Jorge Luis Borges · 159 pages
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“I do not write for a select minority, which means nothing to me, nor for that adulated platonic entity known as ‘The Masses’. Both abstractions, so dear to the demagogue, I disbelieve in. I write for myself and for my friends, and I write to ease the passing of time.”
“The years go by, and I've told the story so many times that I'm not sure anymore whether I actually remember it or whether I just remember the words I tell it with.”
“.....a miracle has the right to impose conditions.”
“We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.”
“To see a thing one has to comprehend it. An armchair presupposes the human body, its joints and limbs; a pair of scissors, the act of cutting. What can be said of a lamp or a car? The savage cannot comprehend the missionary’s Bible; the passenger does not see the same rigging as the sailors. If we really saw the world, maybe we would understand it.”
“zaman beni sürükleyen bir nehir, ama nehir benim;
beni parçalayan bir kaplan, ama kaplan benim;
beni tüketen bir ateş, ama ateş benim;
evren, ne yazık ki gerçek;
ben, ne yazık ki, borges'im”
“El hombre olvida que es un muerto que conversa con muertos.”
“إذا كان هذا الصباح وهذا اللقاء حلمين، فعلى كلينا أن يظن أنه الحالم.وربما توقفنا عن الحلم،وربما واصلناه. وواجبناالجلي، في الوقت نفسه،هو أن نقبل بالحلم تماماًكما نقبل وبأننا نولد ونرى ونتنفس "
قال الآخر بجزع: وإذا استمر الحلم ؟”
“There is nothing but quotations left for us. Our language is a system of quotations.”
“Halfway through his reclusion, Arredondo experienced more than once that almost timeless time. In the first of the house’s three patios there was cistern with a frog in it. It never occurred to Arredondo to think that the frog’s time, which borders on eternity, was what he himself sought.”
“La ceguera gradual no es cosa trágica. Es como un lento atardecer de verano.”
“Gerçekte, uykudan uyanıp da kendi kendisiyle karşılaşmayan insan yoktur.”
“El comedor y la biblioteca de mis recuerdos eran ahora, derribada la pared medianera, una sola gran pieza desmantelada, con uno que otro mueble. No trataré de describirlos, porque no estoy seguro de haberlos visto, pese a la despiadada luz blanca. Me explicaré. Para ver una cosa hay que comprenderla. El sillón presupone el cuerpo humano, sus articulaciones y partes; las tijeras, el acto de cortar. ¿Qué decir de una lámpara o de un vehículo? El salvaje no puede percibir la biblia del misionero; el pasajero no ve el mismo cordaje que los hombres de a bordo. Si viéramos realmente el universo, tal vez lo entenderíamos. "
Extracto del relato THERE ARE MORE THINGS”
“Ölümü sabırsızlıkla bekleyerek ama hiç sızlanmadan öldü.”
“Je n'écris pas pour une petite élite dont je n'ai cure, ni pour cette entité platonique adulée qu'on surnomme la Masse. Je ne crois pas à ces deux abstractions, chères au démagogue. J'écris pour moi, pour mes amis et pour adoucir le cours du temps.”
“I clarified that I myself was Colombian.
"What is 'being Colombian'?"
"I'm not sure," I replied. "It's an act of faith."
"Like being Norwegian," she said, nodding.
I can recall nothing further of what was said that night.”
“Tasalanma, yavaş yavaş artan körlük pek trajik değil. Ağır bir yaz akşamı gibi.”
“Ateşi düşündüm, ama sonsuz bir kitabın yakılmasının da sonsuz olmasından ve yeryüzünü dumanıyla boğabilmesinden ürktüm.”
“Where are we, then, if not for paradise?" he asked. "Do you believe that the deity is able to create a place that is not paradise? Do you believe the Fall is something ther than not realizing that we are in paradise?”
“Las palabras son símbolos que postulan una memoria compartida. La que ahora quiero historiar es mía solamente; quienes la compartieron han muerto. Los místicos invocan una rosa, un beso, un pájaro que es todos los pájaros, un sol que es todas las estrellas y el sol, un cántaro de vino, un jardín o el acto sexual. De esas metáforas ninguna me sirve para esa larga noche de júbilo, que nos dejó, cansados y felices, en los linderos de la aurora. Casi no hablamos, mientras las ruedas y los cascos retumbaban sobre las piedras. (...)”
“« Dans nos écoles on nous enseigne le doute et l’art d’oublier. Avant tout l’oubli de ce qui est personnel et localisé. »
« — Personne ne peut lire deux mille livres. Depuis quatre siècles que je vis je n’ai pas dû en lire plus d’une demi-douzaine. D’ailleurs ce qui importe ce n’est pas de lire mais de relire. L’imprimerie, maintenant abolie, a été l’un des pires fléaux de l’humanité, car elle a tendu à multiplier jusqu’au vertige des textes inutiles.
— De mon temps à moi, hier encore, répondis-je, triomphait la superstition que du jour au lendemain il se passait des événements qu’on aurait eu honte d’ignorer. »
« — À cent ans, l’être humain peut se passer de l’amour et de l’amitié. Les maux et la mort involontaire ne sont plus une menace pour lui. Il pratique un art quelconque, il s’adonne à la philosophie, aux mathématiques ou bien il joue aux échecs en solitaire. Quand il le veut, il se tue. Maître de sa vie, l’homme l’est aussi de sa mort[30].
— Il s’agit d’une citation ? lui demandai-je.
— Certainement. Il ne nous reste plus que des citations. Le langage est un système de citations. »
Extrait de: Borges,J.L. « Le livre de sable. » / Utopie d’un homme qui est fatigué”
“You don’t deserve me,” he agreed. “You deserve better. But you’re stuck with me, and you might as well get over it.” Scooping me under him in one agile movement, he rolled on top of me, his black eyes all pirate. “I have no intention of letting you go easily, something to keep in mind. I don’t care if it’s another man, your mother, or the powers of hell trying to pry us apart, I’m not easing up and I’m not saying good-bye.”
“Now, once again, 2 students left. But of course they're a part of you now.”
“I'm afraid of time. I mean, I'm afraid of not having enough time. Not enough time to understand people, how they really are, or to be understood myself.”
“Like every other creature on the face of the earth, Godfrey was, by birthright, a stupendous badass, albeit in the somewhat narrow technical sense that he could trace his ancestry back up a long line of slightly less highly evolved stupendous badasses to that first self-replicating gizmo---which, given the number and variety of its descendants, might justifiably be described as the most stupendous badass of all time. Everyone and everything that wasn't a stupendous badass was dead.”
“He could smell her crackling white apron and the faint flavour of toast that always hung about her so deliciously.”
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