“Blow the candle out, I don't need to see what my thoughts look like.”
“If people can just love each other a little bit, they can be so happy.”
“There’s only one thing that warms my heart, and that is the thought that we are going to sweep away these bourgeois.”
“Oui, c'est votre idée, à vous tous, les ouvriers français, déterrer un trésor, pour le manger seul ensuite, dans un coin d'égoïsme et de fainéantise. Vous avez beau crier contre les riches, le courage vous manque de rendre aux pauvres l'argent que la fortune vous envoie... Jamais vous ne serez dignes du bonheur, tant que vous aurez quelque chose à vous, et que votre haine des bourgeois viendra uniquement de votre besoin enragé d'être des bourgeois à leur place.”
“Men were springing up, a black avenging host was slowly germinating in the furrows, thrusting upward for the harvests of future ages. And very soon their germination would crack the earth asunder.”
“This sounded the death knell of small family businesses, soon to be followed by the disappearance of the individual entrepreneur, gobbled up one by one by the increasingly hungry ogre of capitalism, and drowned by the rising tide of large companies.”
“Il y avait des hommes si ambitieux qu'ils auraient torché les chefs, pour les entendre seulement dire merci.”
“It was at times like this that one of those waves of bestiality ran through the mine, the sudden lust of the male that came over a miner when he met one of these girls on all fours, with her rear in the air and her buttocks busting out of her breeches.”
“All round there was a rising tide of beer, widow Désir's barrels had all been broached, beer had rounded all paunches and was overflowing in all directions, from noses, eyes - and elsewhere. People were so blown out and higgledy-piggledy, that everybody's elbows or knees were sticking into his neighbour and everybody thought it great fun to feel his neighbour's elbows. All mouths were grinning from ear to ear in continuous laughter.”
“It was the red vision of the revolution, which would one day inevitably carry them all away, on some bloody evening at the end of the century. Yes, some evening the people, unbridled at last, would thus gallop along the roads, making the blood of the middle class flow, parading severed heads and sprinkling gold from disembowelled coffers. The women would yell, the men would have those wolf-like jaws open to bite. Yes, the same rags, the same thunder of great sabots, the same terrible troop, with dirty skins and tainted breath, sweeping away the old world beneath an overflowing flood of barbarians.”
“On a pitch black, starless night, a solitary man was trudging along the main road from Marchiennes to Montsou, ten kilometres of cobblestones running straight as a die across the bare plain between fields of beet.”
“They spoke one after the other in a despairing voice, giving expression to their complaints. The workers could not hold out; the Revolution had only aggravated their wretchedness; only the bourgeois had grown fat since ‘89, so greedily that they had not even left the bottom of the plates to lick. Who could say that the workers had had their reasonable share in the extraordinary increase of wealth and comfort during the last hundred years? They had made fun of them by declaring them free. Yes, free to starve, a freedom of which they fully availed themselves. It put no bread into your cupboard to go and vote for fine fellows who went away and enjoyed themselves, thinking no more of the wretched voters than of their old boots. No! one way or another it would have to come to an end, either quietly by laws, by an understanding in good fellowship, or like savages by burning everything and devouring one another. Even if they never saw it, their children would certainly see it, for the century could not come to an end without another revolution, that of the workers this time, a general hustling which would cleanse society from top to bottom, and rebuild it with more cleanliness and justice.”
“No, the only good in life lay in not being - or, if one had to be, then in being a tree, a stone, or even less than that, the grain of sand that cannot bleed beneath the grinding heel of a passer-by.”
“Quem era o idiota que punha a felicidade deste mundo na repartição da riqueza?”
“Desprezava os discursadores, os astutos que entram na política como quem entra na advocacia, para ganhar dinheiro com a retórica.”
“Não era um grito de fome que rolava com o vento de março através destes campos nus? As rajadas do vento haviam aumentado e pareciam trazer consigo a morte do trabalho, uma escassez que mataria muitos homens. E, com os olhos errando de um ponto a outro, ele se esforçava por furar as sombras, atormentado pelo desejo e pelo medo de ver.”
“Decididamente, ela era encantadora. Assim que acabasse de comer, tomá-la-ia em seus braços e beijaria aqueles lábios grossos e róseos. Era a resolução de um tímido, um pensamento de violência que chegava a estrangular-lhe a voz.”
“Então era possível que uma pessoa se matasse num trabalho de escravo, no fundo dessas trevas horrendas, e nem sequer conseguisse ganhar os parcos tostões para o pão de cada dia?”
“Homens brotavam, um exército negro, vingador, que germinava lentamente nos sulcos da terra, crescendo para as colheitas do século futuro, cuja germinação não tardaria em fazer rebentar a terra.”
“Zavallı insanlar makinelerde yem gibi öğütülüyor, işçi mahallelerindeki daracık izbelere hayvanlar gibi tıkılıyor, büyük işletmelerce kuralına uydurulan kölelik sayesinde, emekçi halk, milyonlarca kafa ve kol, sırf bin kadar sömürücü tembel, el bebek gül bebek yaşasın, servetlerine servet katabilsin diye, asker gibi çalıştırılıp yavaş yavaş tüketiliyordu. Ama madencinin gözü açılmıştı, toprağın dibinde ezilen cahil bir adam değildi artık. Madenocaklarının derinliklerinden bir ordu, filizlenmekte olan bir yurttaşlar ordusu fışkıracaktı; evet, tohum yeşerecek ve güneşli bir günde toprağı delip çıkacaktı. İşte o zaman, kırk yıl emek verdikten sonra öksürdükçe kömür tüküren, madenin rütubetiyle bacakları tutulmuş altmış yaşındaki bir ihtiyara, yüz elli frank emekli aylığı vermeye kalkışmak ne demekmiş göreceklerdi! Evet! Emek, kapitalizmden hesap soracaktı.”
“Dans la plaine rase, sous la nuit sans étoiles, d'une obscurité et d'une épaisseur d'encre, un homme suivait seul la grande route de Marchiennes à Montsou, dix kilomètres de pavé coupant tout droit, à travers les champs de betteraves. Devant lui, il ne voyait même pas le sol noir, et il n'avait la sensation de l'immense horizon plat que par les souffles du vent de mars, des rafales larges comme sur une mer, glacées d'avoir balayé des lieues de marais et de terres nues. Aucune ombre d'arbre ne tachait le ciel, le pavé se déroulait avec la rectitude d'une jetée, au milieu de l'embrun aveuglant des ténèbres.”
“They were brutes, no doubt, but brutes who could not read, and who were dying of hunger.”
“Мора бити да је гвожђе на пречагама засецало њене ноге, јер јој се чинило да је тестеришу као до костију. После сваког хватања очекивала је да ће руке испустити греде дуж лествица; руке су јој биле толико огуљене и укочене да није могла да савија прсте. Мислила је да ће се ишчупаних рамена и растављених удова преврнути услед непрестаног напора. Нарочито јој је сметао мали нагиб готово сасвим усправних лествица. Због тога је морала да се пење уместо песница, с трбухом приљубљеним уз дрво. Тешко дисање људи заглушивало је шум ногу. Страховити ропац, који се удесетостручио одбијајући се од преграде отвора, подизао се са дна и нестајао тек на површини земље. Чуло се јечање. Пренела се вест: неки шегрт је разбио лобању о ивицу одморишта.”
“Being stuck awake in the middle of the night feels like prison. There’s nothing to do with yourself, especially when someone else is in the room. I”
“I am told that Meljanz also had adorned himself richly for battle. His courage too was high, and he rode a handsome Castilian which Meljacanz had won from Keie when he flung him so high with his thrust that Keie was caught on the branch of a tree and hung there.”
“Dad...you did it? (Shocked but keeping voice down) You did it to the others? You sent out a hundred and twenty cracked engine-heads and let those boys die! How could you do that? How? (Voice rises with anger) Dad...Dad, you killed twenty-one men! You killed them, you murdered them. (Becomes more furious) Explain it to me. Explain to me how you do it? What did you do? (Pause) Explain it to me goddammit or I will tear you to pieces! I want to know what you did, now what did you do? You had a hundred and twenty cracked engine-heads, now what did you do? Why'd you ship them out in the first place? If you knew they were cracked, then why didn't you tell them?”
“Like the street his gallery was on, Fortin had an attractive front, hiding quite a foul interior. He was opportunistic. He fed on the talent of others. Got rich on the talent of others. While most of the artists themselves barely scraped by, and took all the risks.”
“Holes in my heart
Yeah.
That was about right”
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