Vii Quotes

Fléctere si néqueo súperos Acheronta movebo - If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell.

It is in the nature of the human being to seek a justification for his actions.

Who here wants to be a writer?' I asked. Everyone in the room raised his hand. 'Why the hell aren't you home writing?' I said, and left the stage.

We didn't love freedom enough.

I can't let the mistakes I've made bury me.

The bright dawn flooded the room, and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky corners, where they lay shuddering.

Nije li čudno što se ljudi tako rado bore za svoju vjeru, a tako nerado žive po njenim zakonima.

A BILL OF ASSERTIVE RIGHTS I: You have the right to judge your own behavior, thoughts, and emotions, and to take the responsibility for their initiation and consequences upon yourself. II: You have the right to offer no reasons or excuses for justifying your behavior. III: You have the right to judge if you are responsible for finding solutions to other people’s problems. IV: You have the right to change your mind. V: You have the right to make mistakes—and be responsible for them. VI: You have the right to say, “I don’t know.” VII: You have the right to be independent of the goodwill of others before coping with them. VIII: You have the right to be illogical in making decisions. IX: You have the right to say, “I don’t understand.” X: You have the right to say, “I don’t care.” YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY NO, WITHOUT FEELING GUILTY

Don't cry: it pathetic. Crying won't change anything. the world is never kind to anyone. -Ciel Phantomhive

Oamenii sunt îngeri cât trăiesc, îngeri cu o singură aripă. Toată viaţa nu fac altceva decât să-şi caute aripa pereche, acea parte lipsă care îi va ridica până la cer cât sunt încă vii. Şi ce greu e s-o găseşti!

Knowledge is power.

After all, the only thing that is going to save mankind is if enough people live their lives for something or someone other than themselves.

Ima vjerne vječne ljubavi, no samo za odabrane.

I am called a great swordsman because I invented a lethal style; but who is greater, the creator of a killing form—or the master of the classic form?" "I'm very flattered that you would consider me a master but really—" "Not a master. The master.

Zlo uvijek proždire samo sebe. Potrebno je samo strpljenja da se dočeka taj tren.

The greater the length, the more beautiful will the piece be by reason of its size, provided that the whole be perspicuous.” (VII)

So gorgeous was the spectacle on the May morning of 1910 when nine kings rode in the funeral of Edward VII of England that the crowd, waiting in hushed and black-clad awe, could not keep back gasps of admiration. In scarlet and blue and green and purple, three by three the sovereigns rode through the palace gates, with plumed helmets, gold braid, crimson sashes, and jeweled orders flashing in the sun. After them came five heirs apparent, forty more imperial or royal highnesses, seven queens - four dowager and three regnant - and a scattering of special ambassadors from uncrowned countries. Together they represented seventy nations in the greatest assemblage of royalty and rank ever gathered in one place and, of its kind, the last. The muffled tongue of Big Ben tolled nine by the clock as the cortege left the palace, but on history's clock it was sunset, and the sun of the old world was setting in a dying blaze of splendor never to be seen again.

Princess," he said, spreading his arms in a shrug, "how does such a little thing like you get such a big temper?" I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. "Marc Antony," I said, "how does such a big man like you have such a little brain?

Power is a poison well known for thousands of years. If only no one were ever to acquire material power over others! But to the human being who has faith in some force that holds dominion over all of us, and who is therefore conscious of his own limitations, power is not necessarily fatal. For those, however, who are unaware of any higher sphere, it is a deadly poison. For them there is no antidote.

Nu trebuie să dispreţuieşti noaptea.În umbra ei s-au zămislit cele mai de seamă fapte şi cuceriri ale minţii.Întunericul a dat cel mai mare preţ luminii.

Omul a rămas o fiinţă necunoscută oamenilor.

From Genesis to Revelation, holy text is all about relationships and the limitless flavors of those relationships. It is the duty of mankind to tap into our women's unique talents--their genius for 'relationships.' pg vii

I said to my mother, Henry VII is interesting. No he's not, my mother said.

Pero moje sanja, sanja o junacima pobjednicima tiranije, o bojovnicima ljudske sreće - o poštenjacima koji svoje uvjerenje ne daju ni za kruh, ni za zlato, ni za medalje - ni za što.

Let us put it generally: if a regime is immoral, its subjects are free from all obligations to it.

Ako služite dobru, morate biti spremni da će se zlo buniti. To je život. Utakmica dobra i zla, poštenja s nepoštenjem.

My friend wants to get moving and so do I,' Eddie said. 'We've got miles to go yet.' I know that. It's on your face, son. Like a scar.' Eddie was fascinated by the idea of duty and ka as something that left a mark, something that might look like decoration to one eye and disfigurement to another. Outside, thunder cracked and lightning flashed.

Cuvântul doare mai mult decât fapta, iar limba e mult mai ascuţită decât sabia.

Uvidio sam da je uludo žene upućivati na razbor, što ih više nastojiš dovesti k pameti, to pamet od njih brže uzmiče.

What a tremendous power one needs to become his own master!

Too many writers start with a good idea and carry it through the first chapters, then fall apart because they had no idea where the top of the mountain was in the first place.

Cuvântul doare mai mult decât fapta.

Nouă ne e penibil pînă şi să fim oameni, oameni cu trup şi sînge adevărat, propriu, ne e ruşine de asta, socotim acest lucru degradant şi tindem să fim habar n-am ce oameni — îndeobşte, ceva ce încă nu s-a pomenit. Sîntem născuţi morţi şi, de altminteri, de mult nu ne mai naştem din părinţi vii, lucru care ne place din ce în ce. Am prins gust. In curând vom născoci cumva şi naşterea nemijlocită din idee.

There should be painless progression, attended by life and peace....Mortals will some day assert their freedom in the name of Almighty God....Dropping their present beliefs, they will recognize harmony and as the spiritual reality and discord as the material unreality. Chapter VII pp. 224 and 228 Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures

Cartile bune nu sunt doar carti, adica bucati de hartie moarta, ci minti vii asezate pe rafturi.

-Zašto ne smijem govoriti o njoj? - Zato, jer su mi, kad na nju mislim, i najslađa usta - gadna.

Azi e ziua ta. Anii trecuți, filmam un clip pe care ți l-am trimis, un video în care îți spuneam cât îmi e de dor de tine și cât de mult aștept să vii. Doamne, Doamne le-a rânduit frumos, iar iarna asta, după 6 ani, te-am pupat și ți-am zis: Bă, te iubesc!

Pentru un mort, cea dintâi noapte în cimintir e ceva groaznic, înspăimântător. După asta se obişnuieşte încetul cu încetul.

IV. Congratulatory V. The Jackal VI. Hundreds of People VII. Monseigneur in Town VIII. Monseigneur in the Country

CHAPTER VII WHICH THE GENTEEL READER IS RECOMMENDED TO SKIP, LOW PERSONS BEING HERE INTRODUCED

VII From my village I see as much of the universe as can be seen from the earth, And so my village is as large as any town, For I am the size of what I see And not the size of my height . . . In the cities life is smaller Than here in my house on top of this hill. The big buildings of cities lock up the view, They hide the horizon, pulling our gaze far away from the open sky. They make us small, for they take away all the vastness our eyes can see, And they make us poor, for our only wealth is seeing.

Dobro srce katkad je čovjeku i narodu jedini neprijatelj.

Nema sudbine! Život zna samo tragediju ili lakrdiju, koju odigravamo sami sebi. Jedni dobro, drugi loše! A to zovemo srećom ili nesrećom.

Lako je filozofirati, ali srce se ne da obmanuti. Ono svakim svojim otkucajem traži odgovor na svoje pitanje.

The true hero in the Black Swan world is someone who prevents a calamity and, naturally, because the calamity did not take place, does not get recognition—or a bonus—for it. I will be taking the concept deeper in Book VII, on ethics, about the unfairness of a bonus system and how such unfairness is magnified by complexity.

Njihovi se pogledi susretoše i stopiše u jedno. U dodiru njihovih zjenica zadršće ljubav što u taj čas ne osjeti ni čeznuća, ni strasti, ni težnje ni želje - ljubav što se rodila u patnjama. Ni ruke im se nisu dodakle ni usta primakla. Samo se suze u njihovim očima nijemo zagrliše čistim zagrljajem. Ni jedno nije progovorilo. Kao da su oboje željeli da se taj trenutak vine u vječnost.

Dimineața suntem normali, după-amiaza cam tot așa, cu unele excepții, dar seara dorința de peste zi, fericirea și deliciile tuturor dăților precedente redevin vii și nu mai facem altceva decât să ne gândim unul la celălalt.

Vladar nema prijatelja, već samo udvarača i puzavaca koji njegovom milošću lihvare državu.

Popovi vele: svatko ima svog anđela čuvara, a ja velim: svatko ima svog vraga." Zagorka

Nesreća hoće da progoni mene, ali ja ću progoniti nju. Ustrajno, do posljednjeg daha. Borio sam se s njom da te steknem, utući ću je da te mogu zadržati." Siniša

Does surviving mean living on life, living on a dead life, living death all life long?

LAWS OF THE HOUSE OF GOD I Gomers don’t die. II Gomers go to ground. III At a cardiac arrest, the first procedure is to take your own pulse. IV The patient is the one with the disease. V Placement comes first. VI There is no body cavity that cannot be reached with a #14 needle and a good strong arm. VII Age + BUN = Lasix dose. VIII They can always hurt you more. IX The only good admission is a dead admission. X If you don’t take a temperature, you can’t find a fever. XI Show me a BMS who only triples my work and I will kiss his feet. XII If the radiology resident and the BMS both see a lesion on the chest X ray, there can be no lesion there. XIII The delivery of medical care is to do as much nothing as possible.

In the period of dictatorship, surrounded on all sides by enemies, we sometimes manifested unnecessary leniency and unnecessary softheartedness." Krylenko, speech at the Promparty trial

Any battle-seasoned general will tell you that, even in a small-scale engagement (as this one was), there always comes a point where coherence breaks down, and the narrative flow, and any real sense of how things are going. These matters are re-created by historians later on. The need to re-create the myth of coherence may be one of the reasons why history exists in the first place.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" I Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the blackbird. II I was of three minds, Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds. III The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime. IV A man and a woman Are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird Are one. V I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after. VI Icicles filled the long window With barbaric glass. The shadow of the blackbird Crossed it, to and fro. The mood Traced in the shadow An indecipherable cause. VII O thin men of Haddam, Why do you imagine golden birds? Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you? VIII I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know. IX When the blackbird flew out of sight, It marked the edge Of one of many circles. X At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply. XI He rode over Connecticut In a glass coach. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of his equipage For blackbirds. XII The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying. XIII It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.

Thus it was up to God, to Him alone in His own ways - by one or both, I say - to give man back his whole life and perfection. But since a deed done is more prized the more it manifests within itself the mark of the loving heart and goodness of the doer, the Everlasting Love, whose seal is plain on all the wax of the world was pleased to move in all His ways to raise you up again. There was not, nor will be, from the first day to the last night, an act so glorious and so magnificent, on either way. For God, in giving Himself that man might be able to raise himself, gave even more than if he had forgiven him in mercy. All other means would have been short, I say, of perfect justice, but that God's own Son humbled Himself to take on mortal clay. -Paradiso, Canto VII

Nije ni pokušao da se dalje bori. Nekoć toliko prkosan i ponosan u prezrenoj ljubavi, danas kad ima tu ženu za kojom je ginuo, izgubio je svu snagu nekadašnje gordosti.

E așa de trist ca o carte să moară aruncată la gunoi, fără să fi simțit mângâierea unor ochi.

La ce-ți folosesc atâtea cunoștințe dacă nu știi cum să-ți conduci inima?

And one day a great thing happened. Dov Landau smiled again.

Nu înţeleg să abdic de la imperativele conştiinţei mele, pentru a-mi asigura o carieră.

I especially treasured my glimpses of Mother, Queen Cleopatra VII. She sat on a golden throne, looking as resplendent as one of the giant marble statues guarding the tombs of the Old Ones. Diamonds twinkled in a jungle of black braids on her ceremonial wig. She wore a diadem with three rearing snakes and a golden broad collar, shining with lapis lazuli, carnelian, and emeralds, over her golden, form-fitting pleated gown. In one hand, she held a golden ankh of life, while the other clasped the striped crook and flail of her divine rulership. Her stillness radiated power, like a lioness pausing before the pounce. It left me breathless with awe.

We’ve taken everything from her, brother,” Maven murmurs, drawing close. “Surely we can give her this?” And then slowly, reluctantly, Cal nods and waves me into his room. Dizzy with excitement, I hurry inside, almost hopping from foot to foot. I’m going home. Maven lingers at the door, his smile fading a little when I leave his side. “You’re not coming.” It isn’t a question. He shakes his head. “You’ll have enough to worry about without me tagging along.” I don’t have to be a genius to see the truth in his words. But just because he isn’t coming doesn’t mean I will forget what he’s done for me already. Without thinking, I throw my arms around Maven. He doesn’t respond for a second, but slowly lets an arm drop around my shoulders. When I pull back, a silver blush paints his cheeks. I can feel my own blood run hot beneath my skin, pounding in my ears.

Nașterea mea n-a adus nici cel mai mic câștig universului. Moartea mea nu-i va micșora nici imensitatea, nici splendoarea. Nimeni n-a putut vreodată sa-mi explice de ce am venit, de ce voi pleca.

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No. It is immortal as immaculate Truth, 'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth, Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow, In barren regions, where no waters flow, Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom. A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb, That but itself and darkness nought doth show, It is my love's being yet it cannot die, Nor will it change, though all be changed beside; Though fairest beauty be no longer fair, Though vows be false, and faith itself deny, Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide, And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.

I cannot think why we should be astonished at all the evils which exist in the Church, when those who ought to be models on which all may pattern their virtues are annulling the work wrought in the religious Orders by the spirit of the saints of old.

Čovjek može uvijek biti tvrd, uvijek je kao kamenita gora, samo u jednom jedinom je priroda s nama infamna: u ljubavi nas podmuklo izigrava, izruguje nam se. Zaustavi u tren oka svu volju i misao i ostavlja nas bespomoćne između neba i zemlje, makar samo na jedan trenutak. Jedna sekunda je dovoljna da te izbriše, pretvori u sretnika ili zločinca.

1. An 'unit' is that by virtue of which each of the things that exist is called one. 2. A 'number' is a multiple composed of units.

Here, I believe, was mercy; and, lying very close to it, the root of the novelist’s art. The novel’s structure is a structure of suggnômê—of the penetration of the life of another into one’s own imagination and heart. It is a form of imaginative and emotional receptivity, in which the reader, following the author’s lead, comes to be inhabited by the tangled complexities and struggles of other concrete lives.54 Novels do not withhold all moral judgment, and they contain villains as well as heroes. But for any character with whom the form invites our participatory identification, the motives for mercy are engendered in the structure of literary perception itself. VII.

God is so far away that no one can say anything about him and that’s why all ideas about God are wrong, and at the same time he is so close that we almost can’t notice him, because he is the foundation in a person, or the abyss, you can call it whatever you want,

I. My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. II. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. III. If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed, neither pride Now hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be. IV. For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out through years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made, finding failure in its scope. V. As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bit the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, ('since all is o'er,' he saith And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;') VI. When some discuss if near the other graves be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. VII. Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ So many times among 'The Band' to wit, The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best, And all the doubt was now - should I be fit? VIII. So, quiet as despair I turned from him, That hateful cripple, out of his highway Into the path he pointed. All the day Had been a dreary one at best, and dim Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. IX. For mark! No sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, Than, pausing to throw backwards a last view O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round; Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. I might go on, naught else remained to do. X. So on I went. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle, spurge, according to their law Might propagate their kind with none to awe, You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove. XI. No! penury, inertness and grimace, In some strange sort, were the land's portion. 'See Or shut your eyes,' said Nature peevishly, It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: Tis the Last Judgement's fire must cure this place Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.

...ei, daca asa s-ar fi intamplat lucrurile, va asigur ca mi-asi fi scos palaria si asi fi zis: domnule, este o lege! Daca e buna, daca e rea, nu discutam acum! buna sau rea, e pentru toata lumea si daca tu, care ai facut-o, o s-o simti si tu pe coaja ta ca e rea, o sa te grabesti cat mai repede s-o schimbi. Da, dar tu vii si nu respecti legea, il iai tot pe ala lovitu si-l judeci, iar pe ala care a lovit stai cu el in sedinta...

I believe that nothing is more beautiful, profound, sympathetic, reasonable, brave, and perfect than Christ. With jealous love, I say to myself, not only that his equal cannot be found, but that it does not exist. And more, if someone should bring me proof that Christ is outside the truth, then I should prefer to remain with Christ than with the truth. [Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Letter to Natalya Fonvizina, soon after his release from Siberia. cf. The Possessed, Pt.2, Ch.I.vii]

Cineva s-a aşezat la masă, plin de încredere în cunoştinţele şi experienţele sale de viaţă, şi a decretat că oamenii trebuie să fie aşa şi aşa, că e bine când faci cutare lucru şi e rău dacă faci cutare. Şi în schema lui, acel cineva vrea să vâre cu sila sufletele vii, să le încătuşeze, parcă viaţa s-ar modela după dorinţele sau concluziile cuiva. Dar viaţa merge mereu înainte, nepăsătoare, sfâşiind nu numai sistemele savanţilor, ci chiar minţile oamenilor, plăsmuind în fiece clipă situaţii noi, idei noi, pe care fantezia liliputană omenească niciodată nu le va putea înţelege şi cu atât mai puţin prevedea.

Azi ştiu că a fi matur, a fi om întreg, nu înseamnă altceva decât a înţelege că eşti rău, fundamental şi dincolo de orice altceva. De câţiva ani încoace nu pot dormi nopţile şi nu mă pot concentra la treburile mele ziua pentru că îmi răbufnesc continuu în memorie imagini vii din trecut, cele mai penibile, mai ruşinoase, mai dureroase experienţe ale mele. Unele sunt de-a dreptul insuportabile, mă surprind strângând ochii şi făcând gesturi de îndepărtare cu mâna ca să scap de ele, ca să nu-mi văd sufletul făcut ţăndări. Nu, n-am omorât pe nimeni, n-am violat şi n-am tâlhărit, n-am băgat pe nimeni la puşcărie, dar asta nu înseamnă că n-am provocat altora, de atâtea ori fiinţe dragi, enorm de multă suferinţă. N-am să-mi iert niciodată răceala şi nesimţirea pe care le-am arătat mamei mele întreaga copilărie şi adolescenţă, lacrimile ei când, de ziua mea, îmi cumpăra vreo bluză sau o cămaşă după gusturile ei, iar eu, în loc de mulţumiri, îi spuneam că nu-mi plac şi n-am să le port niciodată.

Clarence was with me as concerned the revolution, but in a modified way. His idea was a republic, without privileged orders, but with a hereditary royal family at the head of it instead of an elective chief magistrate. He believed that no nation that had ever known the joy of worshiping a royal family could ever be robbed of it and not fade away and die of melancholy. I urged that kings were dangerous. He said, then have cats. He was sure that a royal family of cats would answer every purpose. They would be as useful as any other royal family, they would know as much, they would have the same virtues and the same treacheries, the same disposition to get up shindies with other royal cats, they would be laughably vain and absurd and never know it, they would be wholly inexpensive; finally, they would have as sound a divine right as any other royal house, and “Tom VII, or Tom XI, or Tom XIV by the grace of God King,” would sound as well as it would when applied to the ordinary royal tomcat with tights on.

All the earth is a grave, and nought escapes it; nothing is so perfect that it does not fall and disappear. The rivers, brooks, fountains and waters flow on, and never return to their joyous beginnings; they hasten on to the vast realms of Tlaloc, and the wider they spread between their marges the more rapidly do they mould their own sepulchral urns. That which was yesterday is not to-day; and let not that which is to-day trust to live to-morrow.

Oamenii interesanți pe care poți să-i cunoști într-o viață se termină, la un moment dat. Oamenii geniali, nebuni și vii se termină. Oamenii care te inspiră se termină. Oamenii inteligenți se termină. Oamenii sexy se termină. Oamenii care te ascultă se termină. Oamenii pe care poți să-i asculți se termină. Oamenii care te fac să-ți dorești să rămâi viu se termină. Oamenii care îndrăznesc să facă ceea ce nu s-a mai făcut se termină. Oamenii care îți fac inima să bată mai tare se termină. Numai proștii nu se termină niciodată.

În lumea consumistă şi globalizată actuală, pare că nu mai cunoaştem alt sens al fericirii decât acesta din urmă: mediocru, utilitar, lipsit de orice aspiraţie care depăşeşte standardele materialiste: o casă confortabilă, un loc de muncă bănos, o vacanţă în Caraibe (sau măcar la Sinaia...), o familie asigurată financiar. O dragoste călduţă (nu te mai osteneşti să-ţi dai seama măcar dacă-ţi iubeşti sau nu cu adevărat partenerul), o muncă nu prea creativă, obiecte (recomandate la televizor) cu care-ţi umpli orice spaţiu liber... Oamenii au uitat cu totul că li s-a făcut un dar copleşitor: cel de a exista în minunea lumii, de a fi vii, de a fi conştienţi de sine. Ei nu-şi mai pun niciodată întrebări ca: De fapt, cine sunt eu? Ce rost am pe lume? Oare mi s-a dat minunea că pot vedea şi auzi doar ca să fiu şofer de autobuz sau să fac reclame? Oare n-am să mor fără să fi făcut nimic pe lumea asta ? Condamnarea acestui gen de fericire este totuşi în bună parte nedreaptă, după părerea mea, ca întreaga condamnare a modului de viaţă occidental, căci înseamnă, de fapt, o reacţie «elitistă» în faţa unei fericiri «populare». Eu cred că avem nevoie de ambele feluri de fericire, că fiecare-n parte este săracă şi extremă în lipsa celeilalte. Cred, de altfel, că sunt foarte rari atât poeţii puri şi extatici cât şi consumiştii complet imbecilizaţi de bere şi televiziune. Suntem cu toţii, de fapt, o combinaţie între cele două cazuri, şi idealul uman ar putea să fie, în consecinţă, o viaţă împlinită şi decentă material străbătută din când în când de fulguraţiile nebuneşti ale marii şi adevăratei fericiri.

Vaša ljepota ostavlja me hladnim. Ne mislite da se pretvaram. Moja je duša puna boli i bio bih sretan da je kod vas mogu načas zaboraviti. Ali, vidite, mene se vaša ljepota ne doima. Ja nisam tu, kod vas, moja je svaka misao drugdje, moj svaki kucaj srca vapi drugamo" Siniša

Paths of the mirror" I And above all else, to look with innocence. As if nothing was happening, which is true. II But you, I want to look at you until your face escapes from my fear like a bird from the sharp edge of the night. III Like a girl made of pink chalk on a very old wall that is suddenly washed away by the rain. IV Like when a flower blooms and reveals the heart that isn’t there. V Every gesture of my body and my voice to make myself into the offering, the bouquet that is abandoned by the wind on the porch. VI Cover the memory of your face with the mask of who you will be and scare the girl you once were. VII The night of us both scattered with the fog. It’s the season of cold foods. VIII And the thirst, my memory is of the thirst, me underneath, at the bottom, in the hole, I drank, I remember. IX To fall like a wounded animal in a place that was meant to be for revelations. X As if it meant nothing. No thing. Mouth zipped. Eyelids sewn. I forgot. Inside, the wind. Everything closed and the wind inside. XI Under the black sun of the silence the words burned slowly. XII But the silence is true. That’s why I write. I’m alone and I write. No, I’m not alone. There’s somebody here shivering. XIII Even if I say sun and moon and star I’m talking about things that happen to me. And what did I wish for? I wished for a perfect silence. That’s why I speak. XIV The night is shaped like a wolf’s scream. XV Delight of losing one-self in the presaged image. I rose from my corpse, I went looking for who I am. Migrant of myself, I’ve gone towards the one who sleeps in a country of wind. XVI My endless falling into my endless falling where nobody waited for me –because when I saw who was waiting for me I saw no one but myself. XVII Something was falling in the silence. My last word was “I” but I was talking about the luminiscent dawn. XVIII Yellow flowers constellate a circle of blue earth. The water trembles full of wind. XIX The blinding of day, yellow birds in the morning. A hand untangles the darkness, a hand drags the hair of a drowned woman that never stops going through the mirror. To return to the memory of the body, I have to return to my mourning bones, I have to understand what my voice is saying.

Mirror, Standard, Telegraph, Birmingham Post, Sketch, all careful to report accurately the events without editorial comment. Unlike some countries, the British press must be exceedingly careful not to try a man in the newspapers and magazines before he comes to court. In such cases when a newspaper becomes an accuser or prejudger, turning public sentiment, the paper can be named as a defendant to the action. It keeps journalism honest.

Un barbat indragostit e sters de pe lista celor vii. Devine idiot, nu numai idiot, dar primejdios. Intrerup, cu barbatii indragostiti de mine sau care, cel putin, pretind ca sunt, orice relatie apropiata, mai intai pentru ca ma plictisesc, apoi, pentru ca devin suspecti, ca un caine turbat care poate avea o criza. Ii trec, asadar, in carantina morala, pana cand se vindeca. Sa nu uiti asta. Stiu foarte bine ca, la tine, dragostea e doar un soi de pofta, in timp ce la mine ar fi, dimpotriva, un soi de comuniune a sufletelor, care nu face parte din religia barbatilor. Tu ai intelege litera, iar eu spiritul...

Numai într-un film despre junglă am mai văzut o asemenea linişte în faţa morţii. Arborii creşteau imenşi, dar trăiau numai cei care izbuteau să-şi facă loc cu crengile pentru a ajunge la lumină. Ceilalţi mureau deoarece, deasupra, copacii victorioşi îşi uneau frunzişurile şi nu mai per¬miteau nici unei raze să coboare. Pentru ca să apară un copac trebuia să moară unul din cei vii. Şi cu ce necruţătoare simplitate se întîmpla asta! Fără bocete şi fără spaime. În golul fiecărei morţi reîncepea, liniştită, viaţa. A fost prima oară cînd m-am gîndit că moartea este un aliment. Că viaţa digeră moartea şi o preface în viaţă. Aşa cum florile care cresc în noroi prefac duhoarea noroiului în parfum. Şi ce dacă parfumul se întoarce înapoi în duhoare? În această catastrofă o altă floare îşi va deschide petalele tremurînde. Numai noi înţelegem greu, din egoism, o lege pe care copacii din junglă o respectă cu o linişte de catedrală.

In God's scheme what is a few billion years here and there. Perhaps there have come and gone a dozen human civilizations in the past billion years that we know nothing about. And after this civilization we are living in destroys itself, it will all start up again in a million years when the planet has all its messes cleaned up. Then, finally, one of these civilizations, say five billion years from now, will last because people treat each other the way they ought to.

Would it be an indiscretion to ask to see those precious pills?" continued Beauchamp, hoping to take him at a disadvantage. "No, Monsieur," returned the count; and he drew from his pocket a marvelous bonbonniere, formed out of a single emerald, and closed by a golden lid, which unscrewed and gave passage to a small of greenish color, and about the size of a pea." ..."this is a magnificent emerald, and the largest I have ever seen," said Chateu-Renaud... "I had three similar ones," returned Monte Cristo; "I gave one to the Grand Signior, who mounted it in his saber; another to our holy father the pope, who had it set in his tiara, opposite to nearly as large, though not so fine a one, given by Emperor Napolen to his predecessor Pius VII. I kept the third for myself, and I had it hollowed out, which reduced its value, but rendered it more commodious for the purpose I intended it for." Every one looked at Monte Cristo with astonishment...

E greu să stai în altă parte, ok? Nu contează de unde vii sau unde te duci. Niciodată să nu ai așteptări extraordinare, niciodată să nu-ți imaginezi totul în detaliu. Imaginația e un lucru foarte înșelător. Nicăieri nu e un rai pe pământ. Dar cu siguranță există un loc în care te simți ca acasă. Peste tot e greu să te acomodezi. Chiar dacă știi deja limba, există multe alte lucruri. Magazinele de la colțul străzii, vecinii, obiceiurile. Orice comunitate e diferită. Trebuie să te adaptezi, iar dacă într-adevăr aparții acelui loc chiar reușești și îți e la-ndemână. Dar tot trebuie să ai anumite elemente care te fac să te simți în siguranță într-un loc străin, în care îți vei petrece o perioadă mai lungă de timp. Nu e ca și cum mergi la un hotel și stai câteva zile. Acolo nu trebuie să te acomodezi cu nimic.

Sunt un om viu. Nimic din ce-i omenesc nu mi-e străin. Abia am timp să mă mir că exist, dar mă bucur totdeauna că sunt. Nu mă realizez deplin niciodată, pentru că am o idee din ce în ce mai bună despre viaţă. Mă cutremură diferenţa dintre mine şi firul ierbii, dintre mine şi lei, dintre mine şi insulele de lumină ale stelelor. Dintre mine şi numere, bunăoară între mine şi 2, între mine şi 3. Am şi-un defect un păcat: iau în serios iarba, iau în serios leii, mişcările aproape perfecte ale cerului. Şi-o rană întâmplătoare la mână mă face să văd prin ea, ca printr-un ochean, durerile lumii, războaiele. Dintr-o astfel de întâmplare mi s-a tras marea înţelegere pe care-o am pentru Ulise - şi bărbatului cu chip ursuz, Dante Alighieri. Cu greu mi-aş putea imagina un pământ pustiu, rotindu-se în jurul soarelui... (Poate şi fiindcă există pe lume astfel de versuri.) Îmi olace să râd, deşi râd rar, având mereu câte o treabă, ori călătorind cu o plută, la nesfârşit, pe oceanul oval al fantaziei. E un spectacol de neuitat acela de-a şti, de-a descoperi harta universului în expansiune, în timp ce-ţi priveşti o fotografie din copilărie! E un trup al tău vechi, pe care l-ai rătăcit şi nici măcar un anunţ, dat cu litere groase, nu-ţi pferă vreo şansă să-l mai regăseşti. Îmi desfac papirusul vieţii plin de hieroglife, şi ceea ce pot comunica acum, aici, după o descifrare anevoioasă, dar nu lipăsită de satisfacţii, e un poem închinat păcii, ce are, pe scurt, următorul cuprins: Nu vreau, când îmi ridic tâmpla din perne, să se lungească-n urma mea pe paturi moartea, şi-n fiece cuvânt ţâşnind spre mine, peşti putrezi să-mi arunce, ca-ntr-un râu oprit. Nici după fiecare pas, în golul dinapoia mea rămas, nu vreau să urce moartea-n sus, asemeni unei coloane de mercur, bolţi de infern proptind deasupra-mi... Dar curcubeul negru-al ei, de alge, de-ar bate-n tinereţia mea s-ar sparge. E o fertilitate nemaipomenită în pământ şi-n pietre şi în schelării, magnetic, timpul, clipită cu clipită, gândurile mi le-nalţă ca pe nişte trupuri vii. E o fertilitate nemaipomenită în pământ şi-n pietre şi în schelării. Umbra de mi-aş ţine-o doar o clipă pironită, s-ar şi umple de ferigi, de bălării! Doar chipul tău prelung iubito, lasă-l aşa cum este, răzimat între două bătăi ale inimii mele, ca între Tigru şi Eufrat.

Pentru ce oamenii care suferă nu se plictisesc? În scara stărilor negative, care începe de la plictiseală şi sfârşeşte în disperare, trecând prin melancolie şi tristeţe, omul care suferă încearcă atât de rar plictiseala, încât pentru el prima treaptă este melancolia. Plictiseala o cunosc numai oamenii care n-au un conţinut lăuntric mai adânc şi care nu se pot menţine vii decât prin stimulente exterioare. Toate nulităţile caută varietatea lumii din afară, fiindcă superficialitatea nu este altceva decât realizarea prin obiecte. Omul superficial n-are decât o problemă: salvarea prin obiect. De aceea, el caută în lumea din afară tot ceea ce aceasta îi poate oferi pentru a se putea umple pe sine însuşi cu valori şi lucruri exterioare. Melancolia presupune o dilatare lăuntrică, un vag al depărtărilor şi o nostalgie a infinitului, care izvorăsc dintr-o înălţime şi un rafinament sufletesc ce nu le întâlnim niciodată în plictiseală. Dacă omul superficial îşi pune vreodată probleme de ordin metafizic, atunci substratul psihic din care izvorăşte această nelinişte aproximativă nu se ridică niciodată deasupra plictiselii. Şi toată metafizica la care duce plictiseala nu este decât o metafizică de circumstanţă. În plictiseală, niciodată nu se pune serios problema omului, sau cel puţin a subiectului, ci numai a orientării şi a atitudinii imediate faţă de lumea din afară. Nu este nici măcar o chestiune de dispoziţie; de destin, nici vorbă. Plictiseala este întâiul semn de nelinişte când omul nu este inconştient, prin plictiseală animalul îşi manifestă primul grad de omenie. Ce departe de toate acestea este omul care suferă! Acesta niciodată nu e atât de sărac încât să se poată plictisi. Suferinţa are rezerve infinite, care niciodată nu lasă pe om prea singur, ca el să mai aibă nevoie de alţii.

Najviše pozornosti treba posvetiti puku, a dosljedno tome njegovoj zemlji, iz koje sve proizlazi, u koju se sve vraća. Nazor manjine da je primila svoje privilegije po milosti Božjoj u svoju vlast jednako je apsurdan kao što bi bio apsurdan vladar koji bi sebi utvarao da zemlja kojom vlada pripada njemu, a ne državljanima; kad bi si vladar utvarao da su milijuni stvoreni za njega. Jer zapravo je vladar ovdje samo zato da milijunima služi! Vladar nije ništa drugo nego vrhovni činovnik države. Vladar, to nije čast, to je dužnost prema narodu.

How do people get to this clandestine Archipelago? Hour by hour planes fly there, ships steer their course there, and trains thunder off to it--but all with nary a mark on them to tell of their destination. And at ticket windows or at travel bureaus for Soviet or foreign tourists the employees would be astounded if you were to ask for a ticket to go there. They know nothing and they've never heard of the Archipelago as a whole or any one of its innumerable islands. Those who go to the Archipelago to administer it get there via the training schools of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Those who go there to be guards are conscripted via the military conscription centers. And those who, like you and me, dear reader, go there to die, must get there solely and compulsorily via arrest. Arrest! Need it be said that it is a breaking point in your life, a bolt of lightning which has scored a direct hit on you? That it is an unassimilable spiritual earthquake not every person can cope with, as a result of which people often slip into insanity? The Universe has as many different centers as there are living beings in it. Each of us is a center of the Universe, and that Universe is shattered when they hiss at you: "You are under arrest." If you are arrested, can anything else remain unshattered by this cataclysm? But the darkened mind is incapable of embracing these dis­placements in our universe, and both the most sophisticated and the veriest simpleton among us, drawing on all life's experience, can gasp out only: "Me? What for?" And this is a question which, though repeated millions and millions of times before, has yet to receive an answer. Arrest is an instantaneous, shattering thrust, expulsion, somer­sault from one state into another. We have been happily borne—or perhaps have unhappily dragged our weary way—down the long and crooked streets of our lives, past all kinds of walls and fences made of rotting wood, rammed earth, brick, concrete, iron railings. We have never given a thought to what lies behind them. We have never tried to pene­trate them with our vision or our understanding. But there is where the Gulag country begins, right next to us, two yards away from us. In addition, we have failed to notice an enormous num­ber of closely fitted, well-disguised doors and gates in these fences. All those gates were prepared for us, every last one! And all of a sudden the fateful gate swings quickly open, and four white male hands, unaccustomed to physical labor but none­theless strong and tenacious, grab us by the leg, arm, collar, cap, ear, and drag us in like a sack, and the gate behind us, the gate to our past life, is slammed shut once and for all. That's all there is to it! You are arrested! And you'll find nothing better to respond with than a lamblike bleat: "Me? What for?" That's what arrest is: it's a blinding flash and a blow which shifts the present instantly into the past and the impossible into omnipotent actuality. That's all. And neither for the first hour nor for the first day will you be able to grasp anything else.

If you had ordered British troops to drive children and old people into gas chambers, none of whom had done anything wrong except they were the children of their parents, can you imagine British troops doing anything but mutiny against such orders? "Well, as a matter of fact there were some Germans, soldiers, officers, priests, doctors, and ordinary civilians who refused to obey these orders and said, 'I am not going to do this because I would not like to live and have this on my conscience. I'm not going to push them into gas chambers and then say later I was under orders and justify it by saying they were going to be pushed in by someone anyhow, and I can't stop it and other people will push them more cruelly. Therefore, it's in their best interest that I shove them in gently.' "You see, the trouble was, not enough of these people refused.

For an instant he was able to cross the line and understand this strange loyalty of Jew to Jew. Those Jews who lived free in England were only there due to some quirk of fate instead of Aushwitz and every Jew knew that genocide could have happened to his own family except for that quirk of fate. Yet, as time stood suspended, Gilray was all gentiles who never quite understood Jews. He could befriend them, work with them, but never totally understand them. He was all white men who could never quite understand black men and all black men who could never quite understand whites. He was all normal men who could tolerate or even defend homosexuals...but never fully understand them. There is in us all that line that prevents us from fully understanding those who are different.

Hoćeš li se prezirno nasmiješiti ovom bijelom papiru što je samilosno primio šapat jednog srca koje si ti zapalila sunčanim žarom? Nemoj se smiješiti, jer blijedi će papir proplakati nevidljivim suzama, a krv kojom su pisane riječi, otkinute iz ranjave duše - problijedit će. Ti ne znaš tko sam i gdje sam. Od tebe me dijeli i nebo i zemlja. Sunce je daleko od tebe, ali ono te grli svojom zlatnom toplinom. Zvijezde su daleko od tebe, ali one ti šapću drhtavim svojim titranjem u tihoj ljubavnoj noći. Ja sam još dalje od tebe, a ipak - budim te ujutro glasnim kucajima srca svoga, uspavljujem te uvečer šapatom pjesme zakopane ljubavi svoje. Kad sjedim osamljen u noćnoj tami i slušam šušanj lišća, tad mislim da je to šušanj tvoje haljine. Kad slušam pjev ptica šumskih, mislim da slušam tvoj čarobni glas. Kad gleda kako se budi sunčani dan, osjećam da si to ti! Krv iz moje desnice donijet će ti pjesmu što je moje grudi pjevaju tebi. Ne, na svijetu nema ništa dragocjenjijeg od bijelog papira i rujne krv iz mojih žila. Da mogu naći papir velik kao cijela zemlja, i da na njega potrošim svu krv svoga tijela, još mi srce ne bi moglo iskazati svu ljubav što je osjećam za te. Znam da si vjerna, znam da si nedostižna, ali sam sretan jer mi je sva grud ispunjena tobom...

The Empire was a haven that saved the mediocre from obscurity. Lionel Clifton-Meek was a prime example of the shoe clerk, the railroad ticket seller, the humbled assistant tailor who had wiggled his way into a niche in His Majesty’s far-flung interests. It was a small hole to crawl into indeed, but once staked out it was his and his alone. Clifton-Meek carefully guarded against either taking on responsibility, or making decisions, or outside intrusions. He clothed himself in a blanket of paper work to expand a belief in his own importance. In this safe place he could wait it out and end up with a nice pension for loyal service to the crown.

These people, who had experienced on their own hides twenty-four years of Communist happiness, knew by 1941 what as yet no one else in the world knew: that nowhere on the planet, nowhere in history, was there a regime more vicious, more bloodthirsty, and at the same time more cunning and ingenious than the Bolshevik, the self-styled Soviet regime. That no other regime on earth could compare with it either in the number of those it had done to death, in hardiness, in the range of its ambitions, in its thoroughgoing and unmitigated totalitarianism—no, not even the regime of its pupil Hitler, which at that time blinded Western eyes to all else.

The Convergence of the Twain Thomas Hardy, 1840 - 1928 (Lines on the loss of the “Titanic”) I In a solitude of the sea Deep from human vanity, And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she. II Steel chambers, late the pyres Of her salamandrine fires, Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres. III Over the mirrors meant To glass the opulent The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent. IV Jewels in joy designed To ravish the sensuous mind Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind. V Dim moon-eyed fishes near Gaze at the gilded gear And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?”. . . VI Well: while was fashioning This creature of cleaving wing, The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything VII Prepared a sinister mate For her—so gaily great— A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate. VIII And as the smart ship grew In stature, grace, and hue In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too. IX Alien they seemed to be: No mortal eye could see The intimate welding of their later history. X Or sign that they were bent By paths coincident On being anon twin halves of one August event, XI Till the Spinner of the Years Said “Now!” And each one hears, And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

U njezinim očima drhtale su suze...A on je osjećao da pripadaju njemu...Sva mu duša zatrepti. Nije vidio ništa drugo nego njezine suzne oči, ni na šta nije više mislio, samo je osjećao nju. U tom osjećaju povuče njezine ruke i privine ih na svoje grudi. Ona se nije opirala. Osjećala je da mu srce burno udara, da je svaki udar jedan krik za njom, vapaj k njoj, da je svaki dah ovog muškarca njezin...Kroz tvrdi oklop kojim je okovala svoje srce provali zatajena ljubav. Misli i razbor utekoše, ona klone na njegove grudi...Zadrhtao je kao trstika, kad je zahvati vihor. Njegove jake ruke obuhvate je, privinu k sebi tako čvrsto, silno i pohlepno kao da će je pretvoriti u sebe. Sve misli, sav razbor zanijemiše, obamriješe. Samo srca šapću, dozivaju se i cjelivaju u besvjesnom omamnom zagrljaju. Sunce se spuštalo na zapad i kroz velike prozore opraštalo se s njima svojim krvavim suzama. Tiho i nečujno šuljaju se trenuci da ih ne probude iz sna.

Da sam ja car radio bih ovo: Nastupajući na prijestolje okrunio bih se svim krunama koje bi mi donijeli. Prisegao bih na sve ustave koje bi mi predložili. Potvrdio bih sve privilegije što ih ima povijest. Okupio bih na dvoru u blještavom sjaju sve velikaše, plemiće i sve popove. Zasuo bih te ljude častima, naslovima i ordenima. Iskitio bih njihova prsa, a onda bi radio mimo ustava, mimo privilegija. Kršio bih iz dana u dan sve što sam potvrdio. Radio bih po svojem i sa svim zanosom uvjeravao ih kako je sve to laž. U korist velikaša i plemića i popova! Kad bi prigovarali priredio bih bogate dinee, sjajne svečanosti; odlikovao ih ljubaznim prijateljstvom, obasipao ih novim titulama kao pokladnim prhuticama. Vozio bih se s njima u svečanim sjajnim povorkama u kojima bi imali prva mjesta. Gospoda bi uživala, a narod zadivljen dvorskim sjajem, klicao bi svima. Da, velčanstvo, masi treba blještavila, carskog sjaja, a ne jednostavnosti. Vjerujte, veličanstvo, masi svih staleža više imponira sjajan šesteropreg nego tucet plemenitih ideja; više imponira carska krunidba, za koju se potroše milijuni, i parada u kojoj se pregazi desetak majki s djecom, nego stotinu tisuća bijelih hljebova kojima biste nahranili sirote. Ja bih na sve pristao, sve prevario: neprijatelje bih vezao, progonio i uništio, prijatelje bih tovio, i tada bi pobjeda bila sigurna.

Od onog časa kad ste me vi počeli mrziti, ja sam vas počeo ljubiti. (...) Sav moj život od onog časa bio je prazan, nikad mi srce nije u ljubavi zadrhtalo, nikad propatilo, nikad žena nije potresla moju dušu. (...) Svojim glasom koji mi je prodirao u dušu posijali ste u meni onu klicu iz koje je proklijala moja bezumna ljubav. Ljubio sam vas bez nade, bez cilja, divlje poput luđaka i nježno poput djeteta. Sva moja divlja ćud promijenila se u janje što leži do nogu svog gospodara i onda kad ga odgurne. A kad sam poslije govorio s vama, bio sam osoran i grub, a ipak, svaka moja gruba riječ milovala vas je tajno, svaki moj hladni pogled kriomice vas je cjelivao. Svaki moj divlji, sablažnjiv čin bio je krinka - da sakrijem svoju beznadnu ljubav. Vi ste se grozili od mene, smatrali me svojim zlotvorom, a pred vama je bio nesretnik koji nije želio ništa drugo nego da mu dopustite da vas spasi iz ruku progonitelja! Ali vi to niste osjetili, vi o tom niste razmišljali. Kako je velika i beskrajna bila moja ljubav, tako je velika i beskrajna bila vaša mržnja. Šutio sam i patio...Danas bih kleknuo i blagoslivljao sve te svoje boli, jer su mi donijele najveću sreću o kojoj se nikad nisam usudio pomišljati ni u snu.