Quotes from Pilgrim

Timothy Findley ·  538 pages

Rating: (2.9K votes)


“I have dreamt of a life you will never know; the life of a loving and caring companion. I simply thought you should know. I see that you are in trouble. I watch and listen to you. I want to help, but you won't let me. So be it. I love you still. Do what you will, I shall watch over you.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“Има хора, чието преживяване на живота е толкова различно от нашето собствено, че ги наричаме луди. За чисто удобство. Наричаме ги така, за да се освободим от поемането на отговорност за тяхното място в човешката общност. И затова ги изпращаме в приюти, затваряме ги, за да не се виждат и чуват, зад заключени врати. Но за тях няма разлика между това, което ние смятаме за сънища и кошмари, и света, в който протича всекидневният им живот... Според тях може да има святост в дървета и жаби, живи богове в огъня и водата и глас във вихрушката, към който, ако само се вслушаме, те ще насочат вниманието ни... Те не живеят в “други светове”, а в едно измерение на този свят, което ние от страх отказваме да приемем.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“Има степени на лудост, разбира се. Аз открих следи в самия себе си, признавам. – Той махна с ръка. – Но лудостта е силен звяр и не може да бъде уловена в теории. С времето се научих не само да не вярвам на теории, но и активно да им се противопоставям. Фактите са важни. И ние разполагаме само с фактите за всяка индивидуална лудост. Общите теории за лудостта се разкриват като се разкрива истинската ѝ природа във всеки пациент, един по един по един. Моята собствена лудост се измерва в скоби – както всяка лудост. И поради това, аз се научих не само да се справям с нея, но и да живея с нея. И което е най-важно, да функционирам въпреки нейното наличие.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“music is the worst of them - roiling and boiling - overly emotionalized on the one hand, overly intellectuallized on the other. Bach and Mozart indeed! Bach inevitably makes me think of fish in a barrel! round and round and round they go and nothing ever happens. Nothing ! Tum -de-dum-dum. Tum -de-dum-dum and that's all! Tum -de-dum-de-bloody-dum-dum! As for Mozart, his emotions did not mature beyond the age of twelve. never achieved adolescence, let alone puberty. his music merely combines a popular talent for slapstick and a commercial talent for tears. No - not tears. For sobs. Beethoven, pompous. Chopin - sickly sweet and given to tantrums - Tum -de-dum-dum- Bang! and Wagner - a self -centred bore. and Stravinsky - discordant, rude and blows his music through his nose”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“Happiness is not our goal. The achievement of happiness deflects us from our true destiny which is the utter realization of self.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim



“Светът, каза той, свършва всеки ден – и започва на следващия”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“Животът изисква да го живеем до непоносимост.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“Ако оцеляването ѝ зависи от вярата ѝ, че живее на Луната, тогава ние трябва да приемем нейната реалност, а не тя нашата.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“...only one deaf God, who cannot see, remains—claiming all of creation as His own. If people would invest one hundredth of their devotion to this God in the living brothers and sisters amongst whom they stand, we might have a chance of surviving one another. As it is...”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“The art of presenting oneself, he had once told Sybil, lies in creating an immediate shock which is countered by a slow retreat into custom. People never quite recover from my cravats, but they will never find the equal of my tailor. To be memorable is all, when it comes to dress.”
― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim



About the author

Timothy Findley
Born place: in Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Born date October 30, 1930
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“Though I have always made it my practice to be pleasant to everybody, I have not once actually experienced friendship. I have only the most painful recollections of my various acquaintances with the exception of such companions in pleasure as Horiki. I have frantically played the clown in order to disentangle myself from these painful relationships, only to wear myself out as a result. Even now it comes as a shock if by chance I notice in the street a face resembling someone I know however slightly, and I am at once seized by a shivering violent enough to make me dizzy. I know that I am liked by other people, but I seem to be deficient in the faculty to love others. (I should add that I have very strong doubts as to whether even human beings really possess this faculty.) It was hardly to be expected that someone like myself could ever develop any close friends—besides, I lacked even the ability to pay visits. The front door of another person’s house terrified me more than the gate of Inferno in the Divine Comedy, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I really felt I could detect within the door the presence of a horrible dragon-like monster writhing there with a dank, raw smell.”
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“All paths are present, always... and we can but choose among them.”
― Jacqueline Carey, quote from Kushiel's Chosen


“The famous field altar came from the Jewish firm of Moritz Mahler in Vienna, which manufactured all kinds of accessories for mass as well as religious objects like rosaries and images of saints.

The altar was made up of three parts, lberally provided with sham gilt like the whole glory of the Holy Church.

It was not possible without considerable ingenuity to detect what the pictures painted on these three parts actually represented. What was certain was that it was an altar which could have been used equally well by heathens in Zambesi or by the Shamans of the Buriats and Mongols.

Painted in screaming colors it appeared from a distance like a coloured chart intended for colour-blind railway workers. One figure stood out prominently - a naked man with a halo and a body which was turning green, like the parson's nose of a goose which has begun to rot and is already stinking. No one was doing anything to this saint. On the contrary, he had on both sides of him two winged creatures which were supposed to represent angels. But anyone looking at them had the impression that this holy naked man was shrieking with horror at the company around him, for the angels looked like fairy-tale monsters and were a cross between a winged wild cat and the beast of the apocalypse.

Opposite this was a picture which was meant to represent the Holy Trinity. By and large the painter had been unable to ruin the dove. He had painted a kind of bird which could equally well have been a pigeon or a White Wyandotte. God the Father looked like a bandit from the Wild West served up to the public in an American film thriller.

The Son of God on the other hand was a gay young man with a handsome stomach draped in something like bathing drawers. Altogether he looked a sporting type. The cross which he had in his hand he held as elegantly as if it had been a tennis racquet.

Seen from afar however all these details ran into each other and gave the impression of a train going into a station.”
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