Stefan Zweig Chess Quotes

Besides, isn't it confoundedly easy to think you're a great man if you aren't burdened with the slightest idea that Rembrandt, Beethoven, Dante or Napoleon ever lived?

In chess, as a purely intellectual game, where randomness is excluded, - for someone to play against himself is absurd ... It is as paradoxical, as attempting to jump over his own shadow.

We are happy when people/things conform and unhappy when they don't. People and events don't disappoint us, our models of reality do. It is my model of reality that determines my happiness or disappointments.

For the more a man limits himself, the nearer he is on the other hand to what is limitless; it is precisely those who are apparently aloof from the world who build for themselves a remarkable and thoroughly individual world in miniature, using their own special equipment, termit-like.

People and events don't disappoint us, our models of reality do. It is my model of reality that determines my happiness or disappointments.

I hadn't had a book in my hands for four months, and the mere idea of a book where I could see words printed one after another, lines, pages, leaves, a book in which I could pursue new, different, fresh thoughts to divert me, could take them into my brain, had something both intoxicating and stupefying about it.

Yeryüzünde hiçbir şey insana hiçlik kadar baskı yapamaz

They did nothing—other than subjecting us to complete nothingness. For, as is well known, nothing on earth puts more pressure on the human mind than nothing.

The more one limits oneself, the closer one is to the infinite; these people, as unworldly as they seem, burrow like termites into their own particular material to construct, in miniature, a strange and utterly individual image of the world

For the more a man restricts himself the closer he is, conversely, to infinity.

Plus un esprit se limite, plus il touche par ailleurs à l'infini.

İnsan sabahtan akşama kadar bir şey olmasını bekler ve hiçbir şey olmaz. Bekleyip durur insan. Hiçbir şey olmaz. İnsan bekler, bekler, bekler, şakakları zonklayana dek düşünür, düşünür, düşünür. Hiçbir şey olmaz. İnsan yalnız kalır. Yalnız. Yalnız.

Bütün yontulmamış varlıklarda olduğu gibi onda da gülünç bir kendini beğenmişlik vardı.

Personally I take more satisfaction in understanding people than in passing judgement on them.

Moi qui pour mon malheur ai toujours eu une curiosité passionnée pour les choses de l'esprit...

But is it not already an insult to call chess anything so narrow as a game? Is it not also a science, an art, hovering between these categories like Muhammad's coffin between heaven and earth, a unique yoking of opposites, ancient and yet eternally new, mechanically constituted and yet an activity of the imagination alone, limited to a fixed geometric area but unlimited in its permutations, constantly evolving and yet sterile, a cogitation producing nothing, a mathematics calculating nothing, an art without an artwork, an architecture without substance and yet demonstrably more durable in its essence and actual form than all books and works, the only game that belongs to all peoples and all eras, while no one knows what god put it on earth to deaden boredom, sharpen the mind, and fortify the spirit?

Yapacak, duyacak, görecek hiçbir şey yoktu, her yerde ve sürekli hiçlikle çevriliydi insan, boyuttan ve zamandan tümüyle yoksun, boşlukta.

Nothing on earth exerts such pressure on the human soul as a void.

All my life I have been passionately interested in monomaniacs of any kind, people carried away by a single idea. The more one limits oneself, the closer one is to the infinite; these people, as unworldly as they seem, burrow like termites into their own particular material to construct, in miniature, a strange and utterly individual image of the world.

playing chess against oneself is thus as paradoxical as jumping over one’s own shadow.

Nothing was done to us - we were simply placed in a complete void, and everyone knows that nothing on earth exerts such pressure on the human soul as a void.

That's it. Evasion is key.

Bize hiçbir şey yapılmadı, yalnızca tam bir hiçliğin içine koyulduk, çünkü bilindiği gibi dünyada hiçbir şey insan ruhunu hiçlik kadar baskı altına alamaz.

As is the case with all those of a tenacious nature, he lacked any sense of the ridiculous;

Aber wie sollte ein so rascher Ruhm nicht einen so leeren Kopf beduseln? (...) Und dann, ist es nicht eigentlich verflucht leicht, sich für einen großen Menschen zu halten, wenn man nicht mit der leisesten Ahnung belastet ist, daß ein Rembrandt, ein Beethoven, ein Dante, ein Napoleon je gelebt haben?

Sabit fikirli, kafasını tek bir düşünceye takmış her türlü insan, yaşamım boyunca beni çekmiştir, çünkü bir insan kendini ne kadar sınırlarsa, öte yandan sonsuza o kadar yakın olur; işte böyle görünüşte dünyadan kopuk yaşayanlar, özel yapıları içinde karınca gibi, dünyanın tuhaf ve eşi benzeri olmayan bir maketini kurarlar.

Monomaniacs of any kind, those people fixated by a single idea, have been a source of fascination for me my whole life, for the more a man limits his field of vision, the closer he is, conversely, to the infinite; those very people who seem so remote from the world construct with their own unique material, termite-like, a remarkable and completely unique shorthand for the world itself.

[... ] la sola idea de un libro con palabras alineadas, renglones, páginas y hojas, la sola idea de un libro en el que leer, perseguir y capturar pensamientos nuevos, frescos, diferentes de los míos, pensamientos para distraerse y para atesorarlos en mi cerebro, esa sola idea era capaz de embriagarme y también de serenarme.

In earlier times, when there was a rage for physiognomy, a Gall might have dissected the brains of such chess champions to determine whether there was a special convolution in their gray matter, a kind of chess muscle or chess bump more strongly marked than in the skulls of others. And how excited such a physiognomist would

Conocía desde luego, por propia experiencia, el misterioso poder de atracción del «juego de reyes», de ese juego entre los juegos, el único entre los ideados por el hombre que escapa soberanamente a cualquier tiranía del azar, y otorga los laureles de la victoria exclusivamente al espíritu o, mejor aún, a una forma muy característica de agudeza mental.

But what good was this theoretical rubbish?

; setting out to play against oneself in chess represents therefore the same sort of paradox as a man jumping over his own shadow.

And, actually, isn’t it damn easy to think you’re a great man if you aren’t troubled by the slightest notion that a Rembrandt, Beethoven, Dante, or Napoleon ever existed?

Diletante en el más bello sentido de la palabra, al que en el juego sólo en el juego, el diletto, le causa alegría.

...arkadaşlarına yazdığı bir mektupta, Sizler yeni bir gün doğumunu bekleyebilirsiniz, benim buna gücüm kalmadı...

Nothing was done to us - we were simply placed in a complete void, and everyone knows that nothing on earth exerts such pressure on the humans soul as a void.

آیا ساده نیست که خود را آدم مهمی بدانی وقتی سر‌سوزنی به تو تحمیل نشده باشد که افرادی مثل رامبراند، بتهوون، دانته یا ناپلئون هرگز زیسته‌اند؟

از آن‌جا که ذره‌ای از ارزش‌های دیگری به غیر از شطرنج و پول خبر ندارد، او تمام دلایل لازم برای این که از خودش راضی باشد را دارد

انسان خردمندی که دایما تمام نیروی ذهن خود را صرف کار مسخره راندن یک شاه چوبی به لبه یک صفحه چوبی می‌کند و تازه این کار را بدون آن که دیوانه شود انجام می‌دهد.

Yeryüzünde hiçbir şey hiçlik kadar insan ruhuna baskı yapamaz.

chess is a game of pure thought involving no element of chance,

Les monomaniques de tout poil, les gens qui sont possédés par une seule idée m’ont toujours spécialement intrigué, car plus un esprit se limite, plus il touche par ailleurs à l’infini.

Y, además, ¿no es acaso lo más fácil del mundo considerarse un gran hombre cuando no se tiene ni la menor idea de que hayan existido alguna vez un Rembrandt, un Beethoven, un Dante, un Napoleón?

There was nothing here to distract me from my thoughts, my delusions, my morbid recapitulations.And that was exactly what they intended – I was to retch and retch on my own thoughts until they choked me.

Sabahtan geceye kadar bir şeyler beklenir, ancak hiçbir şey olmaz. Beklenir durulur. Hiçbir şey olmaz. Beklenir, beklenir, beklenir; düşünülür, düşünülür, şakaklar ağrıyana kadar düşünülür. Hiçbir şey olmaz. Yalnız kalınır. Yalnız... Yalnız...

Er trat ruhig und gelassen auf den Tisch zu. Ohne sich vorzustellen - >Ihr wißt, wer ich bin, und wer ihr seid, interessiert mich nicht<, schien diese Unhöflichkeit zu besagen -, begann er mit fachmännischer Trockenheit die sachlichen Anordnungen.

The strikingly broad, almost athletically powerful shoulders unfortunately reflected the character of his playing too, for this Mr. McConnor was one of those self-obsessed big wheels who feel personally diminished by a defeat in even the most trivial game.

من به تجربه خودم از جذابیت های بازی شاهانه مطلع بودم، تنها بازی ساخت دست بشر که به طرز چشمگیری از جور و جفای بخت و اقبال می‌رهد و تاج پیروزی را تنها به ذهن، یا یک نوع خاص از استعداد‌های ذهنی اعطا می‌کند. آیا ما با توهین‌مان به خاطر بازی شمردن شطرنج گناهکار نیستیم؟

Nuestro amigo le salió enseguida al encuentro con el peón de su rey, pero Czentovic volvió a hacer una pausa sin fin, casi insoportable; era como cuando cae un rayo terrible y uno espera con el corazón palpitante que llegue el trueno, y el trueno no acaba nunca de llegar.

¿Cómo no iban a apodersarse los deliriros de grandeza de un campesino del Banato si de pronto, a los veintiún años, con sólo mover unas figuritas sobre un tablero de madera, ganaba más en una semana que su pueblo entero en todo un año de talar bosques y realizar las tareas más duras?

Hem çok eski hem de yepyeni, düzeneği hem mekanik hem de hayal gücüne bağlı, hem sabit geometrik bir alanla sınırlı hem de bileşimleri sınırsız, hem sürekli gelişen hem de kısır, hiçbir şeye götürmeyen bir düşünme, hiçbir şeyi hesaplamayan bir matematik, yapıtları olmayan bir sanat, maddesi olmayan bir mimari, bununla birlikte varlığıyla bütün kitap ve yapıtlardan daha dayanıklı olduğu su götürmez, bütün halklara ve bütün zamanlara ait olan tek oyun; can sıkıntısının öldürmesi, zihni açması, ruhu canlandırması için HANGİ TANRI'NIN ONU YERYÜZÜNE GÖNDERDİĞİNİ KİMSE BİLMEZ.

کسانی که وسواس گونه خود را به یک ایده واحد مشغول می کنند زیرا هر‌چه انسان خود را بیشتر محدود سازد، به کمال مطلوبش نزدیک‌تر می‌شود و بلعکس. اشخاصی از این دست که به ظاهر از واقعیت زندگی جدا هستند همچون موریانه‌هایی هستند که از مصالح خود برای نسخه‌ای قابل‌توجه و کوچک‌شده از جهان استفاده می‌کنند

Mi sorpresa al darme cuenta de que aquellos empujoncitos a unas figuras de un tablero eran lo mismo que mis devaneos por los espacios del pensamiento podría compararse a la de un astrónomo que a fuerza de cálculos complicados sobre un papel deduce la existencia de un nuevo planeta, y después lo ve realmente en el cielo, un astro blanco, claro, sustancial.

And are we not guilty of offensive disparagement in calling chess a game? Is it not also a science and an art, hovering between those categories as Muhammad’s coffin hovered between heaven and earth, a unique link between pairs of opposites: ancient yet eternally new; mechanical in structure, yet made effective only by the imagination; limited to a geometrically fixed space, yet with unlimited combinations; constantly developing, yet sterile; thought that leads nowhere; mathematics calculating nothing; art without works of art; architecture without substance – but nonetheless shown to be more durable in its entity and existence than all books and works of art; the only game that belongs to all nations and all eras, although no one knows what god brought it down to earth to vanquish boredom, sharpen the senses and stretch the mind. Where does it begin and where does it end? Every child can learn its basic rules, every bungler can try his luck at it, yet within that immutable little square it is able to bring forth a particular species of masters who cannot be compared to anyone else, people with a gift solely designed for chess, geniuses in their specific field who unite vision, patience and technique in just the same proportions as do mathematicians, poets, musicians, but in different stratifications and combinations. In the old days of the enthusiasm for physiognomy, a physician like Gall might perhaps have dissected a chess champion’s brain to find out whether some particular twist or turn in the grey matter, a kind of chess muscle or chess bump, is more developed in such chess geniuses than in the skulls of other mortals. And how intrigued such a physiognomist would have been by the case of Czentovic, where that specific genius appeared in a setting of absolute intellectual lethargy, like a single vein of gold in a hundredweight of dull stone. In principle, I had always realized that such a unique, brilliant game must create its own matadors, but how difficult and indeed impossible it is to imagine the life of an intellectually active human being whose world is reduced entirely to the narrow one-way traffic between black and white, who seeks the triumphs of his life in the mere movement to and fro, forward and back of thirty-two chessmen, someone to whom a new opening, moving knight rather than pawn, is a great deed, and his little corner of immortality is tucked away in a book about chess – a human being, an intellectual human being who constantly bends the entire force of his mind on the ridiculous task of forcing a wooden king into the corner of a wooden board, and does it without going mad!

And so it came to pass that into the the rarefied elite of chess masters, whose ranks were filled by varied exemplars of intellectual superiority (philosophers, mathematicians, people of a methodical, an imaginative, often a creative disposition) someone completely outside the cerebral world penetrated for the first time: a cumbersome, monosyllabic country boy who could never be enticed even by the most wily journalist to utter a single word worth publishing.

Like all headstrong types, Czentovic had no sense of the ridiculous; ever since his triumph in the world tournament, he considered himself the most important man in the world, and the awareness that he had beaten all these clever, intellectual, brilliant speakers and writers on their own ground, and above all the evident fact that he made more money than they did, transformed his original lack of self-confidence into a cold pride that for the most part he did not trouble to hide.

Isn't it also a science, an art form, floating between those categories as the coffin of Mohammed betwixt heaven and earth, a one-off union of all opposing forces: ancient and yet forever new, technical in its layout and yet only operable through imagination, limited by a geometrically rigid space yet unlimited in its combinations, constantly evolving and yet lifeless, cogitation that leads to nothing, art without display, architecture without bricks and despite this, proven in its very being and existence to be more durable than all books and academic works; it is the only game that belongs to all races and all time, and nobody may know which heavenly power gave it to the world to slay boredom, sharpen the senses and capture the soul. Where is its beginning and where its end? Every child can grasp its basic principles, every dilettante can dabble at it, and yet it is capable within its fixed, tight square of producing a special species of master, bearing no comparison to others, people with a talent solely directed to chess, idiosyncratic geniuses in whom just as precise a proportion of vision, patience and technique is required as in a mathematician, a poet or a musician, merely in a different formula and combination.

По личному опыту мне было знакомо таинственное очарование «королевской игры», единственной из игр, изобретенных человеком, которая не зависит от прихоти случая и венчает лаврами только разум, или, вернее, особенную форму умственной одаренности. Но разве узкое определение «игра» не оскорбительно для шахмат? Однако это и не наука, и не искусство, вернее, нечто среднее, витающее между двумя этими понятиями, подобно тому как витает между небом и землей гроб Магомета. В этой игре сочетаются самые противоречивые понятия: она и древняя, и вечно новая; механическая в своей основе, но приносящая победу только тому, кто обладает фантазией; ограниченная тесным геометрическим пространством – и в то же время безграничная в своих комбинациях; непрерывно развивающаяся – и совершенно бесплодная; мысль без вывода, математика без результатов, искусство без произведений, архитектура без камня. И, однако, эта игра выдержала испытание временем лучше, чем все книги и творения людей, эта единственная игра, которая принадлежит всем народам и всем эпохам, и никому не известно имя божества, принесшего ее на землю, чтобы рассеивать скуку, изощрять ум, ободрять душу. Где начало ее и где конец? Ее простые правила может выучить любой ребенок, в ней пробует свои силы каждый любитель, и в то же время в ее неизменно тесных квадратах рождаются особенные, ни с кем не сравнимые мастера – люди, одаренные исключительно способностями шахматистов. Это особые гении, которым полет фантазии, настойчивость и мастерство точности свойственны не меньше, чем математикам, поэтам и композиторам, только в ином сочетании и с иной направленностью. В дни увлечения физиогномическими исследованиями какой-нибудь Галль[1] должен был бы в первую очередь исследовать головной мозг одного из гениальных шахматистов, чтобы установить, нет ли в сером веществе его мозга особой извилины, нет ли там какого-то особого шахматного нерва или шахматной шишки.

Bilindiği gibi yeryüzünde hiçbir şey insan ruhuna hiçlik kadar baskı yapmaz.

For, as is well known, nothing on earth puts more pressure on the human mind than nothing.

a book in which you could read, follow, take into your mind the new, different, diverting thoughts of another person.