“My objection to war was not that I had to kill somebody or be killed senselessly, that hardly mattered. What I objected to was to be denied the right to sit in a small room and starve and drink cheap wine and go crazy in my own way and at my own leisure.”
“Like anybody can tell you, I am not a very nice man. I don't know the word. I have
always admired the villain, the outlaw, the son of a bitch. I don't like the clean-shaven
boy with the necktie and the good job. I like desperate men, men with broken teeth
and broken minds and broken ways. They interest me. They are full of surprises and
explosions. I also like vile women, drunk cursing bitches with loose stockings and
sloppy mascara faces. I'm more interested in perverts than saints. I can relax with
bums because I am a bum. I don't like laws, morals, religions, rules. I don't like to be
shaped by society.”
“I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.”
“Thirty- eight years old and he was finished. He sipped at the coffee and remembered where he had gone wrong -- or right. He'd simply gotten tired -- of the insurance game, of the small offices and high glass partitions, the clients; he'd simply gotten tired of cheating on his wife, of squeezing secretaries in the elevator and in the halls;
he'd gotten tired of Christmas parties and New Year's parties and birthdays, and payments on new cars and furniture payments -- light, gas, water -- the whole bleeding complex of necessities.
He'd gotten tired and quit, that's all. The divorce came soon enough and the drinking came soon enough, and suddenly he was out of it. He had nothing, and he found out that having nothing was difficult too. It was another type of burden. If only there were some gentler road in between. It seemed a man only had two choices -- get in on the hustle or be a bum.”
“Her eyes always had a frantic, lost look. He could never cure her eyes of that.”
“She drove with the throttle to the floor and took the curves sliding and screeching and without expression. That was class. If she loved like she drove it was going to be a hell of a night.”
“What were you going to do tonight?"
"I was going to listen to the songs of Rachmaninoff."
"Who's that?"
"A dead Russian.”
“Hospitals and jails and whores: these are the universities of life. I’ve got several degrees. Call me Mr.”
“She made the same money in ten minutes that I had made in a day with some hours thrown in. Monetarily speaking, it seemed sure as shit you were better off having a pussy than a cock.”
“Zircoff," I said, "put the tomatoes away."
"Piss," he said, "I wish they were hand grenades.”
“Kimsenin ıstırabı olması gerekenden fazla değildir.”
“Никой не страда повече, отколкото трябва.”
“America had been taught that beauty only resided in youth, especially in the
female.”
“Después de todo ¿por qué era necesario amar a un ser humano? Nunca duraba mucho. Había demasiadas diferencias entre cada individuo, y lo que empezaba siendo amor acababa siempre en guerra despiadada”
“The public is fortunate. Everything pleases them: icecream cones, rock concerts, singing, swinging, love, hate, masturbation, hot dogs, country dances, Jesus Christ, roller skating, spiritualism, capitalism, communism, circumcision, comic strips, Bob Hope, skiing, fishing murder bowling debating, anything. They don’t expect much and they don’t get much. They are one grand gang.”
“The kids sit about sipping at their coffees and waiting for it to happen. It isn’t going to happen.”
“Em termos monetários, parecia mais do que certo que era melhor ter uma buceta do que um caralho.”
“Não posso dizer que odeie o mundo dos homens e das mulheres, mas eu sentia um certo nojo que me separava dos artesãos e dos comerciantes, dos mentirosos e dos amantes, e agora, décadas mais tarde, sinto esse mesmo nojo. É claro, essa é apenas a história de um homem ou a visão de um homem da realidade. Se você continuar lendo, talvez a próxima história seja mais alegre. Espero que sim.”
“Que sonho bom: nunca mais olhar na cara de outro ser humano.”
“Parecia que um homem tinha apenas duas escolhas: acotovelar-se no jogo da ambição ou ser um mendigo.”
“– Existem bilhões de pessoas no mundo que não
atingem o sucesso pela criação. Quer me dizer que elas estão mortas?
– Sim.
– E você tem uma alma? Você é um dos poucos que tem uma alma?
– Diria que sim.”
“os loucos e os bêbados são os últimos santos que sobraram na Terra.”
“–Los hombres se hacen intelectuales porque son cobardes, no desesperados. –Y la diferencia entre cobarde y desesperado es... –¡Bingo! –contesté–. ¡Un intelectual!”
“Dentro de quatro paredes, tinha-se uma chance. Uma vez que se está na rua, já não há chance alguma, está tudo perdido, tudo realmente perdido. Por que roubar algo se não se pode cozinhar seja lá o que for? Como vai trepar com alguém morando no beco? Como se pode transar com alguém com todo aquele ronco dos albergues municipais? E como resistir quando seus sapatos são roubados? E o fedor? E a loucura? Não dá nem para tocar uma punheta. Você precisa de quatro paredes. Dê a um homem quatro paredes por tempo suficiente e é possível que ele consiga se tornar o dono do mundo.”
“You are aware of only one unrest;
Oh, never learn to know the other!
Two souls, alas, are dwelling in my breast,
And one is striving to forsake its brother.
Unto the world in grossly loving zest,
With clinging tendrils, one adheres;
The other rises forcibly in quest
Of rarefied ancestral spheres.
If there be spirits in the air
That hold their sway between the earth and sky,
Descend out of the golden vapors there
And sweep me into iridescent life.
Oh, came a magic cloak into my hands
To carry me to distant lands,
I should not trade it for the choicest gown,
Nor for the cloak and garments of the crown.”
“And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.”
“If you did not like the show, honey, my name is Nancy Reagan and go fuck yourself.” Chablis”
“There is no life without death. That is the true meaning of yin and yang”
“A curtain of stars, miles of them, are scattered, glowing, across the sky and their multitude humbles me, which I have a hard time tolerating. She shrugs and nods after I say something about forms of anxiety. It's as if her mind is having a hard time communicating with her mouth, as if she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there... is... no... key.”
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