Jon Fosse Quotes

Can you be happy when you are unhappy?

...because if there was one thing he didn't like it was big words, they just lied and covered things up, those big words, they didn't let what really was live and breathe but just carried it off into something that wanted to be big, that's what he thought...

...there inside the person is what will pass away and become one with what is invisible in everything...

...I just keep the mistakes and let them be wrong, because it’s often the mistakes that eventually lead to something right...

...what's beautiful in life turns out bad in a painting because it's like there's too much beauty, a good picture needs something bad in it in order to shine the way it should, it needs darkness in it...

...what's beautiful in life turns out bad in a painting because it's like there's too much beauty, a good picture needs something bad in it in order to shine the way it should, it needs darkness in it...” ― Jon Fosse

...one of the most important things when it comes to painting is being able to stop at the right time, to know when a picture is saying what it can say, if you keep going too long then more often than not the picture’ll be ruined...

To compose poetry is about listening, ...not to contrive, it is, so to speak, about bringing forth something that already exists-this is why when one reads great poetry, when often gets this ‘I-new-all-of-this-already, I-just-didn’t-express-it’ feeling. Language listens to itself.

Dine augo dei opnar mitt hjarta og seier at livet finst til Dine augo dei opnar mitt hjarta og gjer at eg nok ein gong vil

God is so far away that no one can say anything about him and that’s why all ideas about God are wrong, and at the same time he is so close that we almost can’t notice him, because he is the foundation in a person, or the abyss, you can call it whatever you want,

Kjærleiken er den ande som gjer at vi finst til Kjærleiken er den vande som vil og ikkje vil Kjærleiken er ei lykke og han er sorga di, han går der bak eit stykke og så går han forbi Kjærleiken er som lyset, det kjem og det forsvinn Kjærleiken er det gyset som seier tap og vinn

...it’s almost like a language, because every language gives you access to its share of reality, and the different religions are different languages that can each have its truth, and its lack of truth, I think and it’s foolish to think that God is anything defined, anything you can say something about...

and what the picture is in reality is this spirit, that’s what a picture really is, neither matter nor soul but both parts at the same time and together they make up what I think of as spirit, and maybe that’s why my good paintings, yes, all good paintings, have something to do with what I, what Christians, call The Holy Spirit, because all good art has this spirit, good pictures, good poems, good music, and what makes it good is not the material, not matter, and it’s not the content, the idea, the thought, no, what makes it good is just this unity of matter and form and soul that becomes spirit, that’s what culture is, probably, he says, it’s probably just one person being like another person that creates a culture, for example wearing a suit and tie, while what art is, yes, art is everyone just being like themselves, and totally themselves

...everyone has a deep longing inside them, we always always long for something and we believe that what we long for is this or that, this person or that person, this thing or that thing, but actually we’re longing for God, because the human being is a continuous prayer, a person is a prayer through his or her longing...

Eg forstår så lite. Og etter som åra går, så forstår eg mindre og mindre. Det er sant. Men også det motsette er sant, at eg etter som åra går, forstår meir og meir. Ja, det er også sant at eg etter som åra går, forstår veldig mykje, nesten skremmande mykje. Eg kan nesten bli matt av kor lite eg forstår og nesten bli skremd av kor mykje eg forstår.

Ingen såg at raset gjekk, for det rasa så langsamt, det rasa ikkje dag for dag, ikkje eingong time for time, ikkje minutt for minutt, men det rasa, heile tida rasa det, for det var eit ras, det måtte jo vera eit ras, for kva anna kunne det vera?

And I’ve never understood why I do things like this.

it's almost like a language, because every language gives you access to its share of reality

God hides in silence, I think, and also in love,

One thing is certain, I have never written to express myself, as they say, but rather to get away from myself.

Etter å ha gått på dans i forskjellige ungdomshus i nokre år og stort sett dansa åleine, fann eg ein gong ut, det må ha vore seint på kvelden, og einkvan må nok ha gitt meg tilstrekkeleg å drikke, at eg skulle be ei jente opp til dans.

...a person comes from God and goes back to God, I think, for the body is conceived and born, it grows and declines, it dies and vanishes, but the spirit is a unity of body and soul, the way form and content are an invisible unity in a good picture...

Ahora tú también estás muerto, Johannes, dice Peter Te moriste esta mañana, dice Y como yo era tu mejor amigo, me enviaron a recogerte, dice Pero ¿por qué hemos pescado cangrejos? dice Johannes Tenías que desacostumbrarte a la vida, algo teníamos que hacer, dice Peter Conque es así, dice Johannes Así es, dice Peter

I take another look at the picture with the two lines crossing, both in impasto as they put it, and the paint has run a little and where the lines cross the colours have turned such a strange colour, a beautiful colour, with no name, they usually don’t have names because obviously there can’t be names for all the countless colours in the world,

Vidme sees before him all the despairing people who have tried to give meaning to their lives by saying that it is God’s will that this or that happens, because the darkness has always been heavy, the wind hard, love has always, always been somewhere between killing and caring, the ocean has always been hard, births even harder, and above it all there has always been an enormous sky

... he walks into the hall and the old walls there settle into place all around him and say something to him, the same way they always have, he thinks, it's always like that, whether he notices it and thinks about it or not the walls are there, and it is as if silent voices are speaking from them, as if a big tongue is there in the walls and this tongue is saying something that can never be said with words ...

Vart ska vi fara? säger Johannes Nej nu frågar du som om du fortfarande var vid liv, säger Peter Inte till någon plats? säger Johannes Nej dit vi nu ska, det är inte någon plats, och därför har den heller inte något namn, säger Peter Är det farligt? säger Johannes Farligt, nej, säger Peter Farligt är ett ord, det finns inga ord där, säger Peter Gör det ont? säger Johannes Det finns inte kroppar där, så ont finns inte, säger Peter Men själen, gör det ont i själen där? säger Johannes

in his opinion, said Pa Sigvald, and if he was asked where it came from, he answered that it probably came from grief, grieving over something, or just grief, and in the music the grief could lighten and become soaring and the soaring could become happiness and joy, so therefore music was needed, therefore he had to play, and some people had something left of this grief and that’s why there were many who enjoyed listening to the playing, that’s how it was, because the music lifted their life and gave it height

I think, and, I think, it’s the same with the writing I like to read, what matters isn’t what it literally says about this or that, it’s something else, something that silently speaks in and behind the lines and sentences, but, yes, this is what happened, the pitctures I keep in the attic are only some of the bigger pictures because Åsleik chose all of the truly good smaller pictures and took them to give to Sister, yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, but he must see the same way I do, or pretty close, anyway there are lots of pictures Åsleik picked out and gave to Sister that I really wish I had in my own collection up in the attic, not all the ones he’s

when I was growing up believed it, believed in the literal meaning of what they said, in God a father who lived up in the sky somewhere, who was all-powerful and who used that power to even exterminate millions of Jews, I think, but those who think of God like that are truly sinning, misusing God’s name, or maybe they’re not, they don’t know any better, and I shouldn’t judge them, because judge not lest ye be judged, as is written, but I can’t help it, I think it’s blasphemous to think like that, and the people who believe in the God they told us about when I was growing up in Barmen believe in a false idol, they’re misusing God’s name, pure and simple, and may God forgive them, and he does, for God’s grace is so all-encompassing

And I stay where I’m standing. And I look up and I see that the stars aren’t visible anymore, there are clouds covering the stars and everything has gotten much darker. Now the moon is half covered by clouds, I see, and I see clouds moving, covering the whole moon, and then it’s totally dark, and I can barely see my mother and father anymore. They’ve disappeared into the darkness, they’re both totally covered in darkness now. And I’m alone in the darkness again, exactly like I was before. I can’t see anything. And my parents, they were here just now, I saw them, I did. They were here. But where did they go. Well obviously they just disappeared into the darkness, they’re not visible now the way nothing is visible when it gets dark enough, black enough.

Os papar não arriscaram suas vidas - e perderam-nas em récuas não registradas - em busca de riqueza ou glória pessoal, ou para reivindicar novos territórios em nome de algum déspota. Como salienta o grande explorador do Ártico e prêmio Nobel Fridjof Nansen, 'essas viagens notáveis foram motivadas principalmente pelo desejo de encontrar lugares solitários, onde esses anacoretas poderiam viver em paz, longe do turbilhão e das tentações do mundo.' No século IX, quando o primeiro punhado de noruegueses apareceu nas praias da Islândia, os papar decidiram que o lugar ficara cheio demais, embora fosse quase desabitado. A reação dos monges foi embarcar em seus curraghs e sair remando na direção da Groenlândia. Foram levados a atravessar o oceano tempestuoso, a ir além do mundo conhecido por nada mais que uma fome do espírito, uma aspiração de intensidade tão bizarra que excede a imaginação moderna.

desde a primeira vez em que ela o viu chegar, e então ele olhou para ela, e ela ficou lá parada, e os dois se olharam, sorriram um para o outro, e foi como um encontro entre velhos conhecidos, como se os dois se conhecessem desde sempre, de certa forma, e como se fizesse um tempo infinito desde o último encontro, e por isso a alegria foi tão grande, aquele reencontro deixou os dois tão alegres que a alegria tomou conta, levou-os, a alegria levou-os um na direção do outro, como se fosse uma coisa que tivesse estado ausente e faltado durante a vida inteira, mas agora estava lá, finalmente, agora estava lá,

I try to breathe from what I am inside, to keep the sorrow away, or in any case keep it under control so the fear doesn't take over, so the terrors don't overwhelm me, and I know that this sudden sorrow, these sudden terrors that have welled up inside me will get smaller and I will get bigger - Jon Fosse, The Other Name: Septology I-II

What’s most important in life cannot be said, only written – to give a slight twist to the well-known remark by Jacques Derrida. And so, in my fiction and poetry, I tried to put silent speech into words. But when I wrote plays, I could use silent speech – I could use silence – in a completely different way. All I had to do was write ‘pause’ and the silent speech was right there. This word ‘pause’ is without a doubt the most important word in my plays, and the one I use the most often: ‘long pause’, ‘short pause’, or just ‘pause’. There can be so much in these pauses ­– or so little. The fact that something cannot be said, the fact that something refuses to be said, or the fact that something is best said by not saying anything. But what I am quite sure speaks through these pauses the most is: silence.

.... that first time they met, completely by accident, and it wasn't hard, it wasn't frightening, no, it was like it was obvious, like there was nothing to do about it, it was certain....

y quien carece de propiedades tiene que salir adelante con los dones que Dios le ha concedido, así era la cosa, así era la vida

But now the two of us are going to get in the boat and then go away, he says Where are we going? Johannes says No now you’re asking as though you were still alive, Peter says We’re not going anywhere? Johannes says No, where were going is not any place, and that’s why it doesn’t have any name either, Peter says Is it hard? Johannes says Hard, no, Peter says Hard is a word, there aren’t any more words where we’re going, Peter says Does it hurt? Johannes says There are no bodies where we’re going, so it doesn’t hurt, Peter says But the soul, does it hurt in the soul? Johannes says There is no you or me where we’re going, Peter says Is it good, being there? Johannes says It is not good or bad, but it is big and calm and it vibrates a little, and it’s bright, if I had to put it into words, but the words don’t say very much, Peter says

and when we get there, when we go into the room, I have to just go and sit down on a chair and then sit still and not say anything, I have to just sit and try not to think and whenever any thought does come to me I have to just try to dissolve it and make it disappear, as soon as it comes, everything that worries me, everything that makes me happy, I have to try to dissolve it so that all that’s left are remnants of something that then turn into nothing, or almost nothing, because that’s how it will get quiet inside me, there has to be a silence inside me, and in the silence I have to find peace deep inside me somewhere, and then, if I am in a state of grace, I can be filled with a cool light, not warmth, but a cool light, so shimmering, so heavy and weightless at the same time, so overwhelming, light like I’ve never seen before. And my father says that the strongest light is the light within you. And I ask what if I don’t feel a light. And my father says that people are not always in a state of grace, but it sometimes happens that grace is there, yes it does! and my father looks at me, and smiles.

Now he, Vidme, has for many years gone around and thought it was blasphemous to use expressions like the divine and God. People shouldn’t use expressions like that. Or if they do use expressions like the divine and God, then they shouldn’t mean anything by them. And now as he thinks this thought, Vidme sees before him all the despairing people who have tried to give meaning to their lives by saying that it’s God’s will that this or that happens, because the darkness has always been heavy, the wind hard, love has always, always, been somewhere between killing and caring, the ocean has always been hard, births even harder, and above it all there has always been an enormous sky. The blue ocean and the blue sky. Impenetrable darkness and whistling wind. And then a church, a house of prayer, up on the hill. A graveyard in darkness and rain. And there has to be a meaning to it all.

Yes, well, now I’m here, I thought, now I’m sitting here, and I felt empty, as if the boredom had turned into emptiness. Or maybe into a kind of anxiety, because I felt something like fear as I sat there empty, looking straight ahead as if into a void. Into nothingness. What am I talking about, I thought. There’s the forest in front of me, it’s just a forest, I thought. All right then, this sudden urge to drive off somewhere had brought me to a forest. And there was another way of talking, according to which something, something or another, led, whatever that might mean, to something else, yes, something else. I peered into the forest in front of me. Forest. Yes. Trees right next to one another, pines, pine trees.

Due cuori che battono come uno solo...' Passavano le notti avvolti nelle stesse pelli. Jon scivolava nel sonno con la testa di lei sul petto, i capelli rossi che gli solleticavano il mento. L'odore di Ygritte era diventato parte di lui. I suoi denti storti, il contatto del suo seno quando lui lo accarezzava, il sapore della suo bocca... tutto questo era la gioia e la disperazione di Jon Snow. Per molte e molte notti era rimasto a giacere con il corpo di Ygritte tra le braccia, a chiedersi se anche il lord suo padre era stato confuso quanto lo era lui in quel momento riguardo sua madre, chiunque lei fosse. 'Ygritte ha teso la trappola, e Mance Rayder mi ci ha spinto dritto dentro.

Y oye su propia vida y su propio futuro y sabe lo que sabe y entonces está presente en su propio futuro y todo está abierto y todo es difícil.

Digo: ¿quién eres? La criatura dice: soy la que soy.

The most important thing in life cannot be said, only written, to twist a famous saying by Jacques Derrida

...y abraza a Alida contra su cuerpo y desaparecen el uno dentro del otro y solo se oye un viento suave en los árboles y han desaparecido y se avergüenzan y matan y hablan y ya no piensan y después se quedan tumbados en el Peñasco y se avergüenzan y se incorporan y se quedan sentados en el Peñasco mirando el mar.

Es ist auch nicht zu begreifen, es ist etwas anderes, vielleicht etwas, das man nur erlebt und das nicht wirklich geschieht. Aber geht es an, dass man so etwas einfach erlebt. Alles, was man erlebt, ja das ist wohl auch irgendwie wirklich, ja man begreift es wohl auch irgendwie. Aber es hat doch nichts zu bedeuten.

Largo es el tiempo, pero saca a la luz la verdad, dijo el poeta,

el espíritu es la unidad del alma y del cuerpo, del mismo modo que la forma y el contenido tienen una unidad invisible en un buen cuadro,

¿pero cómo habría podido pintar yo mis cuadros sin usar el negro? no lo concibo, porque es en la oscuridad donde vive Dios, Dios es oscuridad, y esta oscuridad, la oscuridad de Dios, bueno, esta nada, esta nada luce, y es de la oscuridad de Dios de donde viene la luz, la luz invisible,

los grandes artistas marcan una diferencia, con su arte particular, absolutamente particular, introducen algo nuevo en el mundo, pues sí, una nueva manera de mirar desconocida hasta entonces, y cuando uno de esos artistas concluye su obra el mundo tiene otro aspecto,

pienso, y quizá quienes estén más cerca de Dios sean los pobres de espíritu, aquellos que no se hacen ideas sobre Dios, porque ellos heredarán el reino de Dios,

but you can’t just touch a whiteness like that. because if you did you’d probably get it dirty. and imagine getting something so white dirty

El amor ha estado, como siempre, entre el asesinato y el cuidado.

and she looks at him and then she looks away from him into the emptiness and then she lays both her hands on her stomach and she folds her hands and I hear Signe say Dear Jesus, help me, you have to help me, you

yes I do believe in a communion of all people who have been freed from their evil, who have become their own nothingness, who have become the part of God that is inside them,

ON: Uvijek netko mora doći.

Eg går ikke ut lenger, ei uro er kommen over meg, og eg går ikkje ut.

Due parole che non riesco a scrollarmi di dosso. Non mi sono mai sentito così prima d’ora, come se il sesso fosse così sporco e sbagliato. Non è stata colpa di Kai né di Jon e delle sue telecamere. È stata colpa mia. Non sarei dovuto andare. Il porno mi andava bene quando vagavo alla deriva, quando non avevo legami nemmeno con me stesso. Ma non ora. Adesso sono diverso e non mi sembra giusto. Mi sento come se il porno mi avesse trasmesso il cancro, come se me lo fossi cercato, ma so che anche questo non è giusto. Prima di... Jon, lo adoravo. Mi faceva sentire libero. Ora, mi sento come se mi avvelenasse da dentro

... and then he sees the eyes sort of find a voice and what he hears is like a howl, first a howling from one eye and then a scattered howling from lots of eyes and then the huge howl becomes one with the flames rising up and it disappears into the darkness and the voices in the eyes rise up and are smoke that you can't see and he keeps walking and now it's so cold that he has to go home ...

Malato. Smarrito. Due parole che non riesco a scrollarmi di dosso. Non mi sono mai sentito così prima d’ora, come se il sesso fosse così sporco e sbagliato. Non è stata colpa di Kai né di Jon e delle sue telecamere. È stata colpa mia. Non sarei dovuto andare. Il porno mi andava bene quando vagavo alla deriva, quando non avevo legami nemmeno con me stesso. Ma non ora. Adesso sono diverso e non mi sembra giusto. Mi sento come se il porno mi avesse trasmesso il cancro, come se me lo fossi cercato, ma so che anche questo non è giusto. Prima di... Jon, lo adoravo. Mi faceva sentire libero. Ora, mi sento come se mi avvelenasse da dentro

«Dagli un bacio, Levi. Gli tirerà su il morale.» Cam aprì un occhio. «Levi non bacia.» Il sorriso di Sonny era compiaciuto. «Bacia me.» «Davvero?» Cam guardò Levi che sembrava divertito. «Non pensavi che baciare fosse da stupidi?» «Cosa posso dire?» Impassibile, Levi si strinse nelle spalle. «Sonny mi ha logorato.» Sonny sibilò tra i denti. «Non ci è voluto molto a persuaderti.» Cam assimilò lo sguardo ardente che Levi aveva lanciato a Sonny con emozioni contrastanti. L’evidente affetto tra i suoi amici gli scaldava il cuore ma, al di là di tutto, era geloso. Desiderava la stessa cosa per se stesso, non da loro, ma da Sasha. E, peggio ancora, sapeva che quel tipo di rapporto era stato a portata di mano prima che Jon Kellar e il suo impero del porno si mettessero in mezzo

From the moment I wake up until it’s night I can hear your voice. I can see your eyes. Inside me is you. I miss you. I am coming to you. I am my longing for you. And you are waiting for me, now I’ll come to you. I’ll see you. I’ll hear your voice. And you speak so calmly and your voice fills your chest. You fill me, like the light fills its day. I am a darkness without you. I miss you. I am walking up the street, but I can’t see anything. I am my longing for you. And I hear laughter far behind me. But the laughter is just there, because in me is only my movement towards you. I am only a turning towards you. I am walking. I am walking to you, I am a turning towards you. I am my longing for you. I am only a turning towards you. I am walking. I am walking to you. I can’t do anything else, I can only be a movement turned towards you, whether you’re there or not. All I am is a movement towards you. A movement, a turning, towards you. I am nothing but you, but you, who are not there.

I am in the room behind the wall the stones are laid in, my stones, other people’s stones, and there’s light in there, the strong invisible light that comes across from the sky and around the stones. The light of nothingness. The light of nothingness in the stone. The light of love in the stone.

And then you hold my hand. And the stones say that love exists, love is. Weren’t you scared, you ask. No, never, I say. But you almost died, you say. I wasn’t afraid to die, I say. No, you say. I’m not afraid to die either, you say. No, I say.

You were a chasm that cracked and turned into stones, and then the stones sat there, wonderfully placed together in a wall, you say. Yes. Yes that’s how it seems to be, it seems like that now, I say. Yes, you say. And the chasm is gone? you say. The chasm doesn’t exist any more, I say. And the stones shine in their own new pattern, you say. Yes, I say. What used to be in a chasm is now between the stones, I say. The stones laid together make an open room? you ask. Yes, I say. Is there something in the room? you say. I think so, I say. I can see something there, I say. And then we sit in silence. The man who was saying that nothingness is in everything, you say. Yes, I say. What about him, I say. No, nothing, you say.

what I want to show to other people has to do with light, or with darkness, it has to do with the shining darkness full as it is of nothingness, yes, it’s possible to think that way, to use such words,

how it has to be, it must have a meaning, yes, Our Lord must have given it meaning, they think, he writes straight on crooked lines, they think, or anyway the good Lord is part of it all somehow, and it’s the devil who made the lines crooked, they think and they hold onto their cigarettes and pints and then they pray a silent prayer, a prayer more like a look out over the sea inside them, wordless, but as far as the eye can reach over that sea the prayer extends, entirely wordless, because the words will be left behind, definitely, but there must be a port for people like them too, they’re probably thinking, and then they feel a prick of something like fear so they raise their pint and have a taste of beer, the good old taste, it gives them a sense of security, I