Malika Oufkir · 304 pages
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“ان التجربة التي خضتها داخل السجن كانت اغنى ألف مرة من تجارب اخرين خارجه. لقد اختبرت الوجه الاخر للحياة من ألم و خوف و رعب و معاناة و جوع و برد ... تعلمت ماذا ثعني الحياة و ماذا يعني الموت. و تأملت مليا في الخلق و الكون.”
“Each day is a miracle that intoxicates me. I want more. I greet every morning like a new pleasure. And yet I am keenly aware of all life's artifices. Getting dressed, wearing make-up, laughing, having fun-isn't all that just playing a role? Am I not more profound, carrying the burden of those twenty years when I 'wasn't alive', than all those who rushed around in vain during that time?”
“I have lost years that I will never get back. Only now am I just beginning to live, on the verge of old age. It is painful and unfair. But today I have a different attitude to life: it can't be constructed from superficial things, no matter how attractive they may appear. Neither wealth not appearances have any importance now.
Pain gave me new life. It took a long time for me to die as Malika, General Oufkir's eldest daughter, the child of a powerful figure, of a past. I've gained an identity. My own identity. And that is priceless.
If there had not been all that waste, all that horror...I'd almost venture to say that my suffering made me grow. In any case, it changed me. for the better. It's as well to make the best of things.”
“أني لأرثى لحال هؤلاء البشر الذين يعيشون خارج قضبان السجن ولم تتسنّ لهم الفرصة ليعرفوا القيمة الحقيقية للحياه”
“وماذا يعني الهجران؟
ليس هذا هو كل مايؤلمني ويمزقني. كل شيء يمضي ولايمرّ، إلّا أن يكون عدوك جزءاً لايتجرأ منك. وتلك هي المصيبة والهزيمة.”
“فلتسقط الأقنعة .. لم نعد نؤمن بشئ ..!”
“أي طالع أشد سؤآ من أن تكون المرأه في محتمع لا يقدس الا الفحوله وويقود بالعصا قطيع النساء”
“فليرحل ربيع العمر عني .. لا أبالي.”
“it will be miraculous, very miraculous.”
“الأخوة عاطفة وإحساس وليست فقط عاماً وخبراً”
“One result of turning a blind eye to the horrors of the world, because you can stand only so much, is that you end up forgetting that each individual who is subjected to heinous suffering is your fellow, your equal, and that you could have been in their shoes, and that he or she could one day have become your friend.”
“علمني السجن أن الإنسان أقوى من الظلم والقهر والطغيان والحرمان والتعذيب والمستحيل.”
“لم نعرف أثناء احتجازنا في بير جديد ماذا يعني البيض الطبيعي. كانت القشرة الخارجية خضراء اللون, وفي داخلها سائل أسود اللون أيضا تنبعث منه رائحة كريهة تشمئز منها النفس. كنت أضعها في وعاء بعد أن أكسرها, وأتركها طوال الليل لتهوئتها, وفي الصباح كنت أخفقها مع قليل من السكر .أغمس قطع الخبز في المزيج ثم أقلبها بالزيت. وتصبح جاهزة للتوزيع, ما إن تزول الرائحة حتى تعم البهجة والسرور من زنزانة إلى أخرى. مزجها بالخبز أضاع طعمها الرديء إلى حد ما”
“That is a transgenic animal. If he escapes he may transmit his genes to other parrots.”
“Our study of psychoneurotic disturbances points to a more comprehensive explanation, which includes that of Westermarck. When a wife loses her husband, or a daughter her mother, it not infrequently happens that the survivor is afflicted with tormenting scruples, called ‘obsessive reproaches’ which raises the question whether she herself has not been guilty through carelessness or neglect, of the death of the beloved person. No recalling of the care with which she nursed the invalid, or direct refutation of the asserted guilt can put an end to the torture, which is the pathological expression of mourning and which in time slowly subsides. Psychoanalytic investigation of such cases has made us acquainted with the secret mainsprings of this affliction. We have ascertained that these obsessive reproaches are in a certain sense justified and therefore are immune to refutation or objections. Not that the mourner has really been guilty of the death or that she has really been careless, as the obsessive reproach asserts; but still there was something in her, a wish of which she herself was unaware, which was not displeased with the fact that death came, and which would have brought it about sooner had it been strong enough. The reproach now reacts against this unconscious wish after the death of the beloved person. Such hostility, hidden in the unconscious behind tender love, exists in almost all cases of intensive emotional allegiance to a particular person, indeed it represents the classic case, the prototype of the ambivalence of human emotions. There is always more or less of this ambivalence in everybody’s disposition; normally it is not strong enough to give rise to the obsessive reproaches we have described. But where there is abundant predisposition for it, it manifests itself in the relation to those we love most, precisely where you would least expect it. The disposition to compulsion neurosis which we have so often taken for comparison with taboo problems, is distinguished by a particularly high degree of this original ambivalence of emotions.”
“Well, are you ready, Lada Dragwlya, daughter of the dragon?" Fire burned in her heart, and her wounded soul spread out, casting a shadow like wings across her country. This was hers. Not because of her father. Not because of Mehmed. Because the land itself had claimed her as its own. "Not Dragwlya," she said. "Lada Dracul. I am no longer the daughter of the dragon." She lifted her chin, sights set on the horizon. "I am the dragon.”
“Mark had always felt like she was his as a simple matter of the situation. Pretty much everyone else she’d ever known had died; he was a scrap left over for her to take, the alternative to being forever alone. But he gladly played his part, even considered himself lucky—he didn’t know what he’d do without her.”
“They were very poor, and their seven children incommoded them greatly, because not one of them was able to earn his bread. That which gave them yet more uneasiness was that the youngest was of a very puny constitution, and scarce ever spoke a word, which made them take that for stupidity which was a sign of good sense. He was very little, and when born no bigger than one's thumb, which made him be called Little Thumb.”
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