Pinball 1973 Quotes

Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum -- a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself.

So many dreams, so many disappointments, so many promises. And in the end, they all just vanish.

On any given day, something claims our attention. Anything at all, inconsequential things. A rosebud, a misplaced hat, that sweater we liked as a child, an old Gene Pitney record. A parade of trivia with no place to go. Things that bump around in our consciousness for two or three days then go back to wherever they came from... to darkness. We've got all these wells dug in our hearts. While above the wells, birds flit back and forth.

If you look at things from a distance, most anything looks beautiful.

Me, I've seen 45 years, and I've only figured out one thing. That's this: if a person would just make the effort, there's something to be learned from everything. From even the most ordinary, commonplace things, there's always something you can learn. I read somewhere that they said there's even different philosophies in razors. Fact is, if it weren't for that, nobody'd survive.

The problem was, I think, that the places I fit in were always falling behind the rimes.

We fell silent again. The thing we had shared was nothing more than a fragment of time that had died longe ago.Even so, a faint glimmer of that warm memory still claimed a part of my heart. And when death claim me, no doubt I would walk along by that faint light in the brief instant before being flung once again into the abyss of nothingness

Good question, but no answer. Good questions never have answers.

When it's all over, it'll seem like a dream.

She gave me this look – she might have been watching from a lifeboat as the ship went down. Or maybe it was the other way around.

This uneasiness comes over me from time to time, and I feel as if I've somehow been pieced together from two different puzzles.

An old cat is a good friend to talk to.

Then when dusk began to settle he would retrace his steps, back to his own world. And on the way home, a loneliness would always claim his heart. He could never quite get a grip on what it was. It just seemed that whatever lay waiting "out there" was all too vast, too overwhelming for him to possibly ever make a dent in.

Nah, I shook my head, things that come out of nowhere go back to nowhere, that’s all. We fell silent again. The thing we had shared was nothing more than a fragment of time that had died long ago. Even so, a faint glimmer of that warm memory still claimed a part of my heart. And when death claimed me, no doubt I would walk along by that faint light in the brief instant before being flung once again into the abyss of nothingness.

Happiness is a warm friendship.

Things that come out of nowhere go back to nowhere, that's all.

Where there's an entrance, there's got to be an exit. Most things work that way.

Am I happy? All I can say is I guess so. That's pretty much the way it is with dreams.

Phone calls in the dead of the night never brought good news.

From his shoulder on down, the Rat felt the supple weight of her body. An odd sensation, that weight. This being that could love a man, bear children, grow old, and die; to think one whole existence was in this weight.

If you can let it go at not understanding, that's the best anyone could expect.

That's when I gave up pinball. When the times comes, everybody gives up pinball. Nothing more to it.

On any given day, something can come along and steal our hearts. It may be any old thing: a rosebud, a lost cap, a favorite sweater from childhood, an old Gene Pitney record. A miscellany of trivia with no home to call their own. Lingering for two or three days, that something soon disappears, returning to the darkness. There are wells, deep wells, dug in our hearts. Birds fly over them." -from "Pinball, 1973

I could go on like this forever, but would I ever find a place that was meant for me? Like, for example, where? After lengthy considerations, the only place I could think of was the cockpit of a two-seater Kamikaze torpedo-plane. Of all the dumb ideas. In the first place, all the torpedo-planes were scrapped thirty years ago

I didn’t have the vaguest idea of what to do – I couldn’t keep staring at the wall forever, I told myself. But even that admonition didn’t work. A faculty advisor reviewing a graduation thesis would have had the perfect comment: you write well, you argue clearly, but you don’t have anything to say.

Like the song says, rainy days and Mondays always get ya down.

Good style, clear argument, but you're not saying anything.

There are — how do you say — things in this world our philosophy cannot account for.

A person probably couldn't live without pride. But living by pride, alone the prospects were too dark. Way too dark.

If a person would just make the effort, there's something to be learned from everything. From even the most ordinary, commonplace things, there's always something you can learn.

My face, my self, what would they mean to anybody? Just another stiff. So this self of mine passes some other's self on the street — what do we have to say to each other? Hey there! Hi ya! That's about it. Nobody raises a hand. No one turns around to take another look.

Trouble fell like rain from the heavens, and we just couldn't get enough of it. We went around picking up the stuff and cramming our pockets full of it. Even now I can't figure out why we persisted in doing that. Maybe we mistook it for something else.

The past and the present, might we say, go like this. The future is a maybe. Yet we look back on the darkness that obscures the path that brought us fair, we only come up with another indefinite maybe. The only thing we perceive with any clarity is the present moment, and even that just passes by.

If everybody went around understanding each other without asking questions or speaking their mind, they'd never get anywhere.

Each day was a carbon copy of the last. You needed a bookmark to tell one from the other.

For me, it was a lonely season. Whenever I got home and took off my clothes, I felt as if any second my bones would burst through my skin. Like some unknown force inside me had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and was leading me off in some strange direction to another world

He was dead tired, thanks to which, whatever emotions he might have had, simply came and went without gaining a foothold. The Rat began to relax and lay down his empty head on the mingled sounds of the waves and the deejay until sleep crept over him.

In any case, suffice it to say I enjoyed hearing about faraway places. I had stocked up a whole store of these places, like a bear getting ready for hibernation. I’d close my eyes, and streets would materialize, rows of houses take shape. I could hear people’s voices, feel the gentle, steady rhythm of their lives, those people so distant, whom I’d probably never know.

I just wanted to go home. Take a quick bath, have a beer, and sink into my warm bed with my cigarettes and Kant.

Enough with these stupid metaphors. They don't do any good.

The world's full of groundless ill will. I'll never understand it, you'll never understand it, but it exists all the same.

There can be no meaning in what will someday be lost. Passing glory is not true glory at all." -from "Pinball, 1973

While you’re playing yourself out in lonesome dissipation in front of a pinball machine, someone else might be reading through Proust. Still another might be engaged in heavy petting with a girlfriend at a drive-in theater showing of Paths of Courage. The one could well become a writer, witness to the age; the others, a happily married couple. Pinball machines, however, won’t lead you anywhere. Just the replay light. Replay, replay, replay...

No sooner had one season slipped out the door than the next came in by another door. A person might scramble to the closing door and call out, Hey, wait a minute, there’s one last thing I forgot to tell you. But nobody would be there any more. The door shuts tight. Already another season is in the room, sitting in a chair, striking a match to light a cigarette. Anything you forgot to mention, the stranger says, you might as well go ahead and tell me, and if it works out, I’ll get the message through. Nah, it’s okay, you say, it was nothing really. And all around, the sound of the wind. Nothing, really. A season’s died, that’s all.

Each of us had, to a greater or lesser degree, resolved to live according to his or her own system. If another person's way of thinking was too different from mine, it made me mad; too close and I got sad. That's all there was to it.

When the sun went down, and touches of blue filtered into the fading afterglow, an orange lamp would light up in the knob of the bell and slowly begin to revolve. The beacon always pinpointed the onset of nightfall exactly. Against the most gorgeous sunsets or in dim drizzling mist, the beacon was ever true to its appointed moment: that precise instant in the alchemy of light and dark when darkness tipped the scales.

The point is, it didn’t even look like my face. It was the face of any twenty-four-year-old guy who might have been sitting across the way on the commuter train. My face, my self, what would they mean to anybody? Just another stiff. So this self of mine passes some other’s self on the street – what do weh ave to say to each other? Hey there! Hi ya!That’s about it. Nobody raises a hand. No one turns around to take another look.

You keep floudering and never get anywhere.

We ourselves will never know much of perpetuity. But we can get a faint inkling of what it’s like.

There is a slight difference between collecting fifty wine labels and collecting fifty pinball machines.

For me, it was a lonely season. Whenever I got home and took off my clothes, I felt as if any second my bones would burst through my skin. Like some unknown force inside me had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and was leading me off in some strange direction to another world could go on like this forever, but would I ever find a place that was meant for me?

For me, it was a lonely season. Whenever I got home and took off my clothes, I felt as if any second my bones would burst through my skin. Like some unknown force inside me had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and was leading me off in some strange direction to another world. The phone would ring. And I’d think, somebody’s got something to tell somebody else. I almost never got calls myself. There wasn’t anybody who’d have anything to say to me, at least not anybody I’d want to hear from.

I always felt as if I'd been handed a cardboard box crammed full of monkeys. I'd take the monkeys out of the box one at a time, carefully brush off the dust, give them a pat on the bottom, and send them scurrying off into the fields. I never knew where they went from there.

It’s all so strange. It’s like nothing ever really happened. No, it really happened, only it’s gone. Taking it hard? Nah, I shook my head, things that come out of nowhere go back to nowhere, that’s all. We fell silent again. The thing we had shared was nothing more than a fragment of time that had died long ago. Even so, a faint glimmer of that warm memory still claimed a part of my heart. And when death claimed me, no doubt I would walk along by that faint light in the brief instant before being flung once again into the abyss of nothingness.

The Rat spent many tranquil afternoons settled in his rattan chair. When he began to drift off, he could feel time pass through his body like gently flowing water. As he sat, hours, days, weeks went by. Occasionally, ripples of emotion would lap against his heart as if to remind him of something. When that happened, he closed his eyes, clamped his heart shut, and waited for the emotions to recede. It was only a brief sensation, like the shadows that signal the coming of night. Once the ripple had passed, the quiet calm returned as if nothing untoward had ever taken place.

Не знаю, в чем здесь причина, но каждый каждому — или, скажем так, каждый всему миру — отчаянно хочет что-то передать.

— Преподаю испанский язык, — сказал он. — Поливаю водой пустыню.

September 1973, that's where this novel begins. That's the entrance. We'll just hope there's an exit. If there isn't one, there wouldn't be any point in writing anything.

A golf course can be a very risky place in the early evening for those who aren't aware of the dangers. Who knows when a golf ball might come flying out of nowhere?

Were you happy?” “If you look at things from a distance,” I said as I swallowed some lobster, “most anything looks beautiful.

I could go on like this forever, but would I ever find a place that was meant for me? Like, for example, where?

Everything passed unbelievably quickly. Until at some point, the entire palette of builtup emotions lost all its color, fading to the meaninglessness of old dreams.

İnsan dediğin şaşırtıcı derecede beceriksizce yapılmış bir canlı. Düşündüğünden çok daha beceriksiz bir şekilde.

Bu dünya felsefenin kavrayamayacağı şeylerle dolu.

Ben kuyuları severim. Ne zaman kuyu görsem içine taş atarım. Küçük bir taşın derin bir kuyunun dibine vardığında çıkardığı ses kadar yüreğime ferahlık veren başka bir şey yoktur.

Her gün bir diğerinin tekrarıydı. Araya bir ayraç koymazsan farkı anlaşılmıyordu.

So many dreams, so many disappointments, so many promises. And in the end, they all just vanished.

beautiful prose passage begins with, The unmanned beacon sat alone at the end of a long, meandering pier.

Not a single person was trying to reach me, and even if they had been, they wouldn't have said what I wanted to hear.

The cemetery looked more like an abandoned town than a graveyard. Over half the site was vacant. That was because the people who planned to be laid to rest there were still alive.

I was born under a strange star. Like I've always been able to get whatever I want. But each time something new comes into my hands, I trample something else.

As if flipping off a switch, he extinguished the remaining lights in his head and descended into a new sort of darkness.

I would carry those lights in the brief interval before death grabbed me and tossed me back into the crucible of nothingness.

Sometimes I feel lika a caretaker of a museum - a huge, empty museum where no one ever comed, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself.

The goal of pinball is self-transformation, not self-expression.

Ne tuhaf, sanki yaşananlar hiç yaşanmamış gibi. Hayır gerçekten yaşandı. Ama ortadan kayboldular. Üzgün müsün? Hayır deyip başımı salladım. Hiçten doğan her şey eski yerine döndü; tüm olan bu.

Herkesin bir sürü sorunu vardı. Sorunlar gökten yağmur gibi yağıyor, bizlerse var gücümüzle onları toplayıp cebimize koyuyorduk. Bunu neden yapıyorduk, bugün de bilmiyorum. Belki de onları başka bir şeyle karıştırıyorduk.

-'Ama geçip bittikten sonra her şey rüya gibi gelir.' -'Öyle olabilir. Ama benim öyle düşünebilmem için bir hayli zaman gerekecek sanırım.' J biraz durduktan sonra güldü. -'Öyle ya. Bazen aramızda yirmi yaş fark olduğunu unutuveriyorum.

Gökyüzüne akşam karanlığı çökmeye başladığında aynı yoldan kendi dünyasına dönerdi. Dönerken inceden bir hüzün hissederdi yüreğinde; önünde onu bekleyen dünya aşırı büyük ve çetindi; gizlenebileceği hiçbir yer olmadığını düşünüyordu Fare.

I'm off to play pinball. I don't know the location." "Pinball?" "You got it, batting balls with flippers." "I know what pinball is. But really, why?" "There are - how do you say - things in this world our philosophy cannot account for.

Silence. Peeling away layer by layer until what remained? Even the Rat didn’t know. Pride? He lay on his bed looking from one hand to the other. A person probably couldn’t live without pride. But living by pride alone, the prospects were too dark. Way too dark.

Yine de insan değişmeye devam ediyor. Değişimin ne anlamı olduğunu ben hiç anlayamadım' dedi Fare dudağını ısırıp. Sonra masaya bakıp düşüncelere daldı. 'Düşündüm de, ne kadar ilerleme ve değişim olsa da neticede bunlar da çürüme sürecinden başka bir şey değil.

See, J, it doesn't work,' he said. 'The way everyone pretends to be on the same wavelength without questioning or talking about things -- it doesn't get anyone anywhere. I hate to say it, but . . . I feel like I've been hanging around that kind of world too damn long.

The switch was next to the door. A big lever. The moment I pulled it, a deep growl filled the room, a spine-chilling sound that seemed to rise from beneath the earth. Next came an immense flapping of wings, as if tens of thousands of birds had taken to the air at once.

Maybe if I put gardenias in both ears, or wore flippers over both hands, somebody might take a second look. But that’d be it. They’d put it all behind them after three steps. Their eyes not looking at anything. Nor my eyes. I felt emptied out, a blank. Would I ever again have anything to give to anyone?

От пинбольного автомата вы не получаете практически ничего — только гордость от перемены цифр. А теряете довольно много. Вы теряете столько меди, что из нее можно было бы соорудить памятники всем президентам (другой вопрос, захотите ли вы ставить памятник Ричарду М. Никсону), — не говоря уже о драгоценном времени, которое не вернуть.

Come on, man, I told myself, you can’t stare at this damn wall forever. But that didn’t help, either. It was what the professor who oversaw my graduation thesis told me. Good style, clear argument, but you’re not saying anything. That was my problem. Now I had a rare moment alone, and I still couldn’t get a handle on how to deal with myself. It was weird. I had been on my own for years and had assumed I was getting by pretty well. Yet now I couldn’t remember any of it. Twenty-four years couldn’t disappear in a flash. I felt like someone who realizes in the midst of looking for something that they have forgotten what it was. What was the object of my search? A bottle opener? An old letter? A receipt? An earpick?

We walked side by side to the station. The sweater kept me comfortable in the night air. “Okay, I’ll keep plugging away,” she said. “Wasn’t much help, was I?” “No, actually, it took a load off me just to be able to talk.” We caught trains going in opposite directions from the same platform. “You’re really not lonely?” she asked one last time. And while I was searching for a good reply, her train came.

Uyumak istedi. Uyku her şeyi tamamen silip alacaktı sanki. Ah bir uyuyabilseydi.... Gözlerini kapattığında kulaklarında dalga sesi duydu. Dalgakırana çarpan, sonra beton blokların arasını diker gibi geri çekilen kış dalgaları. Kimseye açıklama yapman da gerekmiyor böylece, diye düşündü Fare. Denizin dibi her şehirden daha ılık, huzurlu ve sessiz. Hayır, artık hiç bir şey düşünmek istemiyorum. Hiçbir şey...

Bir gün gelir ve yüreğimizi bir şey ele geçirir. Bunu yapan herhangi bir şey olabilir; hatta küçük bir şey de olabilir. Bir gülün tomurcuğu, kaybettiğimiz şapka, çocukken sevdiğimiz bir kazak, eski bir Gene Pitney plağı... Artık gidecek bir yeri kalmamış mütevazı şeylerin listesi. O şeyi iki üç gün yüreğimizde hissederiz, sonra eski yerine döner... Karanlığa. Yüreklerimizde hep bir kuyu vardır. Ve o kuyunun üzerinde kuşlar uçar.

All those different names, dates, deaths, each backed with a past life, were like shrubs in an arboretum, spaced out equidistantly as far as the eye could see. No gently swaying breezes for them, no fragrances, no touch of a hand reaching through the darkness. They who seemed like trees lost to time. They to whom no thoughts occurred, nor would ever have words to get them across. They’d left all that to those who still had some living to do.

-'Ben yirmi beş yaşındayım ve hiçbir şey öğrenmemişim gibi geliyor.' J bir süre hiçbir şey demedi, parmak uçlarına bakıyordu. Sonra omuz silkti. -'Ben de kırk beş yılda ancak tek bir şey anlayabildim. İnsan gayret gösterirse her şeyden mutlaka bir şey öğrenebilir. En sıradan, normal yerden bile mutlaka bir şey öğrenebilir. Sakal tıraş etmenin bile ayrı bir felsefesi vardır diye okumuştum bir yerde. Gerçekte bir şeyler öğrenmesek, yaşamayı sürdüremeyiz.

-'Tuhaf bir yıldızın altına doğmuş gibiyim. Diğer bir deyişle, ne istesem elde ettim. Ama bir şeyi elde edince de başka bir şeyin üzerine basıp geçtim. Anlıyor musun?' -'Eh işte.' -'Kimse bana inanmıyor ama gerçek bu. Ben de üç yıl kadar önce farkına vardım bunun. Ondan sonra da artık hiçbir şey istememeye karar verdim. ' Başını salladı. -'Peki tüm ömrün boyunca böyle mi devam etme niyetindesin?' -'Muhtemelen. Kimseye de sorun çıkarmam bu şekilde.' -'Gerçekten böyle düşünüyorsan bir ayakkabı kutusunun içinde yaşasana.' Bu harika bir fikirdi.

Fare için zamanın akışı sanki bir yerlerde pıt diye kopmuştu. Neden öyle olduğunu Fare'nin kendisi de bilmiyordu. Kopmuş ucu da bulamıyordu. Kopuk ipi elinde tutarak güz hüznü içinde dolanıyordu. Çimenliklerden geçmiş, nehri aşmış, iterek birkaç kapıyı açmıştı. Ne var ki ölü ip onu hiçbir yere çıkarmamıştı. Kanatları kopmuş kuş sineği gibiydi, ilerideki denize doğru akan nehir kadar güçsüz ve yalnızdı Fare. Bir yerden kötücül bir rüzgar esmeye başlamış, o zamana dek Fare'yi sarıp sarmalayan sıcak, bildik havayı dünyanın öteki ucuna sürüklemişti sanki.

Venüs bulutlarla çevrili sıcak bir gezegenmiş. Sıcak ve nemden ötürü üzerinde yaşayanların çoğu genç yaşta ölürmüş. Orada otuz yıl yaşayan efsane olurmuş. Ve Venüslülerin yürekleri yaşadığı sürece sevgiyle dolup taşarmış. Venüslülerin hepsi birbirlerini istisnasız severmiş. Kimseye nefret duymaz, kimseyi kıskanmaz ve küçük görmezlermiş. Kötü söz de söyleyemezlermiş. Ne cinayet varmış ne de kavga, sadece sevgi ve şefkat hüküm sürermiş orada. Bugün biri ölse onun için üzülmeyiz’ dedi Venüslü sessiz adam. Çünkü yaşadığımız sürece severiz biz. Sonradan pişman olmamak için

Az égen nem volt egy szál felhő sem. Közben viszont az egészet az a sajátos tavaszi, sűrű, lankadt fátyol borította. És e megfoghatatlan fátyol fölül próbált az ég kékje lassanként előszivárogni. A napfény apró szemű porként hangtalanul hullt le a levegőbe, és anélkül, hogy bárki is különösebb figyelmet fordított volna rá, felgyűlt a földfelszínen. Langyos szellő rezegtette meg a fényt. Mint a madarak, akik csapatosan vágnak át a fák között, lassan úszott a levegő. A szél a vágány mentén lecsúszdázott az enyhe lejtőn, átvágott a síneken, és meg sem rezegtetve a fák leveleit, kibújt az erdőből. A kakukk hangja egyszerre csak, a puha fényen keresztül eltűnt egy messzi domborulatban. A domb vonulata néhány kisebb-nagyobb emelkedőből állt, és kuksolt ott, mint egy hatalmas alvó macska az idő fénytavában.

Anscheinend hatten alle und jeder Probleme. Sie regneten geradezu vom Himmel auf uns hernieder, wir sammelten sie ein uns stopften uns damit die Taschen voll. Warum wir das taten, weiß ich nicht mehr. Vielleicht hielten wir sie irrtümlich für etwas anderes.

I took a long look at my reflection in the window. My eyes were a bit hollow with fever. I could live with that. And my jaw was dark with five o'clock (five thirty, actually) shadow. I could live with that too. The problem was that the face I saw wasn't my face at all. It was the face of the twenty-four-year-old guy you sometimes sit across from on the train. My face and soul were lifeless shells, of no significance to anyone. My soul passes someone else's on the street. Hey, it says. Hey, the other responds. Nothing more. Neither waves. Neither looks back.