Unbearable Lightness Of Being Quotes

When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object.

Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.

Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.

for there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.

But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak had to be strong enough to leave.

In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine.

A person who longs to leave the place where he lives is an unhappy person.

Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman).

There is no perfection only life

He suddenly recalled from Plato's Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split then in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another. Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.

A single metaphor can give birth to love.

she loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago. It differentiated her from others.

And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.

I want you to be weak. As weak as I am.

loves are like empires: when the idea they are founded on crumbles, they, too, fade away.

And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself?

The only relationship that can make both partners happy is one in which sentimentality has no place and neither partner makes any claim on the life and freedom of the other.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful ... Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

Flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse without a guarantee.

She had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women. Don't let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong! But they were words she could not say. The only thing she said when he released her from his embrace was, "You don't know how happy I am to be with you." That was the most her reserved nature allowed her to express.

The goals we pursue are always veiled. A girl who longs for marriage longs for something she knows nothing about. The boy who hankers after fame has no idea what fame is. The thing that gives our every move its meaning is always totally unknown to us.

Physical love is unthinkable without violence.

The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?

Chance and chance alone has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute. Only chance can speak to us.

Why don't you ever use your strength on me?" she said. Because love means renouncing strength," said Franz softly.

Dogs do not have many advantages over people, but one of them is extremely important: euthanasia is not forbidden by law in their case; animals have the right to a merciful death.

There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, "sketch" is not quite a word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.

Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all.

When we want to give expression to a dramatic situation in our lives, we tend to use metaphors of heaviness. We say that something has become a great burden to us. We either bear the burden or fail and go down with it, we struggle with it, win or lose. And Sabina - what had come over her? Nothing. She had left a man because she felt like leaving him. Had he persecuted her? Had he tried to take revenge on her? No. Her drama was a drama not of heaviness but of lightness. What fell to her lot was not the burden, but the unbearable lightness of being.

On the surface, an intelligible lie; underneath, the unintelligible truth.

Sometimes you make up your mind about something without knowing why, and your decision persists by the power of inertia. Every year it gets harder to change.

Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company.

Love is a battle," said Marie-Claude, still smiling. "And I plan to go on fighting. To the end." Love is a battle?" said Franz. "Well, I don't feel at all like fighting." And he left.

Tomas did not realize at the time that metaphors are dangerous. Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love.

Human life occurs only once, and the reason we cannot determine which of our decisions are good and which bad is that in a given situation we can make only one decision; we are not granted a second, third, or fourth life in which to compare various decisions.

True human goodness, in all its purity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power. Mankind's true moral test, its fundamental test (which is deeply buried from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals.

To rebel against being born a woman seemed as foolish to her as to take pride in it.

Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty even in times of greatest distress.

Indeed, the only truly serious questions are ones that even a child can formulate. Only the most naive of questions are truly serious. They are the questions with no answers. A question with no answer is a barrier that cannot be breached. In other words, it is questions with no answers that set the limit of human possibilities, describe the boundaries of human existence.

Does he love me? Does he love anyone more than me? Does he love me more than I love him? Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company.

But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?

I have no mission. No one has.

For Sabina, living in truth, lying neither to ourselves nor to others, was possible only away from the public: the moment someone keeps an eye on what we do, we involuntarily make allowances for that eye, and nothing we do is truthful. Having a public, keeping a public in mind, means living in lies.

Tereza knew what happens during the moment love is born: the woman cannot resist the voice calling forth her terrified soul; the man cannot resist the woman whose soul thus responds to his voice.

Only the most naive of questions are truly serious.

Being in a foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known from childhood.

True nobility isn't about being better than anyone else; it's about being better than you used to be.

The longing for Paradise is man's longing not to be man.

الحب يبدأ في اللحظة التي تسجل فيها امرأة دخولها في ذاكرتنا الشعرية من خلال عبارة.

The moment someone keeps an eye on what we do, we involuntarily make allowances for that eye, and nothing we do is truthful. Having a public, keeping a public in mind, means living in lies…

الإنسان ينسج حياته على غير علم منه وفقاً لقوانين الجمال حتى في لحظات اليأس الأكثر قتامة

Once her love had been publicized, it would gain weight, become a burden.

The very beginning of Genesis tells us that God created man in order to give him dominion over fish and fowl and all creatures. Of course, Genesis was written by a man, not a horse. There is no certainty that God actually did grant man dominion over other creatures. What seems more likely, in fact, is that man invented God to sanctify the dominion that he had usurped for himself over the cow and the horse.

A question with no answer is a barrier that cannot be breached. In other words, it is questions with no answers that set the limits of human possibilities, describe the boundaries of human existence.

إن ألمنا الشخصي ليس بأثقل من الألم الذي نعانيه مع الآخر ومن أجل الآخر وفي مكان آخر؛ ألم يضاعفه الخيال وترجّعه مئات الأصداء.

In Tereza's eyes, books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood

Yes, if you're looking for infinity, just close your eyes!

We all reject out of hand the idea that the love of our life may be something light or weightless; we presume our love is what must be, that without it our life would no longer be the same; we feel that Beethoven himself, gloomy and awe-inspiring, is playing the “Es muss sein!” to our own great love.

She was experiencing the same odd happiness and odd sadness as then. The sadness meant: We are at the last station. The happiness meant: We are together. The sadness was form, the happiness content. Happiness filled the space of sadness.

Culture is perishing in overproduction, in an avalanche of words, in the madness of quantity.

A man who loses his privacy loses everything. And a man who gives it up of his own free will is a monster.

الحياة الإنسانية لا تحدث إلا مرة واحدة، ولن يكون في وسعنا أبدا أن نتحقق أي قرار هو الجيد وأي قرار هو السيئ، لأننا في كل الحالات لا يُمكننا إلا أن نقرر مرة واحدة. لأنه لم تعط لنا حياة ثانية أو ثالثة أو رابعة حتى نستطيع أن نقارن بين قرارات مختلفة.

إن مضاجعة امرأة والنوم معها رغبتان ليستا مختلفتين فحسب بل متناقضتين أيضا. فالحب لا يتجلى بالرغبة فى ممارسة الجنس (وهذه الرغبة تنطبق على جملة لا تحصى من النساء)ولكن بالرغبة فى النوم المشترك(وهذه الرغبة لا تخص إلا امرأة واحدة

It was vertigo. A heady, insuperable longing to fall. We might also call vertigo the intoxication of the weak. Aware of his weakness, a man decides to give in rather than stand up to it. He is drunk with weakness, wishes to grow even weaker, wishes to fall down in the middle of the main square in front of everybody, wishes to be down, lower than down." -Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, p. 76

The novel is not the author's confession; it is an investigation of human life in the trap the world has become

We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under . . . The fourth category, the rarest, is the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers.

Looking out over the courtyard at the dirty walls, he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love.

She loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It differentiated her from the others

We can never establish with certainty what part of our relations with others is the result of our emotions - love, antipathy, charity, or malice - and what part is predetermined by the constant power play among individuals.

Our dreams prove that to imagine - to dream about things that have not happened - is among mankind's deepest needs.

Yes, it was too late, and Sabina knew she would leave Paris, move on, and on again, because were she to die here they would cover her up with a stone, and in the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

فشعر عندها فجأة برغبة غامضة لا تقاوم في سماع موسيقى هائلة، في سماع ضجيج مطلق وصخب جميل وفرح يكتنف كل شيء ويُغرق ويخنق كل شيء، فيختفي إلى الأبد الألم والغرور وتفاهة الكلمات.

الحب هو تلك الرغبة في إيجاد النصف الآخر المفقود من أنفسنا.

We might also call vertigo the intoxication of the weak. Aware of his weakness, a man decides to give in rather than stand up to it. He is drunk with weakness, wishes to grow even weaker, wishes to fall down in the middle of the main square in front of everybody, wishes to be down, lower than down.

إن ألمنا الشخصي ليس أثقل من الألم الذي نعانيه مع الآخر و من أجل الآخر و في مكان الآخر،ألم يضاعفه الخيال و ترجعه مئات الأصداء

Before we are forgotten, we will be turned into kitsch. Kitsch is the stopover between being and oblivion.

There's a fine line between being private and being ashamed.

الوقت الإنساني لا يسير في شكل دائري بل يتقدم في خط مستقيم. من هنا، لا يمكن للإنسان أن يكون سعيداً لأن السعادة رغبة في التكرار.

Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman).

من الأفكار ما يشبه جريمة اعتداء

كانت تشعر برغبة جامحة لأن تقول له كما تقول أتفه النساء: «لا تتركني، احتفظ بي إلى جوارك، استعبدني، كن قوياً». ولكنها لا تستطيع ولا تعرف أن تتلفظ بمثل هذه الكلمات.

The river flowed from century to century, and human affairs play themselves out on its banks. Play themselves out to be forgotten the next day, while the river flows on.

Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out is mute. Only chance can speak to us. We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup.

الحياة الانسانية لاتحدث إلا مرة واحدة ، ولن يكون في وسعنا أبدا أن نتحقق أي قرار هو الجيد وأي قرار هو السيء، لأننا في كل الحالات لا يمكننا إلا أن نقرر مرة واحدة .. لأنه لم تعط لنا حياة ثانية أو ثالثة أو رابعة حتى نستطيع أن نقارن بين قرارات مختلفة .

Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says: How nice to see children running on the grass! The second tear says: How nice to be moved, together with all mankind, by children running on the grass!

The dichotomy between lightness and weightiness in life resonates with many aspects of human existence. By shedding tangible and intangible burdens, we can achieve freedom and peace of mind. ("The unbearable heaviness of being")

Lightness and weightiness are both linked to a philosophy of life. They are choices in life. Heaviness can be the embodiment of a sense of responsibility, the expression of maturity, the result of profound meditation or the emanation of a search for meaning in life. Weightiness, however, may also lead to a feeling of oppression, when it is felt as a burden, an unbearable burden. Then time has come to let loose and things can finally lose their gravity. ( "The unbearable heaviness of being" )

If I had two lives, in one life I could invite her to stay at my place, and in the second life I could kick her out. Then I could compare and see which had been the best thing to do. But we only live once. Life's so light. Like an outline we can't ever fill in or correct... make any better. It's frightening".

Dreaming is not merely an act of communication (or coded communication, if you like); it is also an aesthetic activity, a game of the imagination, a game that is a value in itself. Our dreams prove that to imagine--to dream about things that have not happened--is among mankind's deepest needs. Herein lies the danger. If dreams were not beautiful, they would be quickly forgotten.

Another image comes to mind: Nietzsche leaving his hotel in Turin. Seeing a horse and a coachman beating it with a whip, Nietzsche went up to the horse and, before the coachman’s very eyes, put his arms around the horse’s neck and burst into tears. That took place in 1889, when Nietzsche, too, had removed himself from the world of people. In other words, it was at the time when his mental illness had just erupted. But for that very reason I feel his gesture has broad implications: Nietzsche was trying to apologize to the horse of Descartes. His lunacy (that is, his final break with mankind) began at the very moment he burst into tears over the horse.

Anyone who thinks that the Communist regimes of Central Europe are exclusively the work of criminals is overlooking a basic truth: The criminal regimes were made not by criminals but by enthusiasts convinced they had discovered the only road to paradise. They defended that road so valiantly that they were forced to execute many people. Later it became clear that there was no paradise, that the enthusiasts were therefore murderers.

But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid? The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously the image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?

It is completely selfless love: Tereza did not want anything of Karenin; She did not ever ask him to love her back. Nor has she ever asked herself the questions that plague human couples: Does he love me? Does he love anybody more than me? Does he love me more than I love him? Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company.

Tereza's mother never stopped reminding her that being a mother meant sacrificing everything. Her words had the ring of truth, backed as they were by the experience of a woman who had lost everything because of her child. Tereza would listen and believe that being a mother was the highest value in life and that being a mother was a great sacrifice. If a mother was Sacrifice personified, then a daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress.

All languages that derive from Latin form the word "compassion" by combining the prefix meaning "with" (com-) and the root meaning "suffering" (Late Latin, passio). In other languages, Czech, Polish, German, and Swedish, for instance - this word is translated by a noun formed of an equivalent prefix combined with the word that means "feeling". In languages that derive from Latin, "compassion" means: we cannot look on coolly as others suffer; or, we sympathize with those who suffer. Another word with approximately the same meaning, "pity", connotes a certain condescension towards the sufferer. "To take pity on a woman" means that we are better off than she, that we stoop to her level, lower ourselves. That is why the word "compassion" generally inspires suspicion; it designates what is considered an inferior, second-rate sentiment that has little to do with love. To love someone out of compassion means not really to love.

But deep down she said to herself, Franz maybe strong, but his strength is directed outward; when it comes to the people he lives with, the people he's loves, he's weak. Franz's weakness is called goodness. Franz would never give Sabina orders. He would never command her, as Tomas had, to lay the mirror on the floor and walk back and forth on it naked. Not that he lacks sensuality; he simply lacks the strength to give orders. There are things that can be accomplished only by violence. Physical love is unthinkable without violence.

الموسيقى بالنسبة لفرانز هي الفن الأكثر قرباً من الجمال الديونيسي الذي يقدّس النشوة. يمكن لرواية أو للوحة أن تدوّخنا ولكن بصعوبة. أما مع السمفونية التاسعة لبيتهوڤن، أو مع السوناتة المؤلفة من آلتيْ بيانو وآلات النقر لبارتوك، أو مع أغنية للبيتلز، فإن النشوة تعترينا. من جهة أخرى فإن فرانز لا يفرّق بين الموسيقى العظيمة والموسيقى الخفيفة. فهذا التفريق يبدو له خبيثاً وبالياً، فهو يحب موسيقى الروك وموزار على حد سواء. الموسيقى بالنسبة له محرّرة: إذ تحرره من الوحدة والانعزال ومن غبار المكتبات. وتفتح في داخل جسده أبواباً لتخرج النفس وتتآخى مع الآخرين. كما أنه يحب الرقص إلى جانب ذلك ويشعر بالأسى لأن سابينا لا تشاركه هذا الولع.

Beauty in the European sense has always had a premeditated quality to it. We've always had an aesthetic intention and a long-range plan. That's what enabled western man to spend decades building a Gothic cathedral or a Renaissance piazza. The beauty of New York rests on a completely different base. It's unintentional. It arose independent of human designt, like a stalagmitic cavern. Forms which in themselves quite ugly turn up fortuitously, without design, in such incredible surroundings that they sparkle with with a sudden wondrous poetry...Sabina was very much attracted by the alien quality of New York's beauty. Fran found it intriguing but frightening; it made him feel homesick for Europe.

Noise has one advantage. It drowns out words. And suddenly he realized that all his life he had done nothing but talk, write, lecture, concoct sentences, search for formulations and amend them, so in the end no words were precise, their meanings were obliterated, their content lost, they turned into trash, chaff dust, sand; prowling through his brain, tearing at his head. they were his insomnia, his illness. And what he yearned for at that moment, vaguely, but with all his might, was unbounded music, absolute sound, a pleasant and happy all-encompassing, over-poering, window-rattling din to engulf, once and for all, the pain, the futility, the vanity of words. Music was the negation of sentences, music was the anti-word!

العَود الأبدي، فكرة يكتنفها الغموض وبها أربك نيتشه الكثيرين من الفلاسفة: أن نتصور أن كل شئ سيتكرر ذات يوم كما عشناه في السابق، وأن هذا التكرار بالذات سيتكرر بلا نهاية! ماذا تعني هذه الخرافة المجنونة؟ ==================== تؤكد خرافة العَود الأبدي، سلبا، أن الحياة التي تختفي نهائياً، والتي لا ترجع إنما هي أشبه بظل ودون وزن وميتة سلفاً، ومهما تكن هذه الحياة فظيعة أو جميلة او رائعة فإن هذه الفظاعة وهذا الجمال وهذه الروعة لا تعني شيئاً، هي غير ذات أهمية مثل حرب وقعت بين مملكتين افريقيتين فما غيرت شيئاً في وجه التاريخ، مع أن ثلاثمائة ألف زنجي لاقوا فيها حتفهم وفي عذابات تفوق الوصف، فهل كان سيغير شئ لو أن هذه الحرب بين المملكتين الافريقيتين في القرن الرابع عشر قد تكررت مرات لا حصر لها في سياق العود الأبدي؟ ==================== لو قُدر للثورةالفرنسية أن تتكرر باستمرار، لكان المؤرخون الفرنسيون أقل فخراً بروبسبير. ولكن، بما أنهم يتحدثون عن شئ لن يرجع ثانية، فإن السنوات الدامية تصير مجرد كلمات ونظريات ومجادلات، تصير أكثر خفة من الوبر ولا تعود مخيفة. هنالك فرق شاسع بين روبسبير الذي لم يظهر سوى مرة في التاريخ وروبسبير الذي يعود بشكل دائم ليقطع رؤوس الفرنسيين. ==================== كل شئ في هذا العالم مغتفر سلفاً وكل شئ مسموح به بوقاحة. ==================== كلما كان الحمل ثقيلا، كانت حياتنا أقرب الى الأرض، وكانت واقعية أكثر وحقيقة أكثر. وبالمقابل، فإن الكائن الإنساني عند الغياب التام للحمل يصير أكثر خفة من الهواء، محلقاً بعيداً عن الأرض وعن الكائن الأرضي. يصير شبه واقعي وتصبح حركاته حرة قدر ما هي تافهه. ==================== إن ألمنا بالذات ليس بأثقل من الألم الذي نعانيه مع الآخر ومن أجل الآخر وفي مكان الآخر. ==================== أليس من ذلك بد؟ ليس من ذلك بد. ==================== مرة ليست في الحسبان، مرة هي أبداً ==================== كانت تحب أن تتنزه وهي تتأبط كتباً، كانت تميزها عن الآخرين مثلما كانت العصا تميز المتأنق في القرن الفائت ==================== افلا تقاس أهمية حدث، وكثرة معانيه بارتباطه بأكبر عدد ممكن من الصدف ==================== وحدها الصدفة يمكن أن تكون ذات مغزىـ فما يحدث بالضرورة، ما هو متوقع ويتكرر يومياً يبقى شيئاً أبكم، وحدها الصدفة ناطقة، نسعى لأن نقرأ فيها كما يقرأ الغجريون في الرسوم التي يخطها ثقل القهوة في مقر الفنجان ==================== من يبغي الارتقاء باستمرار عليه أن يستعد يوما للاصابة بالدوار ==================== أن تكون سابينا امرأة فهذا وضع لم تختره بنفسها، وما هو ليس ناتجاً عن اختيار لا يمكن اعتباره لا استحقاقا ولا فشلا، وسابينا تفكر أنه يفترض بنا حيال وضع فرض علينا ان نتصرف بطريقة مناسبة كما ويبدو لها أيضا أن احتجاجها على كونها امرأة أو الاعتزاز بذلك أمران سخيفان بالقدر ذاته. ==================== الخيانة، منذ طفولتنا والوالد ومعلم المدرسة يكرران على مسامعنا بانها افظع شئ في الوجود ولكن ما معنى أن نخون؟ أن نخون هو أن نخرج عن الصف لنسير في المجهول، وسابينا لم تعرف ما هو اجمل من السير في المجهول. ==================== هناك كتب للنهار، وكتب أخرى لا يمكن قراءتا الا في الليل. ==================== يمكن لنا أن نخون أهلاً وزوجاً ووطناً، ولكن ما الذي يتبقى حين لا يعود هناك أهل لنخونهم أو زوج أو حب أو وطن؟ ==================== اذا كنا نقفل القبر بحجر فهذا لإننا لا نرغب في رجوع الميت الحجر الثقيل يقول له" ابق حيث أنت. ==================== وحدها الأسئلة الساذجة هي الأسئلة الهامة فعلاً، تلك الأسئلة التي تبقى دون جواب، إن سؤالاً دون جواب حاجز لا طرقات بعده، وبطريقة أخرى/ الأسئلة التي تبقى دون جواب هي التي تشير الى حدود الامكانات الانسانية وهي التي ترسم حدود وجودنا ==================== لكي نتحاشى العذاب نلجأ في أكثر الأحيان الى المستقبل، فنتصور أن ثمة فاصلاً ما على حلبة الزمن يتوقف بعد العذاب الحالي عن أن يكون موجوداً. ==================== السؤال الأساسي ليس: هل كانوا عارفين؟ بل: هل هم أبرياء لأنهم غير عارفين؟ إن غبياً جالساً على العرش، أهومنزه عن كل مسؤولية فقط لأنه غبي؟؟ ==================== الحياة الانسانية لا تحدث الا مرة واحدة، ولم يكون في وسعنا أبدا أن نتحقق أي قرار هو الجيد وأي قرار هو السئ، لأننا في كل الحالات لا يمكننا الا أن نقرر مرة واحدة لانه لم تعط لنا حياة ثانية أو ثالثة او رابعة حتى نستطيع أن نقارن بين قرارات مختلفة. ==================== التاريخ خفيف بقدر ما هي الحياة الانسانية خفيفة، خفيفة بشكل لا يطاق، خفيفة مثل الوبر، مثل غبار متطاير، مثل شئ سي