Paul Auster Quotes

“and now we get to the hard part. the endings, the farewells, and the famous last words. if you don't hear from me often, remember that you're in my thoughts.”
― Paul Auster, Moon Palace

“It was. It will never be again. Remember.”
― Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude

“Yes. A language that will at last say what we have to say. For our words no longer correspond to the world. When things were whole, we felt confident that our words could express them. But little by little these things have broken apart, shattered, collapsed into chaos. And yet our words have remained the same. Hence, every time we try to speak of what we see, we speak falsely, distorting the very thing we are trying to represent. […] Consider a word that refers to a thing- “ umbrella”, for example. […] Not only is an umbrella a thing, it is a thing that performs a function. […] What happens when a thing no longer performs its function? […] the umbrella ceases to be an umbrella. It has changed into something else. The word, however, has remained the same. Therefore it can no longer express the thing.”
― Paul Auster

“You see, the interesting thing about books, as opposed, say, to films, is that it's always just one person encountering the book, it's not an audience, it's one to one.”
― Paul Auster

“We are not native. We have no generations of Americans behind us. We have roots elsewhere. We are looking in from the outside. To me, that seems to be perfectly natural.”
― Don DeLillo

“I groaned. “You set me up!”
“And it was surprisingly easy.” Dad laughed. “Geez. I don’t know how you weren’t kidnapped as a child by a stranger who offered you candy. You’re so gullible.”
― T.J. Klune

“By that point, of course, the girl no longer misses the doll. He has given her something else instead, and by the time those three weeks are up, the letters have cured her of her unhappiness. She has the story, and when a person is lucky enough to live inside a story, to live inside an imaginary world, the pains of this world disappear. For as long as the story goes on, reality no longer exists.”
― Paul Auster

“For a man who finds life tolerable only by staying on the surface of himself, it is natural to be satisfied with offering no more than his surface to others.”
― Paul Auster

“Is that what we mean by life? Let everything fall away, and then let’s see what there is. Perhaps that is the most interesting question of all: to see what happens when there is nothing, and whether or not we will survive that too.”
― Paul Auster, In the Country of Last Things

“According to Auster, proximity is deceptive, and anonymity is not only the misfortune of the masses, of the cities, but also a cancer gnawing away the family and marital unit. Human contact often masks a gulf that only death or distance can bridge. We are separated from others by those very things that also connect us; we are separated from ourselves by the illusion of self-knowledge. Just as we must forget ourselves in order to reach a certain level of self-truth, we must also leave others in order to find them in the prism of memory and separation. That which is closest is often the most enigmatic, and distance, like mourning and wandering, is also an instrument of redemption.”
― Pascal Bruckner

“Descubrir el poder del azar es descubrir que somos terriblemente frágiles y vulnerables, que dependemos de la casualidad, que una coincidencia estúpida puede destrozarnos en un segundo. Que una palabra estúpida oída por casualidad también puede fulminarnos. Recordar que las personas son terriblemente frágiles es una obligación moral: Paul Auster dice que es cazador de coincidencias por obligación moral.”
― Justo Navarro, The Red Notebook: True Stories

“His mother's name was Rose, and when he was big enough to tie his shoes and stop wetting the bed, he was going to marry her.”
― Paul Auster, 4 3 2 1

“The inventory of your scars, in particular the ones on your face, which are visible to you each morning when you look into the bathroom mirror to shave or comb you hair. You seldom think about them, but whenever you do, you understand that they are marks of life, that the assorted jagged lines etched into the skin of your face are letters from the secret alphabet that tells the story of who you are, for each scar is the trace of a healed wound, and each wound was caused by an unexpected collision with the world – that is to say, an accident, or something that need not have happened, since by definition an accident is something that need not to happen.”
― Paul Auster, Winter Journal

“El júbilo de ver de nuevo su rostro,
de volver a abrazarla, de escuchar su
risa, de verla comer, de mirar sus manos
otra vez, la dicha de contemplar su
cuerpo desnudo, de besar su cuerpo
desnudo, de ver cómo frunce el ceño,
cómo se cepilla el pelo, se pinta las
uñas, la alegría de estar otra vez con
ella en la ducha, de hablar de libros con
ella otra vez, de ver cómo se le llenan
los ojos de lágrimas, de ver cómo
camina, de oír cómo insulta a Ángela, el
regocijo de leerle en voz alta, de oírla
eructar, de ver cómo se cepilla los
dientes, el gozo de desnudarla de nuevo,
de juntar otra vez la boca con la suya, de
mirarle la nuca, el placer de andar por
la calle con ella, de ponerle el brazo
sobre los hombros, de lamerle los
pechos de nuevo, de penetrar en su
cuerpo, de volver a despertarse a su
lado, de hablar de matemáticas con ella,
de comprarle ropa, de darle y recibir
masajes en la espalda, de volver a
hablar de su porvenir, la alegría de vivir
otra vez con ella en el presente, de oírla
decir que lo quiere, de decirle que la
quiere, de volver a sentir la mirada de
sus intensos ojos negros, y luego la
tortura de verla abordar el autobús en la
terminal de Port Authority en la tarde
del 3 de enero con la plena conciencia
de que hasta abril, dentro de más de tres
meses, no tendrá ocasión de volver a
estar con ella.”
― Paul Auster, Sunset Park

“Today, as never before: the tramps, the down-and-outs, the shopping-bag ladies, the drifters and drunks. They range from the merely destitute to the wretchedly broken. Wherever you turn, they are there, in good neighborhoods and bad.
Some beg with a semblance of pride. Give me this money, they seem to say, and soon I will be back there with the rest of you, rushing back and forth on my daily rounds. Others have given up hope of ever leaving their tramphood. They lie there sprawled out on the sidewalk with their hat, or cup, or box, not even bothering to look up at the passerby, too defeated even to thank the ones who drop a coin beside them. Still others try to work for the money they are given: the blind pencil sellers, the winos who wash the windshield of your car. Some tell stories, usually tragic accounts of their own lives, as if to give their benefactors something for their kindness—even if only words.”
― Paul Auster, City of Glass

“Pensi che a te non succederà mai, che non ti può succedere, che sei l'unica persona al mondo in cui queste cose non succederanno mai e poi, a una a una, cominciano a succederti tutte, esattamente come succedono a tutti gli alti”
― Paul Auster, Winter Journal

“Pensi che a te non succederà mai, che non ti può succedere, che sei l'unica persona al mondo in cui queste cose non succederanno mai e poi, a una a una, cominciano a succederti tutte, esattamente come succedono a tutti gli altri.”
― Paul Auster, Winter Journal

“Parla ora prima che sia troppo tardi, e poi spera di continuare a parlare finché non ci sarà niente da dire. Dopotutto, il tempo sta esaurendo. Forse è meglio mettere da parte le tue storie per ora e provare ad analizzare come sia stato vivere in questo corpo dal primo giorno in cui ricordi di essere stato vivo fino a oggi.”
― Paul Auster, Winter Journal

“Nessuna delle due era mai stata con una donna, eppure eccoci qua, disse Sidney, una docente universitaria e una maestra di terza elementare, una donna di oltre quarant'anni e un'altra di venticinque e passa, un'ebrea di New York e una metodista di Sandusky, Ohio, travolte dal più grande amore della loro vita. L'assurdo, continuo Sydney, era che non aveva mai considerato le donne, era sempre andata matta per i maschi e anche adesso che conviveva con una donna da quasi tre anni non si considerava una lesbica, era semplicemente una persona innamorata di un'altra persona, e siccome l'altra persona era bella e fascinosa e unica al mondo, cosa cambiava se era innamorata di un uomo o di una donna?”
― Paul Auster

“Ogni volta che camminava sentiva di lasciarsi alle spalle se stesso, e nel consegnarsi al movimento delle strade, riducendosi a un occhio che vede, eludeva l’obbligo di pensare; e questo, più di qualsiasi altra cosa, gli donava una scheggia di pace, un salutare vuoto interiore. Il mondo era fuori di lui, gli stava intorno e davanti, e la velocità del suo continuo cambiamento gli rendeva impossibile soffermarsi troppo su qualunque cosa.
Paul Auster, Trilogia di New York”
― Paul Auster, City of Glass: Graphic Novel

“[...] nella vita di un uomo le occasioni perdute non contano meno di quelle colte, e una storia non può reggersi sui se.”
― Paul Auster, Ghosts

“Yo quería demasiado de la vida, tenía demasiados deseos, vivía demasiado dominado por lo inmediato para alcanzar nunca tal indiferencia. A mí me importaba tener éxito, impresionar a la gente con los signos vacíos de mi ambición: buenas notas, cartas de la universidad, premios por lo que fuera que aquella semana tocara”
― Paul Auster