Res Quotes

Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish—a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow—to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested . . . Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.

Sane is rich and powerful. Insane is wrong and poor and weak. The rich are free, the poor are put in cages. Res Ipsa Loquitur, amen. Mahalo.

live out where the real winds blow—to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested . . . Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.

Rem tene, verba sequentur: grasp the subject, and the words will follow. This, I believe, is the opposite of what happens with poetry, which is more a case of verba tene, res sequenter: grasp the words, and the subject will follow.

Ipsum Nomen Res Ipsa: The Name Itself is the Thing Itself. I.N.R.I.: Isis, Apophis, Osiris: IAO.

It seems delightfully incongruous,’ he wrote from Armentie‘res, ‘that there should be good shops and fine buildings and comfortable beds less than half an hour’s walk from the trenches

We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.

Why, how can you ask such a question? You are a republican." A republican! Yes; but that word specifies nothing. Res publica; that is, the public thing. Now, whoever is interested in public affairs -- no matter under what form of government -- may call himself a republican. Even kings are republicans." Well! You are a democrat?" No." What! "you would have a monarchy?" No." A Constitutionalist?" God forbid." Then you are an aristocrat?" Not at all!" You want a mixed form of government?" Even less." Then what are you?" I am an anarchist." Oh! I understand you; you speak satirically. This is a hit at the government." By no means. I have just given you my serious and well-considered profession of faith. Although a firm friend of order, I am (in the full force of the term) an anarchist. Listen to me.

Keep smiling, the world needs beautiful things!

Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning. Even science, the strict measurer, is obliged to start with a make-believe unit, and must fix on a point in the stars' unceasing journey when his sidereal clock shall pretend that time is at Nought. His less accurate grandmother Poetry has always been understood to start in the middle; but on reflection it appears that her proceeding is not very different from his; since Science, too, reckons backward as well as forward, divides his unit into billions, and with his clock-finger at Nought really sets off in medias res. No retrospect will take us to the true beginning; and whether our prologue be in heaven or on earth, it is but a fraction of that all-presupposing fact with which our story sets out.

—Homer began his story in medias res, which means in the middle of the thing. He began in the ninth year of the war with the hero, Achilles, nursing his anger in his tent. And ever since then, this is the way that many of the greatest adventure stories have been told.

Children...wake up and find themselves here, discover themselves to have been here all along; is this sad? They wake like sleepwalkers, in full stride,; they wake like people brought back from cardiac arrest or from drowning: in medias res, surrounded by familiar people and objects, equipped with a hundred skills. They know the neighborhood, they can read and write English, they are old hands at the commonplace mysteries, and yet they feel themselves to have just stepped off the boat, just converged with their bodies, just flown down from a trance, to lodge in an eerily familiar life already well underway.

i'm not crazy. My reality is just different for you'res .

Res tantum valet quantum vendi potest. (A thing is worth only what someone else will pay for it.)

That's what we're all doing, all the time, whether we know it or not. Whether we like it or not. Creating something on the spur of the moment with the materials at hand. We might just as well let the res tof it go, join the party, and dance our hearts out.

SPIKE: I whistled at you. STAR: I’m not a dog. Why would I respond to a whistle? [He chuckled. He had been around too many club wh*res.]

Julia. At the most basic level a Roman husband had only to utter the phrase ‘take your things for yourself’ (tuas res tibi habeto) to separate from his wife.

So highly did the Roman people prize this ideal of the common good that their name for it – res publica – served as shorthand for their entire system of government.

Bekase why: would a wise man ant to live in de mid's er such a blimblammin' all de time? No--'deed he wouldn't. A wise man 'ud take en buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet down de biler-factory when he want to res'.

At puer Ascanius, cui nunc cognomen Iulo additur,---Ilus erat, dum res stetit Ilia regno,--- triginta magnos volvendis mensibus orbis imperio explebit, regnumque ab sede Lavini transferet, et longam multa vi muniet Albam.

We might even say that the world is always in medias res—a Latin phrase which means “in the midst of things” or “in the middle of a narrative”—and that it is impossible to solve any mystery, or find the root of any trouble,

Here are the essentials of a happy life, my dear friend: money not worked for, but inherited; some land not unproductive; a hearth fire always going; law suits never; the toga rarely worn; a calm mind; a gentleman’s strong and healthy body; circumspect candor, friends who are your equals; relaxed dinner parties, a simple table, nights not drunken, but free from anxieties; a marriage bed not prudish, and yet modest; plenty of sleep to make the dark hours short. Wish to be what you are, and prefer nothing more. Don’t fear your last day, or hope for it either. Translated from original text: Vitam quae faciant beatiorem, Iucundissime Martialis, haec sunt: Res non parta labore, sed relicta; Non ingratus ager, focus perennis; Lis numquam, toga rara, mens quieta; Vires ingenuae, salubre corpus; Prudens simplicitas, pares amici; Convictus facilis, sine arte mensa; Nox non ebria, sed soluta curis; Non tristis torus, et tamen pudicus; Somnus, qui faciat breves tenebras: Quod sis, esse velis nihilque malis; Summum nec metuas diem nec optes.

The sign above the door to the Hypocras Club read PROTEGO RES PUBLICA, engraved into white Italian marble. Miss Alexia Tarabotti, gagged, trussed, bound, and carried by two men—one holding her shoulders, the other her feet—read the words upside down. She had a screaming headache, and it took her a moment to translate the phrase through the nauseating aftereffects of chloroform exposure. Finally she deduced its meaning: to protect the commonwealth. Huh, she thought. / do not buy it. I definitely do not feel protected.

Vision’s mostly a lie anyway,” he continued. “We don’t really see anything except a few hi-res degrees where the eye focuses. Everything else is just peripheral blur, just … light and motion. Motion draws the focus. And your eyes jiggle all the time, did you know that, Keeton? Saccades, they’re called. Blurs the image, the movement’s way too fast for the brain to integrate so your eye just … shuts down between pauses. It only grabs these isolated freeze-frames, but your brain edits out the blanks and stitches an … an illusion of continuity into your head.

Descoratjat, es va dir que tota aquella penitència, [...] tot aquell amor, tota la màgia dels llibres no havien servit per a res.

Res ipsa loquitur

Kadar si nečesa res želiš, stremi vse stvarstvo k temu, da bi se ti sanje uresničile.

Ee come a time when eby tub haffa res pon e won bottom, said Hepzibah, then translated: At some point in life, you have to stand on your own two feet.

res, non verba,' actions not words.

Res publica res est populi A republic is the people's property

If you have read this far in the chronicle of the Baudelaire orphans - and I certainly hope you have not - then you know we have reached the thirteenth chapter of the thirteenth volume in this sad history, and so you know the end is near, even though this chapter is so lengthy that you might never reach the end of it. But perhaps you do not yet know what the end really means. "The end" is a phrase which refers to the completion of a story, or the final moment of some accomplishment, such as a secret errand, or a great deal of research, and indeed this thirteenth volume marks the completion of my investigation into the Baudelaire case, which required much research, a great many secret errands, and the accomplishments of a number of my comrades, from a trolley driver to a botanical hybridization expert, with many, many typewriter repairpeople in between. But it cannot be said that The End contains the end of the Baudelaires' story, any more than The Bad Beginning contained its beginning. The children's story began long before that terrible day on Briny Beach, but there would have to be another volume to chronicle when the Baudelaires were born, and when their parents married, and who was playing the violin in the candlelit restaurant when the Baudelaire parents first laid eyes on one another, and what was hidden inside that violin, and the childhood of the man who orphaned the girl who put it there, and even then it could not be said that the Baudelaires' story had not begun, because you would still need to know about a certain tea party held in a penthouse suite, and the baker who made the scones served at the tea party, and the baker's assistant who smuggled the secret ingredient into the scone batter through a very narrow drainpipe, and how a crafty volunteer created the illusion of a fire in the kitchen simply by wearing a certain dress and jumping around, and even then the beginning of the story would be as far away as the shipwreck that leftthe Baudelaire parents as castaways on the coastal shelf is far away from the outrigger on which the islanders would depart. One could say, in fact, that no story really has a beginning, and that no story really has an end, as all of the world's stories are as jumbled as the items in the arboretum, with their details and secrets all heaped together so that the whole story, from beginning to end, depends on how you look at it. We might even say that the world is always in medias res - a Latin phrase which means "in the midst of things" or "in the middle of a narrative" - and that it is impossible to solve any mystery, or find the root of any trouble, and so The End is really the middle of the story, as many people in this history will live long past the close of Chapter Thirteen, or even the beginning of the story, as a new child arrives in the world at the chapter's close. But one cannot sit in the midst of things forever. Eventually one must face that the end is near, and the end of The End is quite near indeed, so if I were you I would not read the end of The End, as it contains the end of a notorious villain but also the end of a brave and noble sibling, and the end of the colonists' stay on the island, as they sail off the end of the coastal shelf. The end of The End contains all these ends, and that does not depend on how you look at it, so it might be best for you to stop looking at The End before the end of The End arrives, and to stop reading The End before you read the end, as the stories that end in The End that began in The Bad Beginning are beginning to end now.

Children ten years old wake up and find themselves here, discover themselves to have been here all along; is this sad? They wake like sleepwalkers, in full stride; they wake like people brought back from cardiac arrest or from drowning: in medias res, surrounded by familiar people and objects, equipped with a hundred skills. They know the neighborhood, they can read and write English, they are old hands at the commonplace mysteries, and yet they feel themselves to have just stepped off the boat, just converged with their bodies, just flown down from a trance, to lodge in an eerily familiar life already well under way. I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again. I woke at intervals until, by that September when Father went down the river, the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not. I noticed this process of waking, and predicted with terrifying logic that one of these years not far away I would be awake continuously and never slip back, and never be free of myself again.

Vaig llegir un llibre de ciència que assegura que les decisions les prenem abans que res amb el cor i després cerquem tot de raonaments que les justifiquen per fer-mos creure que les hem preses amb lo cap.

Darwin’s “strange inversion of reasoning” and Turing’s equally revolutionary inversion were aspects of a single discovery: competence without comprehension. Comprehension, far from being a Godlike talent from which all design must flow, is an emergent effect of systems of uncomprehending competence: natural selection on the one hand, and mindless computation on the other. These twin ideas have been proven beyond a reasonable doubt, but they still provoke dismay and disbelief in some quarters, which I have tried to dispel in this chapter. Creationists are not going to find commented code in the inner workings of organisms, and Cartesians are not going to find an immaterial res cogitans “where all the understanding happens".

Rem tene, verba sequentur: grasp the subject, and the words will follow. This, I believe, is the opposite of what happens with poetry, which is more a case of verba tene, res sequentur. grasp the words, and the subject will follow.

America is said to be the arena on which the battle of freedom is to be fought; but surely it cannot be freedom in a merely political sense that is meant. Even if we grant that the American has freed himself from a political tyrant, he is still the slave of an economical and moral tyrant. Now that the republic — the res-publica — has been settled, it is time to look after the res-privata, — the private state, — to see, as the Roman senate charged its consuls, "ne quidres-PRIVATA detrimenti caperet," that the private state receive no detriment.

‎Destruir l’home és difícil, gairebé tant com crear-lo: no ha estat senzill, no ha estat ràpid, però ho heu aconseguit, alemanys. Heu-nos aquí dòcils davant de les vostres mirades: per part nostra ja no heu de témer res: ni actes de revolta, ni paraules de desafiament, ni tan sols una mirada inculpatòria.

What amazed and humbled me about bird-watching was the way it changed the granularity of my perception, which had been pretty “low-res.” At first, I just noticed birdsong more. Of course it had been there all along, but now that I was paying attention to it, I realized that it was almost everywhere, all day, all the time. And then, one by one, I started learning each song and associating it with a bird, so that now when I walk into the Rose Garden, I inadvertently acknowledge them in my head as though they were people: “Hi, raven, robin, song sparrow, chickadee, goldfinch, towhee, hawk, nuthatch…” and so on.

S pogledom objamem prostor in prevzame me strašen stud. Kaj delam tu? Zakaj sem se spustil v to prerekanje o humanizmu? Zakaj so ti ljudje tu? Zakaj jedo? Res je, ne vedo, da bivajo. Želim si oditi, želim iti nekam, kjer bi bil zares na svojem mestu, kjer bi se lahko nekam uvrstil. Mojega mesta pa ni nikjer; odveč sem

Pero el amor, esa palabra… Moralista Horacio, temeroso de pasiones sin una razón de aguas hondas, desconcertado y arisco en la ciudad donde el amor se llama con todos los nombres de todas las calles, de todas las casas, de todos los pisos, de todas las habitaciones, de todas las camas, de todos los sueños, de todos los olvidos o los recuerdos. Amor mío, no te quiero por vos ni por mí ni por los dos juntos, no te quiero porque la sangre me llame a quererte, te quiero porque no sos mía, porque estás del otro lado, ahí donde me invitás a saltar y no puedo dar el salto, porque en lo más profundo de la posesión no estás en mí, no te alcanzo, no paso de tu cuerpo, de tu risa, hay horas en que me atormenta que me ames (cómo te gusta usar el verbo amar, con qué cursilería lo vas dejando caer sobre los platos y las sábanas y los autobuses), me atormenta tu amor que no me sirve de puente porque un puente no se sostiene de un solo lado, jamás Wright ni Le Corbusier van a hacer un puente sostenido de un solo lado, y no me mires con esos ojos de pájaro, para vos la operación del amor es tan sencilla, te curarás antes que yo y eso que me querés como yo no te quiero. Claro que te curarás, porque vivís en la salud, después de mí será cualquier otro, eso se cambia como los corpiños. Tan triste oyendo al cínico Horacio que quiere un amor pasaporte, amor pasamontañas, amor llave, amor revólver, amor que le dé los mil ojos de Argos, la ubicuidad, el silencio desde donde la música es posible, la raíz desde donde se podría empezar a tejer una lengua. Y es tonto porque todo eso duerme un poco en vos, no habría más que sumergirte en un vaso de agua como una flor japonesa y poco a poco empezarían a brotar los pétalos coloreados, se hincharían las formas combadas, crecería la hermosura. Dadora de infinito, yo no sé tomar, perdoname. Me estás alcanzando una manzana y yo he dejado los dientes en la mesa de luz. Stop, ya está bien así. También puedo ser grosero, fijate. Pero fijate bien, porque no es gratuito. ¿Por qué stop? Por miedo de empezar las fabricaciones, son tan fáciles. Sacás una idea de ahí, un sentimiento del otro estante, los atás con ayuda de palabras, perras negras, y resulta que te quiero. Total parcial: te quiero. Total general: te amo. Así viven muchos amigos míos, sin hablar de un tío y dos primos, convencidos del amor-que-sienten-por-sus-esposas. De la palabra a los actos, che; en general sin verba no hay res. Lo que mucha gente llama amar consiste en elegir a una mujer y casarse con ella. La eligen, te lo juro, los he visto. Como si se pudiese elegir en el amor, como si no fuera un rayo que te parte los huesos y te deja estaqueado en la mitad del patio. Vos dirás que la eligen porque-la-aman, yo creo que es al verse. A Beatriz no se la elige, a Julieta no se la elige. Vos no elegís la lluvia que te va a calar hasta los huesos cuando salís de un concierto.

- Las reses son ciegas porque no necesitan ojos, puesto que viven en la oscuridad. ¿Y sabes por qué? Porque no hay nada ahí fuera que pueda interesarles. Porque si salen de los túneles morirán de hambre y de frío. Porque en el pasado los animales que salían, atraídos por la luz, jamás regresaban, y al final los que quedaron vivos fueron aquellos que no necesitaban ver, aquellos que sabían apretujarse unos contra otros para mantener el calor. Prefiero ser una res ciega viva que un idiota muerto -concluyó, ceñuda.

incipe, Calliope. licet et considere: non est cantandum, res uera agitur. narrate, puellae 35 Pierides, prosit mihi uos dixisse puellas.

Arribà a persuadir-se fàcilment que la passió de Charles no tenia res d'exorbitant. Les seves expansions havien esdevingut regulars;la besava a hores fixes.

— Mira —vaig dir—. T'estimo més que res en aquest món. No en tens prou? — Sí, en tinc prou —va respondre somrient—. Prou per sempre.

Vago en un viatge perpetu. Tot avança, progressa, res no s'esfondra.

Tot aquest temps havia pensat que estava complet perquè no m'adonava de què estava buscant. I no trobava res, perquè encara no havies nascut.

No estimo res més, excepte l'ombra viatgera d'un núvol. El lent record dels dies que són passats per sempre.

—No t'amoïna… per exemple, el sempre? —El sempre es compon de molts ares —contesta. No hi tinc res a dir; encara ho estic paint quan la Margo diu:— Emily Dickinson.

Talibus insidiis periurique arte Sinonis credita res, captique dolis lacrimisque coactis, quos neque Tydides, nec Larisaeus Achilles, non anni domuere decem, non mille carinae.

EUMOLP: Sé tots els mots que amaguen la solitud de l’home, no he d’aprendre res més.

Entre el penis i les matemàtiques, senyor Baryton, no hi ha res! Res! Hi ha el buit!

No es pot entendre res de la vida fins que un no entén la mort.

Life is a polygon, we're all just high res textures

Em fa por la foscor. Abans em pensava que de la foscor en podia sortir qualsevol cosa, per això em feia por. Ara em fa por perquè sé que no hi ha res.

Res severa est verum gaudium.

Les coses no passen mai com te les has imaginat —sentencia. Sí, és veritat —responc. Però és clar, si no imagines, no passarà mai res.

No té res d'especial, només és un lloc on jo era feliç.

Homo res sacra homini.

La Hazel és diferent. Camina suaument. Camina suaument per la terra. La Hazel sap la veritat: és tan probable que fem mal a l'univers com que l'ajudem, i no és probable que fem res d'això.

Quid? Quod eadem mente res dissimillimas comprehendimus, ut colorem saporem, calorem, odorem, sonum? Quae numquam quinque nuntiis animus cognosceret, nisi ad eum omnia referrentur et is omnium iudex solus esset.

Personalment, cre que, si vols expressar alguna cosa amb llibertat, has de mirar de visualitzar-la preguntant-te no pas "¿Què vull aconseguir?", sinó més aviat "¿Com sóc, jo, en realitat, quan no intento aconseguir res?

La Lo­te­ría, con su re­par­to se­ma­nal de enor­mes pre­mios, era el único acon­te­ci­mien­to pú­bli­co al que los pro­les pres­ta­ban ver­da­de­ra aten­ción. Era pro­ba­ble que hu­bie­se mi­llo­nes de pro­les para quie­nes la Lo­te­ría fuese la razón prin­ci­pal, si no la única, para se­guir con vida. Era su de­lei­te, su lo­cu­ra, su anal­gé­si­co, su es­ti­mu­lan­te in­te­lec­tual. En lo que se re­fe­ría a la Lo­te­ría, hasta quie­nes ape­nas sa­bían leer y es­cri­bir eran ca­pa­ces de lle­var a cabo in­trin­ca­dos cálcu­los y sor­pren­den­tes lo­gros me­mo­rís­ti­cos. Había toda una tribu de in­di­vi­duos que se ga­na­ban la vida ven­dien­do sis­te­mas, pre­dic­cio­nes y amu­le­tos de la suer­te. Wins­ton no tenía nada que ver con la Lo­te­ría, que se ges­tio­na­ba desde el Mi­nis­te­rio de la Abun­dan­cia, pero sabía (como cual­quier otro miem­bro del Par­ti­do) que los pre­mios eran casi todos ima­gi­na­rios. Solo se pa­ga­ban pe­que­ñas sumas y los ga­na­do­res de los pre­mios gor­dos en reali­dad no exis­tían. En au­sen­cia de ver­da­de­ra co­mu­ni­ca­ción entre una parte de Ocea­nía y otra, no re­sul­ta­ba di­fí­cil ama­ñar­lo.

Priznam, misli mi večkrat skrenejo s poti, namesto da bi se držala glavne ceste, rada zavijem na skrite stranske steze. Dajem vtis, kot da sem se izgubila, in mogoče sem se res, a po tej poti moraš, če hočeš najti jedro, ki ga tako vneto iščeš.

It’s the same something feared by any ass-kicker who finds himself in medias res, hacking through the thick of it, knee-deep in the dead. He feared that, were he ever to stop, the mind he needed to keep trained on a target might instead turn on him.

E tenebris tantis tam clarum extollere lumen qui primus potuisti inlustrans commoda vitae, te sequor, o Graiae gentis decus, inque tuis nunc ficta pedum pono pressis vestigia signis, non ita certandi cupidus quam propter amorem quod te imitari aveo; quid enim contendat hirundo cycnis, aut quid nam tremulis facere artubus haedi consimile in cursu possint et fortis equi vis? tu, pater, es rerum inventor, tu patria nobis suppeditas praecepta, tuisque ex, inclute, chartis, floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant, omnia nos itidem depascimur aurea dicta, aurea, perpetua semper dignissima vita. nam simul ac ratio tua coepit vociferari naturam rerum divina mente coorta diffugiunt animi terrores, moenia mundi discedunt. totum video per inane geri res. apparet divum numen sedesque quietae, quas neque concutiunt venti nec nubila nimbis aspergunt neque nix acri concreta pruina cana cadens violat semper[que] innubilus aether integit et large diffuso lumine ridet: omnia suppeditat porro natura neque ulla res animi pacem delibat tempore in ullo.

Every government that does not act on the principle of a Republic, or in other words, that does not make the res-publica its whole and sole object, is not a good government. Republican government is no other than government established and conducted for the interest of the public, as well individually as collectively. It is not necessarily connected with any particular form, but it most naturally associates with the representative form, as being best calculated to secure the end for which a nation is at the expense of supporting it.

Em prometia no dir mai res, no fer mai res que els altres poguessin emmagatzemar al seu cap per retreure-m’ho el dia que els donés la gana. No volia quedar mai més enterrat, immobilitzat per un munt de paraules, convertit en un retrat que em feien els altres i que jo no podía esborrar.

One could say, in fact, that no story really has a beginning, and that no story really has an end, as all of the world's stories are as jumbled as the items in the arboretum, with their details and secrets all heaped together so that the whole story, from beginning to end, depends on how you look at it. We might even say that the world is always in medias res - a Latin phrase which means "in the midst of things" or "in the middle of a narrative" - and that it is impossible to solve any mystery, or find the root of any trouble, and so The End is really the middle of the story

Diuen que cada floc de neu és diferent. Si això fos cert, com podria el món anar endavant? Com podríem aixecar-nos de les nostres genuflexions? Com podríem recuperar-nos d’una meravella així? Oblidant. No podem tenir massa coses al cap. Només existeix el present i no hi ha res per a recordar.

well suited for long texts on coarse resolution displays, and that’s exactly why Amazon chose it as the default face for their Kindle. PMN Caecilia also has a very pleasant, inviting quality, delivering text without pretension. Good for: Books on low-res screens or in poor printing conditions. Professional but approachable

Estàvem prenent consciència, una vegada i una altra, que encara érem vius; era una sensació que se m'anava presentant a batzegades. I mente ens abraçàvem i ploràvem a llàgrima viva, vaig pensar: «Mare meva, que patètics que devem semblar». Però res d'això no importa gaire quan t'acabes d'adonar que, malgrat tot, encara ets viu.

I van esguerrant els homes perquè diuen que una ombra es va ajuntar amb una altra… tenen por. Volen tenir por. Volen creure i volen patir… patir i només patir i ofeguen els qui moren perquè encara pateixin més… perquè pateixin fins al darrer moment, perquè res no sigui bo, i si t’arrenquen la cara les pedres i l’aigua és pel bé de tots… i si vius pensant que el riu s’endurà el poble no pensaràs en res més… que se t’endugui el patir però no el desig… perquè el desig fa viure i per això els fa por. La por del desig se’ls menja. I és per no pensar en el desig que volen patir i de petit ja t’esguerren… perquè el desig fa viure ja te’l maten mentre vas creixent…

Entering yet another code, she took the passageway to Rehv’s office, and when she came through his door, the three males around the desk all looked at her warily. She took up res against the black wall across from them. “What.” Rehv leaned back in his chair, crossing his fur-clad arms over his chest. “Are you getting ready to go into your needing.” As he spoke, Trez and iAm both made the Shadow hand motion for warding off disaster. “God, no. Why do you ask?” “Because, no offense, you’re cranky as fuck.” “I am not.” As the males looked at one another, she barked, “Stop that.” Oh, great, now they all just pointedly didn’t look at each other. -Xhex, Rehv, Trez & iAm

Automatic pilot (Res/App):A way of being that is driven by a state of mind that is devoid of active reflection and that often involves top-down processing. It is reflected in reactive and enduring patterns of thought and bodily posture and movement, in which the past is shaping present perceptual biases, emotional responses, and behavioral output.

The Senate decreed that vows should be undertaken every fifth year by the consuls and priests for my health.

Stoans want to be lissent to. Them big brown stoans in the formers feal they want to stan up and talk like men. Some times youwl see them lying on the groun with ther humps and hollers theywl say to you, Sit a wyl and res easy why dont you. Then when youre sitting on them theywl talk and theywl tel if you lissen. Theywl tel whats in them but you wont hear nothing what theyre saying without you go as fas as the stoan. You myt think a stoan is slow thats becaws you wont see it moving. Wont see it walking a roun. That dont mean its slow tho. There are the many cools of Addom which they are the party cools of stoan. Moving in ther millyings which is the girt dants of the every thing its the fastes thing there is it keaps the stilness going. Reason you wont see it move its so far a way in to the stoan. If you cud fly way way up like a saddelite bird over the sea and you lookit down you wunt see the waves moving youwd see them change 1 way to a nother only you wunt see them moving youwd be too far a way. You wunt see nothing only a changing stilness. Its the same with a stoan.

No es tracta de la vida i la mort. El laberint, vull dir. Ah, molt bé. I de què es tracta, doncs? Del patiment va dir. De fer coses dolentes i que et passin coses dolentes. Aquest és el problema. Com se surt, del laberint del patiment? Què tens? li vaig preguntar. No res. Però sempre hi ha patiment. El patiment és universal. És l'únic que preocupa per igual a budistes, cristians i musulmans.

Fannie Moore, interviewed in North Carolina in 1937, recalled that (as transcribed): “De ‘breed woman’ always bring mo’ money den de res’, [even the] men. When dey put her on de block dey put all her chillun aroun her to show folks how fas she can hab chillun.”12 Mary L. Swearingen of Bastrop, Louisiana, paraphrasing her enslaved grandmother, said, “Whenever a woman was an extraordinary breeder, she was mated by the master to his own accord.

— Estaves profundament adormida, no m'he perdut res —els ulls li van brillar—. Ja havies acabat de parlar. Vaig rondinar. — I què he dit? Els seus ulls daurats es varen tornar molt dolços. — Que m'estimes. — Això ja ho sabies —li vaig recordar, acotant el cap. — És igual, és agradable sentir-ho. Vaig amagar el rostre en la seva espatlla. — T'estimo —vaig xiuxiuejar. — Ara tes la meva vida —va respondre simplement. De moment, no hi havia res més per dir.

The reason it is possible to imagine property as a relationship of domination between a person and a thing is because, in Roman Law, the power of the master rendered the slave a thing (res, meaning an object), not a person with social rights or legal obligations to anyone else. Property law, in turn, was largely about the complicated situations that might arise as a result. It is important to recall, for a moment, who these Roman jurists actually were that laid down the basis for our current legal order – our theories of justice, the language of contract and torts, the distinction of public and private and so forth. While they spent their public lives making sober judgments as magistrates, they lived their private lives in households where they not only had near-total authority over their wives, children and other dependants, but also had all their needs taken care of by dozens, perhaps hundreds of slaves.

No, no ho ets. És el teu cos, no tu. La teva esència no té res a veure amb el bruixots negres. Portes alguns gens d'en Marcus, i alguns de la Saba. Però això és físic. I la part física, els gens, el do, no és el que et converteix en un bruixot negre. Creu-me. Él la manera com penses i com actues el que fa que siguis com ets. No ets dolent, Nathan. En tu no hi ha res dolent. Tindràs un do poderós, això ho veiem tots, però depèn de com l'utilitzis seràs bo o dolent.

...я в настоящую минуту убежден, что в наше время возможно одно направление - христианское, но не поповско-христианское с запахом конопляного масла и ладана, а высокохристианское, как я его понимаю... Мир, мир и мир, и на все стороны мир. - вот что должно быть нашей задачей в данную минуту, потому что concordia parva res crescunt - малые вещи становятся великим согласием, - вот что читается на червонце, а мы это забываем, и зато у нас нет ни согласия, ни червонцев.

My aunt seems to think you need res­cu­ing, sir,” Viola laughed. “Are you afraid of me?” “Ter­ri­fied,” he replied, chuck­ling. “See? I’m drink­ing my tea for fear of you.” “Yes, all men hate tea,” she said, grow­ing more pleased with him by the mo­ment. “Here I thought it was just me.” “No. All,” she in­sisted. “Only think…if men did not de­spise tea so much, there would be no glory in forc­ing them to drink it every af­ter­noon! Would you like an­other cup, Mr Pope?

És veritat: la cultura no és necessària per a la supervivència de l'home, només ho són el pa i l'aigua. I és cert que amb el pa per menjar i l'aigua per beure se sobreviu, però només amb això mor la humanitat sencera. Si l'ésser humà no s'emociona amb la bellesa, si no tanca els ulls i posa en marxa els mecanismes de la imaginació, si no és capaç de fer-se preguntes i entrellucar els límits de la ignorància, és home o és dona, però no és persona; res no el diferencia d'un salmó, una zebra o un bou.

Tothom acaba marxant, vaig pensar. […] Res no és etern, ni tan sols la Terra. Segons el que havíem après, el Buda deia que el patiment era conseqüència del desig, i que la desaparició del desig implicava la desaparició del patiment. Si deixes de desitjar que les coses no es morin, deixaràs de patir per si es moren. Algun dia ningú no es recordarà de la seva existència, vaig escriure a la meva llibreta. Ni de la meva. Perquè els records també s'esvaeixen. I llavors et quedes sense res, tan sols amb l'ombra d'un fantasma.

PRAISE FOR WALTER ISAACSON’S Steve Jobs “This biography is essential reading.” —The New York Times, Holiday Gift Guide “A superbly told story of a superbly lived life.” —The Wall Street Journal “Enthralling.” —The New Yorker “A frank, smart and wholly unsentimental biography . . . a remarkably sharp, hi-res portrait . . . Steve Jobs is more than a good book; it’s an urgently necessary one.” —Time “An encyclopedic survey of all that Mr. Jobs accomplished, replete with the passion and excitement that it deserves.” —Janet Maslin, The

Če se dotakneš drevesa, ni nič drugače, kot če se dotakneš kakšnega drugega živega bitja, pravzaprav je še lepše. Zakaj? Če recimo potrepljam psa po glavi, res da zatipam nekaj toplega in trepetavega, vendar zmeraj čutim, da je zraven še nekaj, kar mu odvrača pozornost, bodisi da mu kruli v želodcu, bodisi da se mu toži po nekomu, bodisi da se samo spominja hudih sanj. Razumeš? V psu je preveč misli in preveč potreb, tako kot pri čoveku. Ali bo lahko miren in zadovoljen, ni odvisno samo od njega. Pri drevesu pa je drugače. Od takrat, ko vzklije, pa do takrat, ko umre, nepremično vztraja na istem mestu. Med vsemi bitji sega s koreninami najbližje srcu Zemlje, s krošnjo pa najbližje nebu. Sokovi v njem se pretakajo od zgoraj navzdol in od spodaj navzgor. Širi se in krči, kakor mu veleva dnevna svetloba. Čaka na dež, čaka na sonce, čaka zdaj na ta letni čas, potem na naslednjega, čaka na smrt. Od vseh stvari, ki mu omogočajo življenje, ni prav nobena odvisna od njegove volje. Obstaja in to je vse. Ali zdaj razumeš, zakaj je božati drevesa lep? Ker so trdna, ker dihajo tako počasi in umirjeno, tako globoko.

—Les coses no passen mai com te les has imaginat —sentencia. El cel és com un quadre contemporani monocromàtic, que m'arrossega cap al seu interior amb el miratge de la profunditat, estirant-me amunt. —Sí, és veritat —responc. I llavors, després de pensar-hi un segon, afegeixo:— Però és clar, si no imagines, no passarà res. Imaginar no és perfecte. No et pots ficar a dins de tot, al fons d'algú altre. Mai no m'hauria pogut imaginar la ràbia que ha mostrat la Margo quan l'hem trobat, o la història al damunt de la qual escrivia. Però imaginar-se ser algú altre, o que el món és diferent, és l'única manera d'entrar-hi.

The emergence of society—the rise of housekeeping, its activities, problems, and organizational devices—from the shadowy interior of the household into the light of the public sphere, has not only blurred the old borderline between private and political, it has also changed almost beyond recognition the meaning of the two terms and their significance for the life of the individual and the citizen. Not only would we not agree with the Greeks that a life spent in the privacy of “one’s own” (idion), outside the world of the common, is “idiotic” by definition, or with the Romans to whom privacy offered but a temporary refuge from the business of the res publica; we call private today a sphere of intimacy whose beginnings we may be able to trace back to late Roman, though hardly to any period of Greek antiquity, but whose peculiar manifoldness and variety were certainly unknown to any period prior to the modern age. This is not merely a matter of shifted emphasis. In ancient feeling the privative trait of privacy, indicated in the word itself, was all-important; it meant literally a state of being deprived of something, and even of the highest and most human of man’s capacities. A man who lived only a private life, who like the slave was not permitted to enter the public realm, or like the barbarian had chosen not to establish such a realm, was not fully human. We no longer think primarily of deprivation when we use the word “privacy,” and this is partly due to the enormous enrichment of the private sphere through modern individualism. However, it seems even more important that modern privacy is at least as sharply opposed to the social realm—unknown to the ancients who considered its content a private matter—as it is to the political, properly speaking. The decisive historical fact is that modern privacy in its most relevant function, to shelter the intimate, was discovered as the opposite not of the political sphere but of the social, to which it is therefore more closely and authentically related. The

M'havia ensenyat tot el que ara sabia sobre els crancs de riu, els petons, el vi rosat i la poesia. M'havia transformat. […] —No em pots transformar i després anar-te'n —li vaig dir en veu alta—, perquè jo ja estava bé abans, Alaska. […] Ella havia encarnat el Gran Potser: m'havia demostrat que valia la pena deixar enrere una vida mediocre a la recerca de potsers més rellevants, i ara se n'havia anat i s'havia endut la meva fe en els potsers. […] «Em vas deixar mancat de potsers, atrapat al bell mig del teu maleït laberint. I ara ja no sé si realment vas escollir sortir-ne de pressa i sense pensar; no sé si em vas abandonar expressament. Mai no et vaig conèixer, oi? No puc recordar res perquè mai no ho vaig saber».

Siguin quines siguin les diferències que tinguin l'Agnes i la Mary [...] quan estan davant d'una missió impor tant, s'esvaeixen. Poden queixar-se l'una de l'altra, es poden punxar i retreure's coses; poden discutir, barallar-se i sospirar; poden llançar a la galleda dels porcs el menjar que ha cuinat l'altra perquè està massa salat o no prou ben molt o massa especiat; poden aixecar una cella davant del sargit, el cosit o el brodat de l'altra. Ara bé, en un moment com aquest, són capaces de funcionar com dues mans de la mateixa persona. [...] Ara totes dues pugen l'escala, sense dir-se res, i l'Agnes sap que la Mary saludarà la Judith amb un somriure a la cara i li dirà paraules estimulants i tranquil·litzadores. Juntes s'ocuparan de la nena, portaran la màrfega a baix, donaran la medecina a la nena. Plantaran cara.

The ‘I’ is a bare consciousness, accompanying all concepts. In the ‘I’, ‘nothing more is represented than a transcendental subject of thoughts’. ‘Consciousness in itself (is) not so much a representation…as it is a form of representation in general.’ The ‘I think’ is ‘the form of apperception, which clings to every experience and precedes it.’ Kant grasps the phenomenal content of the ‘I’ correctly in the expression ‘I think’, or—if one also pays heed to including the ‘practical person’ when one speaks of ‘intelligence’—in the expression ‘I take action’. In Kant’s sense we must take saying “I” as saying “I think.” Kant tries to establish the phenomenal content of the “I” as *res cogitans*. If in doing so he calls this “I” a ‘logical subject’, that does not mean that the “I” in general is a concept obtained merely by way of logic. The “I” is rather the subject of logical behavior, of binding together. ‘I think’ means ‘I bind together’. All binding together is an ‘*I* bind together’. In any taking-together or relating, the “I” always underlies—the ὑποκείμενον [hypokeimenon; subjectum; subject]. The *subjectum* is therefore ‘consciousness in itself’, not a representation but rather the ‘form’ of representation. That is to say, the “I think” is not something represented, but the formal structure of representing as such, and this formal structure alone makes it possible for anything to have been represented. When we speak of the “form” of representation, we have in view neither a framework nor a universal concept, but that which, as εἶδος [eidos], makes every representing and everything represented be what it is. If the “I” is understood as the form of representation, this amounts to saying that it is the ‘logical subject’. Kant’s analysis has two positive aspects. For one thing, he sees the impossibility of ontically reducing the “I” to a substance; for another thing, he holds fast to the “I” as ‘I think’. Nevertheless, he takes this “I” as subject again, and he does so in a sense which is ontologically inappropriate. For the ontological concept of the subject *characterizes not the Selfhood of the “I” qua Self, but the self-sameness and steadiness of something that is always present-at-hand*. To define the “I” ontologically as “*subject*” means to regard it as something always present-at-hand. The Being of the “I” is understood as the Reality of the *res cogitans*." ―from_Being and Time_. Translated by John Macquarrie & Edward Robinson, pp. 366-367

ისტორიულად დიდი ხანია აღიარებულია, რომ კერძო საკუთრება არ არის ისეთი რამ, რაც შეიძლება გაუცხოვდეს და ესაა საფუძველი სამოქალაქო საზოგადოებისა. აი, მე შევატრიალებდი ამ არგუმენტს, რათა მეთქვა შემდეგი: თუკი შენ გაქვს მილიონი, ეს არის შენი კერძო საქმე. ხოლო პოლიტიკური საქმე - res public-ის დონეზეა, ანუ საერთო საქმის, საერთო ძალისხმევის, მაგრამ არა ამ მილიონის ექსპოპრიაციის დონეზე. მაშასადამე, პოლიტიკა, როგორც ძალაუფლება და საკუთრება ერთმანეთისგან განცალკევებული უნდა იყოს. საბჭოთა სისტემა კი იმ სახით, რა სახითაც ის ჩამოყალიბდა, უკიდურეს ფორმად იქცა ერთისა და მეორის ურთიერთშენაცვლებისა, ერთის მეორეთი შთანთქმისა და ყოველი მცდელობა, დაარღვიო ეს კავშირი, ბუნებრივია, სამოქალაქო საზოგადოების ფენომენის აღორძინებისკენაა მიმართული. სიცოცხლის ნებისმიერი გამოვლინება არის გენიალური კერძოობა, მათ შორის ნაციის ცხოვრებისაც, რომელიც კონსტიტუციური პროცესის პროდუქტს წარმოადგენს. ასეთია საქმის არსი

Anything you do to optimize your work, cut some corners, or squeeze more “efficiency” out of it (and out of your life) will eventually make you dislike it. Artisans have their soul in the game. Primo, artisans do things for existential reasons first, financial and commercial ones later. Their decision making is never fully financial, but it remains financial. Secundo, they have some type of “art” in their profession; they stay away from most aspects of industrialization; they combine art and business. Tertio, they put some soul in their work: they would not sell something defective or even of compromised quality because it hurts their pride. Finally, they have sacred taboos, things they would not do even if it markedly increased profitability. Compendiaria res improbitas, virtusque tarda—the villainous takes the short road, virtue the longer one. In other words, cutting corners is dishonest.

ჩვენს დემოკრატიას მთავარი წინაპირობა არ გააჩნია. მე უკვე გამოვიყენე სიტყვა - res publica, რაც დემოკრატიული სისტემის პიკს წარმოადგენს. პოლიტიკური დემოკრატია შეუძლებელია საზოგადოებრივი სივრცესთან დამოკიდებულების გარეშე, რასაც res publica ანუ რესპუბლიკური ურთიერთობა ჰქვია. სხვა ვარიანტი გამორიცხულია. შესაძლოა, იყოთ რესპუბლიკელი და მონარქიულ პოლიტიკურ რეჟიმში ცხოვრობდეთ, მაგალითად - ინგლისში. ეს არაფერს ნიშნავს. ეს დემოკრატიული ფორმა არ არის, მაგრამ დემოკრატიაა, რადგან დემოკრატიის მთავარი არსი "რესპუბლიკური აზროვნებაა". ჩვენ ეს არ გაგვაჩნია. პარტიები თავისი უფლებებისთვის ზრუნავენ, რაც დემოკრატიის პირველი ნაბიჯი სულაც არ გახლავთ, თუ სიტყვა "ნაბიჯს" არა ქრონოლოგიური, არამედ საწყისის, პირველადის მნიშვნელობით გამოვიყენებთ. პარტიებს შორის პარლამენტში ბრძოლა, მეათე ნაბიჯი შეიძლება იყოს. ეს ყოველივე უსარგებლოა, თუ უკან არ დავბრუნდებით, საწყის წერტილში და არ შევქმნით res publica-ს. ჩვენ გვჭირდება რესპუბლიკა, რათა შემთხვევითობაზე არ ვიყოთ დამოკიდებული.

Dasein-ul este fiinţarea caracterizată ca fapt-de-a-fi-în-lume. Viaţa umană nu este ceva precum un subiect care trebuie să facă cine ştie ce artificiu pentru a veni în lume. Dasein-ul, ca fapt-de-a-fi-în-Iume, înseamnă: a fi în lume în asa fel încît acest fapt de a fi să însemne: a avea mereu de-a face cu lumea; a zăbovi în preajma ei într-un anume mod, fie al executării, al îndeplinirii sau rezolvării a ceva, fie în modul contemplării, al interogării, al determinării contemplative şi comparative. Faptul de-a-fi-în-lume este caracterizat ca preocupare. Dasein-ul, ca fapt-de-a-fi-în-lume, este totodată fapt-de-a-fi-unul-laolaltă-cu-altul, de a fi cu ceilalţi; a deţine împreună cu alţii aceeaşi lume, a-l întalni pe celălalt, a fi laolaltă în sensul de a-fi-unul-pentru-altul. Însă acest Dasein este totodată pentru ceilalţi o simplă prezenţă, aşa cum este prezentă o piatră care nu deţine o lume şi care nu se preocupă de vreo lume. A fi unul laolaltă cu altul în lume, în sensul de a o avea laolaltă - acest fapt are o determinare ontologică privilegiată. Modul fundamental în care există lumea pe care Dasein-urile o deţin laolaltă este vorbirea. Vorbirea văzută în totalitatea ei: ca vorbire care se exprimă pe sine atunci cînd vorbeşte cu altul despre ceva. În spaţiul vorbirii are loc, cu precădere, faptul-de-a-fi-în-lume al omului. Acest lucru era cunoscut deja de Aristotel. În felul în care Dasein-ul, în lumea sa, vorbeşte despre modul în care se îndeletniceşte cu această lume a sa este implicată dintru început o explicitare de sine a acestui Dasein. Felul în care el vorbeşte ne arată cum anume se înţelege Dasein-ul de fiecare dată pe sine, ca ce anume se consideră el pe sine. În vorbirea unuia cu celălalt, în acel ceva despre care se stă de vorbă este cuprinsă de fiecare dată o explicitare de sine a prezentului în care are loc această convorbire. Dasein-ul este o fiinţare care se determină pe sine ca "eu sunt". Dasein-ului îi este constitutiv faptul-de-a-fi-de-fiecare-dată al acestui "eu sunt". Prin urmare, Dasein-ul, asa cum este el în faptul-de-a-fi-în-lume, este primordial şi Dasein-ul meu. El este de fiecare dată propriu şi, ca propriu, el este de fiecare dată. Dacă această fiinţare trebuie determinată în caracterul său de fiinţă,nu trebuie făcut abstracţie de faptul-de-a-fi-de-fiecare-dată care este "al meu". Mea res agitur. Toate caracterele fundamentale trebuie să se regăsească astfel în faptul-de-a-fi-de-fiecare-dată, înteles ca "de fiecare dată al meu".În măsura în care Dasein-ul este o fiinţare care sunt eu însumi şi totodată este determinat ca fapt-de-a-fi-unul-laolaltă-cu-altul, eu nu sunt, în primă instanţă şi la nivel mediu, eu însumi, ci ceilalţi; eu sunt cu ceilalţi, şi aceştia, la rîndul lor, cu alţii. Nimeni nu este, în cotidianitate, el insuşi Nimeni nu este ceea ce el este şi aşa cum este: nici unul şi totuşi toţi laolaltă. Aceştia toţi nu sunt ei înşişi. Acest Nimeni, de care suntem noi inşine trăiţi în cotidianitate, este impersonalul "se". Se spune, se aude, se optează pentru ceva, se dă curs unei preocupări. În înverşunarea dominaţiei acestui impersonal "se" rezidă posibilităţile Dasein-ului meu şi "eu sunt" este posibil pornind de la această nivelare. O fiinţare care este posibilitatea lui "eu sînt" este ca atare, cel mai adesea, o fiinţare dominată de impersonalul "se".

De fet, la lectura és l'enemic més gran de l'èxit. El malentès és total: els nens a qui de veritat els agrada llegir acaben sent uns guillats, en sóc la il·lustració perfecta. Quan era petita no m'interessava res més: ni l'escola, ni la música ni els passeigs ni les vacances. Per això sóc asocial i incapaç de 'treballar en equip'. ¿La veritable passió per la lectura fa que la gent sigui inapta per al repartiment de bens? És clar, exagero una mica, però els nens als quals els agrada llegir de veritat acaben sent suplents de la intel·ligència, esporàdics de la cultura, formiguetes del nen de l'edició, bibliotecaris o periodistes per encàrrec mal pagats i mal considerats. De tota manera, són gent massa instruïda per a les professions disponibles al mercat. Per a aquests amargats eterns, qualsevol reunió d'empresa és una tortura, 'enfilar un projecte' una càrrega insuportable, una reunió d'avaluació amb un manàger és el xoc entre dos mons. Aquests desclassats són nombrosos, però condemnats a l'extinció, perquè els joves cada cop llegeixen menys, sobre tot els que han tingut formacions 'prestigioses' en grans universitats o en altres centres.

M'havia ensenyat tot el que ara sabia sobre els crancs de riu, els petons, el vi rosat i la poesia. M'havia transformat. Em vaig encendre un cigarret i vaig escopir al rierol. —No em pots transformar i després anar-te'n —li vaig dir en veu alta—, perquè jo ja estava bé abans, Alaska. Ja estava bé, amb les últimes paraules, i els amics de l'escola… No em pots transformar i després morir-te. Ella havia encarnat el Gran Potser: m'havia demostrat que valia la pena deixar enrere una vida mediocre a la recerca de potsers més rellevants, i ara se n'havia anat i s'havia endut la meva fe en els potsers. Podria respondre a tot el que el Coronel fes i digués amb un «molt bé», podria intentar fer veure que tot m'era igual, però això mai no tornaria a ser cert. «No pots convertir-te en algú tan important per a mi i després morir-te, Alaska, perquè ara ja sóc irreversiblement diferent, i em sap greu haver-te deixat marxar, sí, però vas ser tu qui va prendre aquella decisió. Em vas deixar mancat de potsers, atrapat al bell mig del teu maleït laberint. I ara ja no sé si realment vas escollir sortir-ne de pressa i sense pensar; no sé si em vas abandonar expressament. Mai no et vaig conèixer, oi? No puc recordar res perquè mai no ho vaig saber».

A shudder went through me at the thought of what I should still learn in this hour. How awry, altered and distorted everything and everyone was in these mirrors, how mockingly and unattainably did the face of truth hide itself behind all these reports, counter-reports and legends! What was still truth? What was still credible? And what would remain when I also learned about myself, about my own character and history from the knowledge stored in these archives? I must be prepared for anything. Suddenly I could bear the uncertainty and suspense no longer. I hastened to the section Chattorum res gestas, looked for my sub-division and number and stood in front of the part marked with my name. This was a niche, and when I drew the thin curtains aside I saw that it contained nothing written. It contained nothing but a figure, an old and worn-looking model made from wood or wax, in pale colours. It appeared to be a kind of deity or barbaric idol. At first glance it was entirely incomprehensible to me. It was a figure that really consisted of two; it had a common back. I stared at it for a while, disappointed and surprised. Then I noticed a candle in a metal candlestick fixed to the wall of the niche. A match-box lay there. I lit the candle and the strange double figure was now brightly illuminated. Only slowly did it dawn upon me. Only slowly and gradually did I begin to suspect and then perceive what it was intended to represent. It represented a figure which was myself, and this likeness of myself was unpleasantly weak and half-real; it had blurred features, and in its whole expression there was something unstable, weak, dying or wishing to die, and looked rather like a piece of sculpture which could be called "Transitoriness" or "Decay," or something similar. On the other hand, the other figure which was joined to mine to make one, was strong in colour and form, and just as I began to realise whom it resembled, namely, the servant and President Leo, I discovered a second candle in the wall and lit this also. I now saw the double figure representing Leo and myself, not only becoming clearer and each image more alike, but I also saw that the surface of the figures was transparent and that one could look inside as one can look through the glass of a bottle or vase. Inside the figures I saw something moving, slowly, extremely slowly, in the same way that a snake moves which has fallen asleep. Something was taking place there, something like a very slow, smooth but continuous flowing or melting; indeed, something melted or poured across from my image to that of Leo's. I perceived that my image was in the process of adding to and flowing into Leo's, nourishing and strengthening it. It seemed that, in time, all the substance from one image would flow into the other and only one would remain: Leo. He must grow, I must disappear. As I stood there and looked and tried to understand what I saw, I recalled a short conversation that I had once had with Leo during the festive days at Bremgarten. We had talked about the creations of poetry being more vivid and real than the poets themselves. The candles burned low and went out. I was overcome by an infinite weariness and desire to sleep, and I turned away to find a place where I could lie down and sleep.

Kakor v odgovor na to novo stvarnost je Gabriele govoril o demokraticnosti in o dobrem sozitju v nasi obmorski dezeli, in pritem so njegove oci begale od mene k dolgim rezancem na mizi, pa spet k meni, kakor da dvomijo, ce bom verjel novim besedam. In priznam, da se mi je, ko sem ga poslusal, njegovo razodetje zdelo cudno, in res sem pomislil, da ima za tiste izraze o bratstvu najbrz poglavitno zaslugo neponovljivo okolje, v katerem so bili izreceni; ker v dokoncni enakosti v gladu in pepelu res ni bilo mogoce se misliti na trmo o dozdevnih prednostih in razlockih. Prav zato pa se mi je zdelo neumestno, da mi po toliko letih skupnega bivanja na istih ulicah in na istem obrezju somescan, pripadnik italijanske elite, prvic govori v cloveskem jeziku prav tukaj, kjer je bilo vse clovesko postavljeno na tehtnico; in ceprav sem se zavedal, da je nespremenljiva enakost obsojenih teles odrinila stran vse zapreke, sem se vendar upiral misli, naj bi skupni strah pred pecjo botroval pri spocetju novega bratstva. Strah je bil namrec substanca nase skupnosti ves cas, od konca prve svetovne vojske, od tistih dni, ko so knjige s polic nasih knjiznic stresli pred Verdijev spomenik in se radovali zubljev, ki so jih pozirali. In potem je bil strah nas vsakdanji kruh, ko so postajali pogorisca nasi odri v predmestjih, ko je fasist streljal celo na slovenskega pridigarja v templju ob Kanalu, ko je vaski jeticni ucitelj s svojo slino kaznoval ustnice dekletca, ki se je predrznilo spregovoriti v rodnem jeziku. Ali ni bil ob vsej tej preteklosti zakasnel vznik prijateljske besede v krematorijskem svetu? Ali se ti trzaski italijanski clovek pribliza samó takrat, ko preti tudi njemu unicenje?