Zofia Quotes

Fear grew in places unlit by knowledge

"You see that, my Zosia?" he had asked. "That is the devil. When a man cannot see a person as a person, then the devil has slipped into him and is peering out of his eyes."

Séverin crossed his arms. “Zofia, tell him he’s pretty.” Zofia didn’t look up from her tea. “I am personally undecided, but if we’re assessing based on objectivity, then according to the principles of the golden ratio, also known as phi, which is approximately 1.618, your facial beauty is mathematically pleasing.

Great minds think alike.” Zofia frowned. “No, they don’t. Otherwise every idea would be uniform.

Something that can pull men apart-" "Money?" asked Enrique. "Love!" said Hypnos. "Magnets," said Zofia. Laila, Enrique, and Hypnos turned to stare at her. "Powerful magnets," Zofia amended.

Oh, Zofia," she said. "Don't be sad. Everyone hides.

When he [Enrique] turned his head, he saw Zofia and Raslan on the left side of his bed, while Laila and Severin stood near the foot. "Bravery is physically exhausting," he managed. "You're awake!"cried Laila, hugging him. "You're alive." "And your hair remains exceptional," said Ruslan kindly.

Laila shook her head and threw Zofia a clean rag. She stared at it, befuddled. “Why do I need a rag?” “Because there’s gunpowder on your face.” “And?” “… and that is mildly alarming, my dear. Clean up.

Anyone who remains silent in the face of murder is an accomplice to murder. Anyone who does not condemn approves.

Superstitons are useless. And a gut cannot have an instinct

Enrique rolled his eyes. “Most women kill to be alone with me.” “I have learned that something does not have to be animate in order to use the word ‘kill,’” said Zofia. “Like how some people say ‘kill time.’ Perhaps these women you are referencing are killing their expectations?

Phoenix . . ." "Hmm?" "You are not actually thinking of hiding a large explosive near our faces, are you?" asked Enrique. "No," said Zofia. "Good-" "It's a very tiny explosive. Hardly larger than six centimeters." "No," said Hypnos and Enrique at the same time. Laila took that as her cue to leave.

Zofia ignored them. She had no interest in listening to two boys compare their sticks.

Hypnos deflated. “That tells us nothing.” “We also know that Roux-Joubert wears a honeybee pin,” said Enrique. “So? Today I’m wearing underwear. It’s hardly monumental.” Zofia frowned. “Why did you specify today—

When she got to the end of the hall, Zofia stopped short. Enrique and Hypnos had not moved from their spot. Their eyes were locked on each other, heads bent low in conversation and then—just as suddenly—not in conversation.

Zofia did not believe in spirits. But the wind made the howling sound that had frightened her as a child and a small part of her thought of the stories that Hela had whispered in the dark. Tales of dybbuks with their disjointed souls and blue lips, of drowned ghost girls forced to guard treasure, of lands between the space of midnight and dawn where the dead walked and the light ran cold and thin. Zofia neither liked nor believed in those tales. But she did remember them.

Tell me “The Subtle Briar” again,’ she asked. She knew I would still know it by heart. I whispered to her in the dark. ‘When you cut down the hybrid rose, its blackened stump below the graft spreads furtive fingers in the dirt. It claws at life, weaving a raft of suckering roots to pierce the earth. The first thin shoot is fierce and green, a pliant whip of furious briar splitting the soil, gulping the light. You hack it down. It skulks between the flagstones of the garden path to nurse a hungry spur in shade against the porch. With iron spade you dig and drag it from the gravel and toss it living on the fire. ‘It claws up towards the light again hidden from view, avoiding battle beyond the fence. Unnoticed, then, unloved, unfed, it clings and grows in the wild hedge. The subtle briar armors itself with desperate thorns and stubborn leaves – and struggling higher, unquenchable, it now adorns itself with blossom, till the stalk is crowned with beauty, papery white fine petals thin as chips of chalk or shaven bone, drinking the light. ‘Izabela, Aniela, Alicia, Eugenia, Stefania, Rozalia, Pelagia, Irena, Alfreda, Apolonia, Janina, Leonarda, Czeslava, Stanislava, Vladyslava, Barbara, Veronika, Vaclava, Bogumila, Anna, Genovefa, Helena, Jadviga, Joanna, Kazimiera, Ursula, Vojcziecha, Maria, Wanda, Leokadia, Krystyna, Zofia. ‘When you cut down the hybrid rose to cull and plough its tender bed, trust there is life beneath your blade: the suckering briar below the graft, the wildflower stock of strength and thorn whose subtle roots are never dead.

Myślę, że tylko kochając, widzimy człowieka takim, jakim jest naprawdę, w pięknie jego najwyższych możliwości. Że zaślepienie jest najlepszym widzeniem.

I cannot see you hurt, ma chère,” he said softly. “Allow me.” “Allow” was a strange word. Zofia had never considered that she might grant someone permission to protect her, and a feeling of warmth—like gulping down not-too-hot soup—settled into her chest. She stepped back wordlessly. “You look like you have practice in such recreation, Patriarch,” said Eva. Hypnos merely held out his hand. Eva slashed her taloned ring across it, leaving his palm bloody. Grimacing, Hypnos pressed his hand to the metal. A moment passed, then two … “I hope I did not ruin myself for nothing,” muttered Hypnos. “That was my favorite palm, you know.

Books inspired free thought and empathy, an overall understanding and acceptance of everyone. In the pages of books that were burned and banned and ripped apart for pulping, Zofia had found herself. These were the parts of her that were human and strong and loving, parts that understood lives she had never led.

Umiera się w byle jakim miejscu życia.

He was holding the Bible. Instinctively, she leaned away.

In Cracow “forgiveness” was a purely theological term, with no practical application in everyday life.

Zofia, Enrique, and Hypnos bolted out of the Chamber of Goddesses.

Zofia's heart remained splintered over how people weren't treated equally, depending on their finances. If the world functioned on love rather than on monetary value, all would benefit

Enrique saw him first and immediately pointed at Zofia. “Zofia just tried to set fire to the Tezcat spectacles.” Zofia scowled at him. “I tried to see if the lens and the spectacles might be welded together.

Laila threw it in his face. “Haven’t you had enough? You’ve already given me a watch, a briefcase, two teacups, and asked me to touch the couch, which I am still recovering from.” She feigned a shudder. “At least Zofia spared me.” Zofia shrugged. “An object’s personal context does not affect its utility.” “Not true!” Enrique had said. “It could be proof of something. Laila, you’re practically a goddess.” Laila sipped her tea, assuming an expression Enrique had come to recognize as “smug cat.

Hearts don't have maps," Zofia said. Zoe smiled. "Oh, but they do. They're written inside you, and only a very special person can read it and follow its directions to a buried treasure." Zoe touched the place above her heart. "We all have a buried treasure and it's right here.

Katastrofa (...) wydała się niczym nieprzygotowana, jak spadająca na głowę z otwartego okna doniczka z pelargonią.

A obiad u Mortkowiczów? Żona Jakuba, Janina, oprowadzała najpierw Zochę po mieszkaniu. Pokoje w amfiladzie. Wszędzie stoły, komody, sekretarzyki, wazony pełne świeżych kwiatów, srebrne koszyczki, patery z miśnieńskiej porcelany. "Potem wszyscy zasiedli do starannie nakrytego stołu - wspomina Joanna Olczak-Ronikier, wnuczka. - Gdy z wazy nalano zupę pomidorową, Stryjeńska podniosła swój pełny talerz i przewróciła do góry dnem. Wyjaśniła uprzejmie: "Chciałam tylko sprawdzić, jaka to marka". No tak, raczej już jej nie zaproszą.

Czy na przykład mówi kto kiedy, że jakiś mężczyzna "umie postępować z żoną"? Nie. Bo kobieta jest kimś, z kim można się dogadać, na kogo można liczyć, komu można zaufać. Ale mówi się powszechnie: "ona umie postępować z mężem". Albo: "ona nie umie postępować z mężem". Wiadomo jest, że stara Ziembiewiczowa umie, a Łucja Posztraska nie. Cóż to znaczy? To znaczy, że to są jakieś istoty, z którymi nie ma zwykłego stosunku człowieka do człowieka, istoty wrogie, nieobliczalne, pełne dzikich instynktów, tajemnicze i kłamliwe. Trzeba je za wszelką cenę odgadnąć, trzeba się przeciw nim zbroić, życie z nimi wciąż grozi niebezpieczeństwem i zgubą. Nic nie jest niewątpliwe, nic nie jest pewne - a za to możliwe jest wszystko

Laila grinned widely. “My hero.” She kissed him on the cheek, and Enrique beamed. He wasn’t quite like the heroes he’d dreamed of becoming. He hadn’t saved a country from oppression or rescued anyone on his white horse … but he still felt rather impressive. He turned to Zofia, about to congratulate her, when she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to kiss you like Laila did.” Black ash streaked Zofia’s arms and the tops of her cheekbones. It made her eyes look like blue fire, her hair a wisp of candlelight. The farthest thing from his mind was her mouth on his, but when she said it, he couldn’t help but look at her lips. They were red as candy. Abruptly, Enrique pinched the bridge of his nose. He must have hit his head because the strangest thoughts kept darting through it.

But it is not so simple as to merely blame the Communists for Poland's state of denial (of World War II atrocities and heroes)Curiously, it has been more than 10 years since democracy has returned to Poland and rescuers are still not publicly celebrated, because of another kind of occupation-our own shame. It is never easy to look at oneself in the mirror of history and see cowardice and barbarity. Those who were brave, those who acted with integrity and decency, hold up another mirror for all Poles to gave into.

Wtedy po stole, poprzez książki i niemodne albumy, rozpoczynał ukośną wędrówkę stwór najdziwniejszy, pająk nie większy od biedronki, na nogach wysokich dla niego, jak wielopiętrowe rusztowania, a miękkich i cieniutkich jak włosy. Idąc, balansował tanecznie i każdą nóżkę stawiał niedbale zarazem i etykietalnie, z jakąś egzaltowaną elegancją. Było widoczne, że jest wytworny i wrażliwy, ostrożny i wybredny, mógł przy tym robić się na przemian wyższy albo niższy, zależnie od swej chęci. Tak podszedł z bliska do opartej o stół Elżbiety i, dotknąwszy nieumyślnie jedną z łapek jej nagiej ręki, cofnął się od razu z przesadną delikatnością, jakby głęboko urażony, by, spiesznie falując po nierównościach, odejść innym ukosem i przepaść w zwisających fałdach serwety.

- Więc co? - przerwał. - Więc miałem się tu dać zatłuc, dlatego że oni mają idee? Państwo jest także ideą. Jest to ostatecznie sposób, w jaki chcą być ze sobą ludzie. To jest zrobione przez ludzi dla ludzi. Krzyczą tu o przemocy, o dyktaturze i więzieniach. Czy nie jest śmieszne, że mówią to właśnie oni? A co czynią sami z chwilą, gdy dorwą się do władzy? Robią sobie i wojsko, i policję, i więzienie, robią te same rzeczy z innymi nazwami. I przede wszystkim robią państwo.

The thing about Zofia and libraries is that she’s always losing library books. She says that she hasn’t lost them, and in fact that they aren’t even overdue, really. It’s just that even one week inside the faery handbag is a lot longer in library-world time. So what is she supposed to do about it? The librarians all hate Zofia. She’s banned from using any of the branches in our area. When I was eight, she got me to go to the library for her and check out a bunch of biographies and science books and some Georgette Heyer novels. My mother was livid when she found out, but it was too late. Zofia had already misplaced most of them.   It’s really hard to write about somebody as if they’re really dead. I still think Zofia must be sitting in her living room, in her house, watching some old horror movie, dropping popcorn into her handbag. She’s waiting for me to come over and play Scrabble.   Nobody is ever going to return those library books now.

Zofia, nu există un bine imens, pe care să ni-l putem reprezenta, pentru simplul motiv că, spre deosebire de rău, binele este invizibil. Binele nu se calculează şi nu se povesteşte, fără să-şi piardă ceva din eleganţa şi din rostul lui. Binele este alcătuit dintr-o cantitate infinită de lucruri mărunte, care, puse cap la cap, poate că vor reuşi să schimbe, până la urmă, lumea. Cere oricui să-ţi numească cinci oameni care au schimbat în bine mersul omenirii. Nu va şti, de exemplu, să-ţi spună cum îl cheamă pe primul democrat sau pe inventatorul antibioticelor sau pe un pacificator. Oricât de ciudat ar părea, puţini oameni ar reuşi să ţi-i citeze; în schimb, îţi vor pomeni, fără nicio problemă, cinci dictatori. Cunoaştem numele tuturor bolilor grave, dar rareori pe cel al celor pe care le-au învins.

No one would call it beautiful, but that hardly mattered to Zofia. Beauty did not move her. But the Eiffel Tower did. It was immensely awkward. If the streets looked sewn together with a neat hand, la Tour Eiffel was the ungainly needle pinning it all into place. It lanced through the grand boulevards, elegant cupolas, and buildings draped in sculpted gods. It would never blend in, but always demand witnessing. Zofia suspected that if la Tour Eiffel could talk, they would understand each other perfectly.

What is taking that security guard so long?” Enrique grumbled. “He was supposed to be out by eight o’clock. It’s nearly nine.” “Maybe he doesn’t have a clock.” He stared at her. “Are you finally making a joke?” “I’m pointing out a gap in your observation.” Enrique let out a low whooshing breath. “And to think I could’ve been dancing at the Palais des Rêves tonight.” “They didn’t want you, remember? Séverin said your face was all wrong.” “Thank you.” “You are welcome.

Be like Laila, said a voice in her brain. Zofia sat up straight, held his gaze, then did what she’d seen Laila do many times when she looked at Séverin--lift one corner of her mouth ever so slightly, but tilt her head down at the same time … wait, now she couldn’t see anything, oh, and Laila would sometimes lift up one shoulder — “What on earth are you doing?” “I am imitating patterns of flirtation.” “Wait. You’re flirting. With … me?” Zofia frowned. Why would he think that? She just said she was imitating the general strategy of others. “Maybe I have the methodology wrong. I also saw women do this. Better?” She relaxed her body. Then pretended there was something on her upper lip and licked it off with a slow swipe of her tongue. Enrique blinked rapidly then shook his head. Shaking one’s head meant no. Zofia shrugged and waved her hand. “I’ll practice later.” “You … don’t need much,” said Enrique, his voice pitched lower than usual. He wasn’t looking at her. She must have been terrible.

Zofia nodded and had the irrational desire to wish that some words could be solid and picked up off the ground and held close, so that she could reach for them whenever she needed.

Zofia settled on the ground and turned to the first chapter.

No sentía ningun resentimiento hacia ella. Solo cansancio y una especie de inmensa compasión. Por ella y por sí mismo. Porque ambos habían entrado en una relación que era moleta y difícil, incierta y oscura, y que les afectaba a a los dos.

No sentía ningun resentimiento hacia ella. Solo cansancio y una especie de inmensa compasión. Por ella y por sí mismo. Porque ambos habían entrado en una relación que era molesta y difícil, incierta y oscura, y que les afectaba a a los dos

THE TWENTY WHITE GIRL NAMES THAT BEST SIGNIFY HIGH-EDUCATION PARENTS* (YEARS OF MOTHER’S EDUCATION IN PARENTHESES) Lucienne Marie-Claire Glynnis Adair Meira Beatrix Clementine Philippa Aviva Flannery Rotem Oona Atara Linden Waverly Zofia Pascale Eleanora Elika Neeka (16.60) (16.50) (16.40) (16.36) (16.27) (16.26) (16.23) (16.21) (16.18) (16.10) (16.08) (16.00) (16.00) (15.94) (15.93) (15.88) (15.82) (15.80) (15.80) (15.77) Now for the boys’ names that are turning up these days in high-education households.

For what it’s worth, g-checking is an apt description for the hard, no-nonsense scowl Tadeusz Kościuszko’s portrait possesses. It might even fall a little flat given the intensity of his stare, something of a cross between the weary, impatient genius of an aged Beethoven and the intense mugshots of both young Josef Stalin and Assata Shakur. “That face doesn’t tolerate bitch ass Johnnys. We’re calling him Tad for brevity’s sake.” Kennedy lowers the picture carefully.

Do we need to discuss this on camera?” she demands. Wynn, already hot under the collar for reasons completely related to wearing a motorcycle jacket in the endless heat of the American southwest, sounds uncomfortable. “Maybe?” he offers.

That car is the color of a faded quinceañera ribbon in a small highland town in Mexico. Which makes it sound far more romantic a color than it actually is,” Roland intones damningly with a nod. The car remains unassuming, vaguely like a rotten chicken egg in the background, if rotted chicken eggs came with ‘Wash me!’ written faintly across the rear window and Vancouver Canuck vanity plates.

In the pages of books that were burned and banned and ripped apart for pulping, Zofia had found herself. These were the parts of her that were human and strong and loving, parts that understood lives she had never led.

It’s like an emulsion of artistry and healing, like a, a spiritual acupuncture,” she declares. “The use of negative space really brings his screaming face energy into the visual realm,” Roland says hoarsely with a swallow.

Kim jest Bóg tych zwierząt - zastanawiała się Elżbieta, gdy stamtąd wyszli. - I na co one w ogóle mogą liczyć?

Kim jest bóg tych zwierząt - zastanawiała się Elżbieta, gdy stamtąd wyszli. - I na co one w ogóle mogą liczyć?

Był miłością mojego życia. Taką prawdziwą miłością, która się zdarza tylko raz, wszystko przed nią to zapowiedzi, wszystko po niej marne podróbki.

July 23, 1942 – Guta Etinger -> Zofia Wacek – Praga, Markowska #21 When the door opened to Irena at Apartment 32, Ciepla #12, eight-year-old Guta was waiting. She stood very still behind a small battered valise, her legs so thin that her socks would not stay up. Her dark hair, though obviously just washed and braided, was dirty still. Guta’s mother tied a small red bow on one braid then straightened Guta’s soiled dress. Irena turned away – she could not watch these last few moments. Mr. Etinger’s voice hoarsened and cracked. “Take her, quickly. Don’t make us think about it any longer.” Irena lingered for a moment and repeated the pretense that made this desperate act possible. “After the war you’ll be reunited.” “I don’t think so,” he whispered. “But thank you for that, young lady.

Da ogni luogo arrivano notizie dei morti: P. è finito al campo; K. è morta in una piccola stazione ferroviaria, l'hanno presa per strada e se la sono portata. La gente muore in tutte le maniere, per qualsiasi motivo. Sembra che ormai non viva più nessuno, che non ci sia niente su cui basarsi, nulla in cui perseverare. Ovunque c'è morte. Nei sotterranei delle cappelle dei cimiteri, le casse mortuarie stanno in lunghe file e attendono il loro turno per essere messe sotto terra. Dinanzi all'enormità della morta in massa, la morte individuale, pure e semplice, sembra qualcosa di inammissibile. Ma la cosa più vergognosa di tutte è la vita.

If you called the faery handbag by its right name, it would be something like 'orzipankianikcz,' which means the 'bag of skin where the world lives,' only Zofia never spelled that word the same way twice. She said you had to spell it a little differently each time. You never wanted to spell it exactly the right way, because that would be dangerous.

Kobiety tak rzadko mają sposobność występować w charakterze ludzi, że wymagamy od nich, by w kobiecości ich zawierało się całe ich człowieczeństwo. I sami nie zdajemy sobie sprawy, jak w ten sposób właśnie poniżamy kobietę.

I stokroć wolę typ kobiety przejściowej niż typ kobiety przyszłości - bo kobieta przejściowa zapowiada nieskończenie więcej, niż tamta w swym dokonaniu się usprawiedliwi

her finger. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s a squirrel,” Zofia cooed. Eidel is such a beautiful baby, she thought. “If someone had told me that I would ever love anyone

- Więc co? - przerwał. - Więc miałem się tu dać zatłuc, dlatego że oni mają idee? Państwo jest także ideą. Jest to ostatecznie sposób, w jaki chcą być ze sobą ludzie. To jest zrobione przez ludzi dla ludzi. Krzyczą tu o przemocy, o dyktaturze i więzieniach. Czy nie jest śmieszne, że mówią to właśnie oni? A co czynią sami z chwilą, gdy dorwą się do władzy? Robią sobie i wojsko, i policję, i więzienie, robią te same rzeczy z innymi nazwami. I przede wszystkim robią państwo.

Gwenn:   I have such a big boner right now! Zofia: Ew dad.. Gwenn:   oh youre calling me daddy now, sexy. Zofia: DAD THIS IS YOUR DAUGHTER! Gwenn: OH SHIT

He is come with Cindy. Somehow, he has convinced her he is a straight so he can punch on your head and make overpasses at me.” Roshan shivers and sticks out his tongue in feigned disgust. Wynn picks up his donut and looks it over before stealing another bite. “It’s punch down, babe. He’s saying he’s going to punch down on me. Implying that his corporeal existence is above mine. Which would be funny if it didn’t feel true.” Wynn sinks his teeth into the donut, sighing heavily, and Roshan tries to smile encouragingly from his thrift store a seaboard away.

No, I mean, she got robbed.” He says, falling into his propensity to rant, and thus begins his thesis of How Tiana from A Disney Movie Got Robbed, “That prince Naveen is just worthless, P. Here is this inspired go-getter of a girl who was trying so hard to achieve on her own. She was no nonsense, no drama. Just a fucking hero. She gets. Naveen.

For the last hour, each song had been like a match struck, leaving Zofia to bask in the glow of a golden memory. When the concert was done, those little flames had all snuffed out, relegating her to this cold, hard world where everything had changed. (p. 288)

Non esiste un bene immenso che si possa fare vedere, Zofia, semplicemente perché, a differenza del male, il bene è invisibile. Non si può calcolare, né si può raccontare senza togliergli eleganza e senso. Il bene è fatto da un’infinita quantità di piccole azioni, che, una dopo l’altra, forse un giorno, riusciranno a cambiare il mondo. Chiedi a chi vuoi di citare i nomi di cinque persone che hanno migliorato il corso dell’umanità. Non so, per esempio il primo democratico, l’inventore dell’antibiotico, o un pacifista. Anche se può sembrare strano, pochi saprebbero rispondere mentre riuscirebbero senza difficoltà a elencare cinque dittatori. Conosciamo i nomi delle malattie, ma di rado i nomi di quelli che le hanno sconfitte.

If the streets looked sewn together with a neat hand, la Tour Eiffel was the ungainly needle pinning it all into place. It lanced through the grand boulevards, elegant cupolas, and buildings draped in sculpted gods. It would never blend in, but always demand witnessing. Zofia suspected that if la Tour Eiffel could talk, they would understand each other perfectly.

The unknown would come and go, but Zofia could always be a light. She had found her way out of the dark once. And she could do it again.

Any trouble?” he asked. “Yes,” said Zofia, matter-of-fact. “There was a fireball and the ground broke, and we thought Tristan and Enrique were dead.” “What?” “Tristan is fine,” soothed Laila. “He’s upstairs now, standing guard.” “Did you say fur ball?” asked Hypnos. “Like a puppy? How endearing.” “She said fireball.” “Oh. That is decidedly less endearing.

Któż mógł się w łaskawości porównać z agitatorem? Kto się ostał dobrym przy nim? Nawet Bóg już nie był dobrym, bo mówił: Nie rusz cudzego. A przybysz ze świata, niosący czerwoną gazetę, mówił: Co cudze, to twoje. Któż więc mógł być od niego lepszym?

Niektórzy sądzą, że sowiety dlatego tylko są piekłem, że tam ludzie mrą z głodu, że tysiące giną w wymyślnych torturach. Otóż nie: sowiety są piekłem także i dlatego, że nie masz wśród nich miejsca dla nadziei.

Cháu cũng biết rõ như ta, tất cả những điều đó không phụ thuộc vào ý muốn của Người mà là do ước vọng của những con người mà Chúa đã phó thác Trái Đất vào tay họ. Chẳng ai có thể đại diện cho một cái tốt quá lớn, Zofia ạ, đơn giản là vì trái với cái xấu, cái tốt không thể định hình. Chẳng thể nào tính toán hoặc tâng bốc cái tốt mà không làm ảnh hưởng tới ý nghĩa và sự cao đẹp của nó. Cái tốt được cấu thành bởi hằng hà sa số những sự ân cần nho nhỏ, mà cứ tích lũy dần dần, thì rồi cuối cùng, một ngày nào đó, sẽ có thể thay đổi thế giới. Hãy đề nghị một người nào đó kể ra tên năm con người đã từng làm những việc giúp cho sự tiến bộ của nhân loại. Ta chẳng biết nữa, thí dụ như người đầu tiên trong những người theo chủ nghĩa dân chủ, người phát minh ra thuốc kháng sinh, hoặc một nhà bảo vệ hòa bình. Một điều rất đáng ngạc nhiên là sẽ có rất ít người có thể kể tên họ ra, trong khi người ta lại có thể dễ dàng liệt kê ra năm tên độc tài. Người ta thuộc tên tất cả các bệnh nguy hiểm nhất, song lại chẳng mấy khi nhớ tên những người đã tìm ra cách điều trị những căn bệnh đó. Khi cái xấu lên đến tột đỉnh vinh quang của nó thì cũng sẽ là ngày tận thế, song dường như mọi người lại chẳng hề để ý rằng tột đỉnh vinh quang của cái tốt đã được chinh phục... vào chính cái ngày Chúa tạo ra thế giới.

She was a scrawny creature, nothing but skin and bone, with the head of a sparrow and the hands of a squirrel.

Zofia had felt as if cholera were standing at the gates, and that it was time to protect herself from it. Unfortunately, her husband had his own tiresome medical opinion on how to treat this illness, which was that wine may well taste good, and might even fortify the organism as a whole, but wouldn’t keep cholera at bay; he droned on tediously about the comma bacillus and hygiene, insisting that the only cure was to build proper waterworks. But Zofia knew her facts: washing one’s hands was not half as effective as wine recommended by the medical authorities.

The people who lived under the hill knew the future. The Baldeziwurlekistanians gave them fermented milk and honey, and the young women of the village used to go and lie out on the hill and sleep under the stars. Apparently the people under the hill were pretty cute. The important thing was that you never went down into the hill and spent the night there, no matter how cute the guy from under the hill was. If you did, even if you spent only a single night under the hill, when you came out again, a hundred years might have passed. “Remember that,” Zofia said to me. “It doesn’t matter how cute a guy is. If he wants you to come back to his place, it isn’t a good idea. It’s okay to fool around, but don’t spend the night.

Przenikliwa i przewidująca polityka Niemców doszła do wniosku, że Ukraina, chociaż żyzna i bogata, o tyle tylko może stać się dla nich złotonośna kurą, o ile przywrócona będzie na niej większa własność ziemska.

Wielkie rzeczy kształtują na swe podobieństwo małe. Że zaś małe szybciej idą, można, patrząc na nie, domyśleć się wielkich.

Czytając przekład, powinno się czuć, że krąży w nim krew, a wytoczyć ją z siebie musi tłumacz. Przekładanie to rodzaj transfuzji. Ma nawet pewien wymiar erotyczny: aby powstał dobry przekład, potrzebna jest wzajemność między tłumaczem a tekstem.

Wolimy myśleć, że Joyce i Kafka, i wszyscy inni autorzy, których mamy na półkach, napisali swoje książki po polsku. To trochę tak, jak gdyby przekład był wstydliwym faktem, który lepiej zataić, prawda? Jakby okoliczność, że książki powstałe w jednym języku tłumaczy się na inny, nie była czymś ciekawym, nad czym warto się zatrzymywać. Jakby tłumaczenie było prostą mechaniczną operacją, tak jak, powiedzmy, przejście z kursywy na bold w komputerze, jednym kliknięciem.

Tłumacz jest kimś w rodzaju stroiciela instrumentu, na którym tekst ma zabrzmieć.

Im więcej widzę w księgarniach Whartona, tym czulej myślę o Cortázarze

Tak dzieje się zwykle. Rzecz, zjawisko, przeżycie, z którymi stykamy się po raz pierwszy, nabierają cech definitywnych i niejako ustalają, nieraz przesądzają o naszym do nich stosunku.

Kandydatów na dzierżawców było wielu, ale mało odpowiednich. Najczęsciej zgłaszali się różni awanturnicy, życiowi bankruci, jakies egzotyczne postacie, spadłe nie wiadomo skad. Tych bał się pan Władysław jak ognia. "To nie jest człowiek poważny" - zwykł był mawiac w takich wypadkach, a zarzut ten był najcieższy, jaki w ogóle dorosłemu mężczyznie mógł postawic. Tymczasem właśnie owi najbardziej egzotyczni kandydaci ofiarowywali z reguły najlepsze warunki. Niekiedy nawet pani Emilia była nimi olśniona i namawiała męża, by się zgodził. Ale pan Władysław był zawsze przeciwnego zdania. Twierdził, że w interesach należy zawsze ufać człowiekowi, który się targuje, niewiele obiecuje i w ogóle "jest twardy". Taki, który ofiarowuje dużo i chętnie się zgadza na wszystko, jest tym samym podejrzany, widocznie bowiem - tłumaczył pan Władysław żonie, którą ta argumentacja czasami irytowała - nie bardzo zna swoje możliwosci ani na serio nie bierze zobowiazan. A ten kto czuje się w obowiazku warunkow dotrzymać, nielekko się na przyjmowanie zobowiązan godzi.

- Od dawna już nie mam tych złudzień, że jestem sobą! Piotr wykonał gest pobłażliwy, ale Jakub nie dał sobie przerwać. - Przeciwnie,jestem workiem, wypchanym żywymi i umarłymi. Jestem zbiegowiskiem ludzi obcych i ich spraw. - I gdybym nawet był sobą - zgubiony w tej gromadzie, w tej stłoczonej masie - tobym doprawdy nie wiedział, który to jestem ja. Czy myślę i czuję sobą, czy tymi tam wszystkimi w sobie.

People don't go around risking their lives and jobs for others without wanting something in return." "Pity," Said Ariel. "The world would be a better place if they did.