“Destiny is just the inevitable result of choice, from the choices that came before us to the choices we make. They are a river that can only flow in one direction.”
“Nature cannot be reprogrammed forever. Humans are not meant to run like software. You cannot hack the human condition.”
“He found that worry was a completely renewable resource. The more he had, the more he got.”
“Laugh a little Syd," Knox said. "Life is too short for perpetual misery.”
“The only people who couldn't understand the brutal lengths others would go to for money were the people who'd never been without it.”
“We should all get a little forgiveness—without it, there can be no kindness.”
“He wondered if anyone really ever changed, or if stuff just piled on and on, covering up, but never erasing all the different parts. How deep would you have to dig to find who you started out as?”
“Honesty was its own kind of peace.”
“Some things are more important that any one person.”
“I believe you, Knox...And I don't care...Got it? I believe you're sorry. I. Don't. Care. I don't want your sorry. Live with your guilt. It's the one debt you owe me and I don't ever, ever want it repaid.”
“It's not easy to throw your life away, even for a good reason, even when it's the right thing to do. It was simple enough. Debt or no: Syd did not want to die.”
“Nothing mystical about destiny. Destiny is just the inevitable result of choice, from the choices that came before us to the choices we make. They are a river that can only flow in one direction.”
“In the end, someone would have to pay for it. Everything costs.”
“It was good to be admired for something. Everyone should feel that way sometimes, he thought.”
“Of course, it made no sense. The goat couldn't object or agree. The goat couldn't forgive. The goat didn't even know what was happening. Only humans could accept responsibility, and only humans could take on a debt. Only humans could stand in for one another...A goat would always be a goat, but humans can change how they define one another and how they define themselves. That was civilization.”
“He grinned and then pulled Syd's face to him, pressing their lips together. At first Syd flinched, then he relaxed and let his hands fall to Knox's side. The battle around them vanished, the world that was nd the world to come, all disappeared for one instant as their lips held on to one another.”
“A life for a life. All debts have to be repaid.”
“His proxy turned and thrashed in his sleep, but Knox didn't wake him. His dreams, like everyone Else's, were his own. So were his nightmares.”
“Guilt. That might have been the only purely human feeling Knox had left.”
“This is bigger than you," said Mr. Baram. "You can bring down this whole system. Erase the data that enslaves so many. Jubilee. Freedom. Forgiveness. Is that not enough?”
“Know must look the same. He'd never thought he'd be someone with tired eyes. Never thought, he'd stare across a fire at a girl who had them, a girl who'd lied to him and insulted him and, really, when it came down to it, ruined his life. He never thought he'd want to keep staring at her. (The Frog Prince Story.”
“... but she believed and that was the price of belief. It gave no discounts to friendship (p370)”
“Knox's father shrugged. "They're children. We don't need their forgiveness.”
“(Yovel) "Jubilee," said Maire. "The day when all debts are forgiven."..."Yes," said Mr.Baram. "In the old holy books, there was a commandment that every fifty years, all debts were to be forgiven, all slaves were to be freed and all property returned. You are marked with the word of that commandment.”
“A grudge was just another debt owed.”
“Avant le chariot du supermarché, le qu'est-ce qu'on va manger ce soir, les économies pour s'acheter un canapé, une chaîne hi-fi, un appart. Avant les couches, le petit seau et la pelle sur la plage, les hommes que je ne vois plus, les revues de consommateurs pour ne pas se faire entuber, le gigot qu'il aime par-dessus tout et le calcul réciproque des libertés perdues. Une période où l'on peut dîner d'un yaourt, faire sa valise en une demi-heure pour un week-end impromptu, parler toute une nuit. Lire un dimanche entier sous les couvertures. S'amollir dans un café, regarder les gens entrer et sortir, se sentir flotter entre ces existences anonymes. Faire la fête sans scrupule quand on a le cafard. Une période où les conversations des adultes installés paraissent venir d'un univers futile, presque ridicule, on se fiche des embouteillages, des morts de la Pentecôte, du prix du bifteck et de la météo. Personne ne vous colle aux semelles encore. Toutes les filles l'ont connue, cette période, plus ou moins longue, plus ou moins intense, mais défendu de s'en souvenir avec nostalgie. Quelle honte ! Oser regretter ce temps égoïste, où l'on n'était responsable que de soi, douteux, infantile. La vie de jeune fille, ça ne s'enterre pas, ni chanson ni folklore là-dessus, ça n'existe pas. Une période inutile.”
“I’m truly sorry that I ruined you,” I whisper into her hair as her breathing begins to show signs of sleep. “Me, too,” she breathes, and regret fills in the little spaces between us as she drifts off.”
“My first emotions had been those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same melancholy merge into fear, that pity into repulsion. So true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense bids the soul rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the scrivener was the victim of innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his soul I could not reach.”
“Writer's Resolution
Enough's Enough! No more shall I
Pursue the Muse and scorch the pie
Or dream of Authoring a book
When I (unhappy soul) must cook;
Or burn the steak while I wool-gather,
And stir my spouse into a lather
Invoking words like "Darn!" and such
And others that are worse (Oh, much!)
Concerning culinary knack
Which I (HE says) completely lack.
I'll keep my mind upon my work;
I'll learn each boresome cooking quirk;
This day shall mark a new leaf's turning...
That smell! Oh Hell! The beans are burning!”
“answer. How else is he going to understand what is obvious to us, that Herr Klamm never will speak to him – what am I saying, never”
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