“What man of us has never felt, walking through the twilight or writing down a date from his past, that he has lost something infinite?”
“Man's memory shapes
Its own Eden within”
“أنا الذي كنت عدة أشخاص بلا طائل، أريد أن أكون شخصاً واحداً، أنا نفسي”
“He thought that the rose was to be found in its own eternity and not in his words; and that we may mention or allude to a thing, but not express it.”
“Leaving behind the babble of the plaza, I enter the Library. I feel, almost physically, the gravitation of the books, the enveloping serenity of order, time magically dessicated and preserved.”
“The machinery of the world is far too complex for the simplicity of men.”
“يؤدي التأمل بالذات الى التأمل بالآخر، والتعرف على الذات الى تضييعها في سلسلة الآخرين اللامتناهية”
“من منا، نحن الاثنين، يكتب الآن، عن أنا متعددة، وكآبة واحدة؟”
“It must be that I am not made to be a dead man, but these places and this discussion seem like a dream, and not a dream dreamed by me but by someone else still to be born.”
“البداية هي النهاية بعينها. وإذا بحثت عن شيء وجدته في غيره لا في ذاته”
“ويبدو أنك تلاحظ وجود شيء ما يخصك، مثل برعم ينكسر نصف انكسارةٍ ويموت”
“(...) Un hombre se propone la tarea de dibujar el mundo. A lo largo de los años puebla un espacio con imágenes de provincias, de reinos, de montañas, de bahías, de naves, de islas, de peces, de habitaciones, de instrumentos, de astros, de caballos y de personas. Poco antes de morir, descubre que ese paciente laberinto de líneas traza la imagen de su cara.”
“أن نعرف أننا نكفّ عن الوجود، تماماً كالنهر، وان وجوهنا تتلاشى، تماماً كالمياه”
“ما أرق تدرج الألوان، وما أطول السلسلة”
“لم ينعم النظر في مباهج الذاكرة.ثمة أشياء، في وسعها أن تملأ روحه تماماً الا انه شيئاً فشيئاً أفلَت منه العالم الجميل، لم تكن الليلة عامرة بالنجوم، والأرض تحت قدميه موضع شك. كان كل شيء يزداد نأياً وضبابية.”
“دون عويلٍ أو غيظ، سيثلم الزمن حدّ أكثر السيوف بطولة”
“لم تكن الليلة عامرة بالنجوم، والأرض تحت قدميه موضع شك. كان كل شيء يزداد نأياً وضبابية”
“إذ توجدالأسطورة في أول الأدب، وتوجد في آخره أيضًا”
“Of all the books I have delivered to the presses, none, I think, is as personal as the straggling collection mustered for this hodgepodge, precisely because it abounds in reflections and interpolations.
Few things have happened to me, and I have read a great many. Or rather, few things have happened to me more worth remembering than Schopenhauer's thought or the music of England's words.”
“God, in the dream, illumined the animal's brutishness and he understood the reasons, and accepted his destiny; but when he awoke there was only a dark resignation, a valiant ignorance, for the machinery of the world is far too complex for the simplicity of a wild beast.
Years later, Dante was dying in Ravenna, as unjustified and as lonely as any other man. In a dream, God declared to him the secret purpose of his life and work; Dante, in wonderment, knew at last who and what he was and blessed the bitterness of his life....upon waking, he felt that he had received and lost an infinite thing, something that he would not be able to recuperate or even glimpse, for the machinery of the world is much too complex for the simplicity of a man.”
“In my soul the afternoon grows wider and I reflect.”
“Tomorrow, in the fields of my kingdom, may you have a happy battle.
May your kingly hands be terrible in weaving the sword stuff.
May those opposing your sword become meat for the red swan.
May your many gods glut you with glory, may they glut you with blood.
Victorious may you be in the dawn, king who treads on Ireland.
Of your many days may none shine bright as tomorrow.
Because that day will be the last. I swear it to you, King Magnus.
For before its light is blotted, I shall vanquish you and blot you out, Magnus Barfod.”
“Out of this city marched armies that seemed to be great, and afterwards were when glory had magnified them.
As the years went by, an occasional soldier returned, and with a foreign trace to his speech, told tales of what had happened to him in places called Ituzaingo or Ayacucho.
These things, now, are as if they had never been.
--"Martin Fierro”
“And so, as I sleep, some dream beguiles me, and suddenly I know I dream.
Then I think: this is a dream, a pure diversion of my will; now that I have unlimited power, I am going to create a tiger.
Oh incompetence! Never do my dreams engender the wild beast I longed for.
The tiger indeed appears, but stuffed or flimsy, or with impure variations of shape, or of an implausible size, or all too fleeting, or with a touch of the dog or bird.”
“Little has happened to me in my lifetime, but I have read much.”
“On the other hand, I came from a long line of grocers.”
“And then,” Steris said softly, “perhaps I came along because of the way it feels.…”
Marasi looked sharply back at her sister.
“Like the whole world has been upended,” Steris said, looking toward the ceiling. “Like the laws of nature and man no longer hold sway. They’re suddenly flexible, like a string given slack. We’re the spheres.… I love the idea that I can break out of it all—the expectations, the way I’m regarded, the way I regard myself—and soar.
“I saw it in his eyes, first. That hunger, that fire. And then I found it in myself. He’s a flame, Waxillium is, and fire can be shared. When I’m out here, when I’m with him, I burn, Marasi. It’s wonderful.”
Marasi’s jaw dropped, and she gawked at her sister. Had those words left Steris’s mouth? Careful, monotonous, boring Steris? She glanced toward Marasi and blushed.
“You actually love him, don’t you?” Marasi asked.
“Well, love is a strong emotion, one that requires careful deliberation to—”
“Steris.”
“Yes.” She looked down at her notebook. “It’s foolish, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Marasi said. “Love is always a foolish emotion. That’s what makes it work.”
“It was just a coat, I know, but I held onto it for so long. I’m not even sure why I kept it. It was with me every day. It kept me warm and dry, and billowed behind me as I rode my bike across the lot in the wee hours of the night. I can’t help feeling a little sad it’s gone. [But], the coat has served its purpose. The sun is blazing, and I don’t need it to keep me warm anymore. Rather than mourn the loss of my jacket, I will be thankful for the time we had together. I thank it for all it did for me, and then I let it go.”
“Los años se restan, se diluyen, se esfuman, en vertiginoso retroceso del tiempo”
“Monasticism is really based on the idea that if you leave people, you leave the spirit of the world. But you do not. You can leave the world in a physical sense, you can leave the crowd and the people; but there in your lonely cell the spirit of the world may still be with you.”
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