“I read somewhere; while God still existed one sustained a dialogue with God, and now that He no longer exists one has to sustain a dialogue with other people, I guess, or, better still, with oneself, that is to say, one talks or mumbles to oneself.”
― Imre Kertész, quote from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
“I have felt that some sort of awful shame is attached to my name and that I have somehow brought this shame along from somewhere I have never been, and that I have carried this sin as my sin even though I have never committed it; this sin pursues me all my life, which life is undoubtedly not my own even thought I live it , I suffer from it die of it.”
― Imre Kertész, quote from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
“No" — I could never be another person’s father, fate, god,
"No" — it should never happen to another child, what happened to me; my childhood. (Auschwitz).”
― Imre Kertész, quote from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
“...една жена с плаха усмивка и плавни движения, с архаичната маска на босонога слугиня с разпуснати коси тихо и свенливо моли да я пусна в моето ultimum moriens, т. е. в сърцето си, там се оглежда с мила и любопитна усмивка, докосва всичко с нежна ръка, тук-таме забърсва праха, проветрява застоялите кътчета, изхвърля едно-друго и на мястото нарежда собствените си вещи, настанява се изящно, акуратно и неотразимо, докато накрая осъзнавам, че съм напълно изтикан оттам и потиснат, като чужденец в изгнание, обикалям собственото си сърце, което ми се мержелее в далечината със затворени врати, както нечий топъл дом за бездомника; и доста често успявам да се нанеса обратно само ако се върна с друга жена под ръка и я настаня там.”
― Imre Kertész, quote from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
“On one occasion she had spoken heatedly about the French Revolution, saying it had been little better than the Nazis. Her great-aunt responded by saying that she, being a Jew, had no right to talk about the French Revolution in that way, because had there been no French Revolution the Jews would still be living in ghettos today. After this rebuke from the great-aunt, so my wife remembered, she had not spoken a word at home for days or maybe even weeks. She had felt that she herself no longer existed, that she had no right at all to lay claim to her own feelings or thoughts, that solely because she had been born a Jew she could have only Jewish feelings and Jewish thoughts.”
― Imre Kertész, quote from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
“... đời sống hạnh phúc là một đời sống câm lặng...”
― Imre Kertész, quote from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
Imre Kertész
Born place: in Budapest, Hungary
Born date November 9, 1929
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“Nothing in life is easy. But that's no reason to give up. you'll be surprised what you can accomplish if you set your mind to it.”
― Louis Sachar, quote from Holes
“It's funny, but certain faces seem to go in and out of style. You look at old photographs and everybody has a certain look to them, almost as if they're related. Look at pictures from ten years later and you can see that there's a new kind of face starting to predominate, and that the old faces are fading away and vanishing, never to be seen again.”
― Alan Moore, quote from Watchmen
“Those ancients who in poetry presented
the golden age, who sang its happy state,
perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place.
Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here
were every fruit and never-ending spring;
these streams--the nectar of which poets sing.”
― Dante Alighieri, quote from The Divine Comedy
“There was a girl, and her uncle sold her. Put like that it seems so simple.
No man, proclaimed Donne, is an island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived and then by some means or other, died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes- forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There's not a chance you'll mistake one for another, after a minute's close inspection) but still unique.
Without individuals we see only numbers, a thousand dead, a hundred thousand dead, "casualties may rise to a million." With individual stories, the statistics become people- but even that is a lie, for the people continue to suffer in numbers that themselves are numbing and meaningless. Look, see the child's swollen, swollen belly and the flies that crawl at the corners of his eyes, this skeletal limbs: will it make it easier for you to know his name, his age, his dreams, his fears? To see him from the inside? And if it does, are we not doing a disservice to his sister, who lies in the searing dust beside him, a distorted distended caricature of a human child? And there, if we feel for them, are they now more important to us than a thousand other children touched by the same famine, a thousand other young lives who will soon be food for the flies' own myriad squirming children?
We draw our lines around these moments of pain, remain upon our islands, and they cannot hurt us. They are covered with a smooth, safe, nacreous layer to let them slip, pearllike, from our souls without real pain.
Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world beyond the tale we turn the page or close the book, and we resume our lives.
A life that is, like any other, unlike any other.
And the simple truth is this: There was a girl, and her uncle sold her.”
― Neil Gaiman, quote from American Gods
“She asked where he lived.
Second to the right,' said Peter, 'and then straight on till morning.”
― J.M. Barrie, quote from Peter Pan
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