“Everything in the universe is everything else. A man is a killer is a saint is a monkey is a cockroach is a goldfish is a whale, and the Devil is just the angel who asked for More.”
“The time flies. The time flies feed on rotting clocks.”
“Only everyone forgets how seldom our memory is accurate. Having more memory is just a way of distorting a greater amount of the past"p.193”
“When you could discern a real threat from everything else, it was called caution. When you couldn't, it was called paranoia.
...
You cannot separate paranoia from knowledge. The more you know, the more possibilities you see. The more possibilities you see, the more possibilities someone else sees. The more "someones" there are, the more "they" there are. It's a matter of simple math before you realize that They might not like you.”
“Imagine the one god himself has reversed his clock and reversed your regrets. Imagine knowing the bone-deep truth that whatever impossibility would make you truly happy has been granted. Imagine knowing you can once again hold your lost lover or your newborn child. Imagine what you feel during those first seconds of knowing. Now, imagine those first seconds last for days on end.
....
Like I said, I'm a chemist. It's all coming back to me.p62”
“I learned to pick up each piece, one at a time, from my pile of potential matches and try to fit it from any angle into the socket, then discard it and move on. Each failure is meaningless. It's not me, it's the pieces, and I have to, absolutely must, try each and every piece every possible way until I find one that fits. They aren't failures, they're steps, small bits of progress.”
“Desiree. It's like falling in love every night and having your heart broken every morning... Having more memory is just a way of distorting a greater amount of the past.”
“Just as it did when I spoke to you that day from the phone, your face comes into focus more and more as I hold you here beside me.”
“كل عمل يتميز بنواياه وكل نية تتميز بعملها. كل شئ في الكون هو كل شئ آخر, والشيطان ليس سوي ملاك آراد المزيد.”
“If I'm still conscious to face the consequences of my actions, then at the very least I will know that my actions were real, thay they indeed had consequences, though my lone life will amount to less than a single click of static in the symphony of the big bang. If my actions were real, then so were my memories, and if those were real, the things I've done have allowed me to see God and I0m not afraid of following my life down that eight-second black rabbit hole.”
“I woke up with a heart attack just out of my field of vision and with my dick in my hand, saying, I love you I love you I love you over and over...And that my dear sweet love of my life, is how things were without you and I'd done everything I could to keep you from knowing that”
“Candle is an X-ray, it's a matter of wavelength.”
“الشيطان ليس سوى ملاك اراد المزيد”
“If I made you from nothing, then maybe I am God, and because I want More, maybe I'm the Devil.”
“I bought a piece of God, ground to dust and mixed with alcohol in a glass bottle the colour of molasses.”
“You said I was in love. You were right. But that never happened, either.”
“I do know that I fell in love with the moment of falling in love and I wanted to keep that moment alive forever, at the expense of all those moments to follow.”
“الأمر يشبه أن تقع في الحب كل ليلة ويتحطم قلبك كل صباح . للأبد مثل برومثيوس .. فقط ننسى كم أن ذاكرتنا غير دقيقة . الاحتفاظ بذاكرة طيبة معناه تدمير قدر عظيم من الماضي .”
“نحن فاقدي الذكرة ، الذين حكم عليهم بأن يعيشوا في حاضر أبدي سريع الزوال ، قد خلقنا أكثر الابتكارات البشرية تعقيدا : الذاكرة . كي نخفف على أنفسنا معرفة حقيقة أليمة ؛ هي مرور الزمن الذي لا يمكن تغييره ، واستحالة استرجاع لحظاته ووقائعه .
ـــ جيفري سونابند”
“امرأة تحمل مشعلا في ذكرى حبها المفقود وزوجها لا يعرف . رجل يفقد طفلا أو زوجة أو أخا . ربما هي غلطته وربما لا . الناس تحمل ماخسرته طيلة حياتها .. فقدان وظيفة .. صداقة .. زواج .. سمعة . حياة شخص محبوب . هناك من يشعرون بالحسرة طيلة ساعات يقظتهم وهناك من يشعرون بها أثناء النوم .”
“كل عمل يتميز بنواياه وكل نية تتميز بعملها . الفارق بين القبول والاغتصاب قد يكون كأسا واحدة أو كلمة واحدة.”
“Everyone is the Umbrella Man and he is everyone. Every cough, sneeze, smile and wave means both everything and nothing. The signals are everywhere.”
“لا أحد يكتفي بشئ . أغنى رجل في العالم يحاول أن يكون أغنى . كل واحد يعمل في أحد المكاتب باهتة اللون يعرف هذا . كل من يدفع رهنا على بيت باهت يعرف هذا . ينفقون مالا يملكون على أطفالهم الباهتين الذين لهم مستقبل باهت . كل كأس أو قذفة نرد أو نظرة ثانية لامرأة ، تهمس للرجل في أذنه بأن يطلب أكثر ، عندما لا يصغي لإلهه أو عندما ينظر إلى حيث لا ينبغي له .”
“تضربين معصمي أماما وخلفا .. بالطريقة التي تمارسينها عندما تعجزين عن النوم ، وبرغم هذا لا تريدين لي أن أنام أنا الآخر .”
“منذ اول يوم رأيتها عرفت انها هي ..
إذ نظرت لعيني وابتسمت
لأن شفتيها كانتا بلون الورد
الذي ينمو عبر النهر .. أحمر .. متوحشا ..
ـــــ نيك كيف”
“لكنهم لا يتوقعون نهم الفضول . بالنسبة للفضوليين ، يعتبر كل فشل ضوءا جديدا يسلط على المشكلة .”
“وبدأت نار أخرى تلتهب خلف أذني بثلاث بوصات ، وتحفر حفرة في قاع ذاكرتي .
عمر كامل يتكون من أيام .. أعوام .. دقائق .. أشهر .. قد ولى ما عدا قصاصة صغيرة .. تفحمت وسقطت فوق طرف عصبي منسول ، ثم تطير مع النسيم .”
“So this is why I write. Because most times, your life isn’t funny the first time through. Most times, you can hardly stand it.”
“You lit all these candles..." She glanced at them, then back at him.
"I wanted it to be special."
"Any time we're naked in a bedroom together is special to me.”
“Faerie: where it’s only a little weird to realize that my boyfriend is older than the internal combustion engine.”
“Boys, men, old toothless women had run along beside the car when the train was again in motion, calling, offering bananas, guavas, mangoes, paper cones of flavored ice, Jello shimmering on the palm of a hand, lifting something up to him and fumbling his money, running faster to give him his change, or slower, grinning, shrugging, as the train pulled away. Somewhere he had bought half a roasted cow's head and eaten it held by the horn with a newspaper on his lap. What had caused the diarrhea he did not know.”
“Whatever junk novels were, however they worked, they were close to therapy, and airports were close to therapy. They both belonged to the culture of the waiting room. Piped music, the language of calming suasion. Come this way--yes, the flight attendant will see you now. Airports, junk novels: they were taking your mind off mortal fear.”
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