al alcance de la mano, en los detalles que me rodean, que solo es cuestión de fijarse en ellos, porque entonces puedo olvidarme de mí misma y dirigir la atención hacia fuera, es decir, realmente hacia fuera. Es ahí donde se halla la sensación más intensa de estar viva, en mi mirada despierta sobre otra persona.

And I suppose that’s what’s at the heart of it for every person suffering from anxiety; the fact that life, by its very nature, is impossible to manage.

But it turned out that I already had everything right here, in the details around me, that it's simply a question of being attentive in looking at all of it, of letting myself go and directing my attention outward, and I mean truly outward. That's where this sense of being alive is found, in the alert gaze on another.

Varem kujutasin ma ette, et teravdatud elutunnetus tekib metsas, et ma suudan selleni jõuda kõrgete mändide all hulkudes, üksi kännu otsas istudes, kui päike silma paistab, või mere ääres kaljunukil silmapiiri vaadates, uskusin, et mõnikord pean ärkveloleku saavutamiseks vaikivate elementide sekka minema. Aga hiljem selgus, et see kõik on juba niigi olemas pisiasjades minu ümber, tuleb vaid teraselt vaadata, siis võin ma end vabaks lasta ja oma tähelepanu tõeliselt endast väljapoole suunata. Seal, kellelegi teisele suunatud ärksas pilgus, on teravdatud elutunnetus. Niimoodi, teda hoolika pilguga silmitsedes, hakkasin ma Birgittet mõistma.

An anecdote is a sealed box that cannot yield anything other than more sealed boxes until every party to the conversation—or the “so-called conversation

I preferred books with a pull so strong I couldn't get out. It was the same way with most things in life and as a result, my responsibilities were few, perhaps too few.

Tidigare inbillade jag mig att den förhöjda livskänslan fanns i skogen, att jag skulle ströva mig till den bland höga tallar, sittande ensam på stubbar med solen i ögonen, eller vid havet på klippor med utsikt, att jag måste ut bland de tysta elementen för att bli helt vaken. Men sen visade det sig att allt redan låg här, i detaljerna omkring mig, att det bara handlar om noggrannhet i blicken på allt, då jag kan släppa mig själv och rikta min uppmärksamhet utåt, alltså på riktigt utåt. Det är där den förhöjda livskänslan finns, i min vakna blick på en annan.

That’s all there is to the self, or the so-called ‘self’: traces of the people we rub up against (p.27) Ever since my friendship with Niki I think of the anecdote as a form of chronic illness that attaches itself to some people; that compulsion to tell everything in the shape of a story, to turn life into a formula meant to captivate, impress, upset, or inspire laughter. An anecdote is a sealed box that cannot yield anything other than more sealed boxes until every part of the conversation - sits there with their own pile of sealed boxes, mentally obstructed, tied to the mast, and with the anecdote next in line tugging at their attention. (p.46) It’s turned into one of those books you own without ever reading, a phenomenon you’ll come across in most people’s homes: an assurance for tomorrow, a future where you’ll have time to read. (p.50) A methodical approach to an irrational task offers a certain hope of success in a project that is in fact hopeless. (p.71) Trust, after all, is only a word when you can’t feel it in your body. (p.103)

outside our family ... she was able to tame [her anxiety] into the range of what's considered normal. This lifelong undertaking, the effort to make her instability seem normal, was her life's great struggle, the great stipulation for being touched by the love of others.