Metro Artyom Quotes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Algo le susurraba a Artyom que no existía ninguna diferencia entre ellos, que todas las creencias le servían al hombre solamente como una especie de bastón en el que podía apoyarse, que le ayudaba a encontrar su camino, y le servía para ponerse en pie cada vez que se caía.

Sin pensar en lo que hacía, Artyom se quitó la mochila y la dejó sobre el suelo. Hay cosas que uno no quiere hacer, que ha jurado no hacer jamás, que uno se prohíbe a sí mismo, pero que, de todos modos, acaban por hacerse. Llega el momento en el que es imposible reflexionar, en el que los centros del pensamiento no reaccionan, y lo único que queda por hacer es observarse a uno mismo, atónito, porque se está haciendo algo de lo que uno mismo no tiene ninguna culpa, porque son cosas que ocurren por sí mismas.