Rafi > Rafi's Quotes

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  • #1
    Roberto Bolaño
    “And then the storm of shit begins.”
    Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

  • #2
    Roberto Bolaño
    “As time goes by, as time goes by, the whip-crack of the years, the precipice of illusions, the ravine that swallows up all human endeavour except the struggle to survive.”
    Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

  • #3
    Roberto Bolaño
    “One has a moral obligation to take responsibility for one’s actions, and that includes one’s words and silences, yes, one’s silences, because silences rise to heaven too, and God hears them, and only God understands and judges them, so one must be very careful with one’s silences.”
    Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

  • #4
    Roberto Bolaño
    “I am dying now, but I still have many things to say.”
    Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

  • #5
    Roberto Bolaño
    “It’s good to love. It’s bad to be impressionable.”
    Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

  • #6
    Italo Calvino
    “Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #7
    Italo Calvino
    “The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #8
    Italo Calvino
    “Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #9
    Italo Calvino
    “Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased," Polo said. "Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it, or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #10
    Italo Calvino
    “...the people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping...something runs among them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene... ”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #11
    Italo Calvino
    “You reach a moment in life when, among the people you have known, the dead outnumber the living. And the mind refuses to accept more faces, more expressions: on every new face you encounter, it prints the old forms, for each one it finds the most suitable mask.”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #12
    Italo Calvino
    “Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.”
    Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

  • #13
    Gabriel García Márquez
    “There had never been a death so foretold.”
    Gabriel García Márquez, Crónica de una muerte anunciada

  • #14
    Ursula K. Le Guin
    “It is very hard for evil to take hold of the unconsenting soul.”
    Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

  • #15
    Ursula K. Le Guin
    “To light a candle is to cast a shadow...”
    Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

  • #16
    Ursula K. Le Guin
    “I had forgotten how much light there is in the world, till you gave it back to me.”
    Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

  • #17
    John  Williams
    “In his forty-third year William Stoner learned what others, much younger, had learned before him: that the person one loves at first is not the person one loves at last, and that love is not an end but a process through which one person attempts to know another.”
    John Williams, Stoner

  • #18
    John  Williams
    “In his extreme youth Stoner had thought of love as an absolute state of being to which, if one were lucky, one might find access; in his maturity he had decided it was the heaven of a false religion, toward which one ought to gaze with an amused disbelief, a gently familiar contempt, and an embarrassed nostalgia. Now in his middle age he began to know that it was neither a state of grace nor an illusion; he saw it as a human act of becoming, a condition that was invented and modified moment by moment and day by day, by the will and the intelligence and the heart.”
    John Williams, Stoner

  • #19
    John  Williams
    “He had come to that moment in his age when there occurred to him, with increasing intensity, a question of such overwhelming simplicity that he had no means to face it. He found himself wondering if his life were worth the living; if it had ever been. It was a question, he suspected, that came to all men at one time or another; he wondered if it came to them with such impersonal force as it came to him. The question brought with it a sadness, but it was a general sadness which (he thought) had little to do with himself or with his particular fate; he was not even sure that the question sprang from the most immediate and obvious causes, from what his own life had become. It came, he believed, from the accretion of his years, from the density of accident and circumstance, and from what he had come to understand of them. He took a grim and ironic pleasure from the possibility that what little learning he had managed to acquire had led him to this knowledge: that in the long run all things, even the learning that let him know this, were futile and empty, and at last diminished into a nothingness they did not alter.”
    John Williams, Stoner

  • #20
    John  Williams
    “Dispassionately, reasonably, he contemplated the failure that his life must appear to be. He had wanted friendship and the closeness of friendship that might hold him in the race of mankind; he had had two friends, one of whom had died senselessly before he was known, the other of whom had now withdrawn so distantly into the ranks of the living that...

    He had wanted the singleness and the still connective passion of marriage; he had had that, too, and he had not known what to do with it, and it had died. He had wanted love; and he had had love, and had relinquished it, had let it go into the chaos of potentiality. Katherine, he thought. "Katherine."

    And he had wanted to be a teacher, and he had become one; yet he knew, he had always known, that for most of his life he had been an indifferent one. He had dreamed of a kind of integrity, of a kind of purity that was entire; he had found compromise and the assaulting diversion of triviality. He had conceived wisdom, and at the end of the long years he had found ignorance. And what else? he thought. What else?

    What did you expect? he asked himself.”
    John Williams, Stoner
    tags: life

  • #21
    Marguerite Duras
    “Very early in my life it was too late.”
    Marguerite Duras, The Lover

  • #22
    Marguerite Duras
    “Suddenly, all at once, she knows, knows that he doesn't understand her, that he never will, that he lacks the power to understand such perverseness. And that he can never move fast enough to catch her.”
    Marguerite Duras, The Lover

  • #23
    Marguerite Duras
    “I've known you for years. Everyone says you were beautiful when you were young, but I want to tell you I think you're more beautiful now than then. Rather than your face as a young woman, I prefer your face as it is now. Ravaged.”
    Marguerite Duras, The Lover

  • #24
    Marguerite Duras
    “It’s not that you have to achieve anything, it’s that you have to get away from where you are.”
    Marguerite Duras, The Lover



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