Eliza

“I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don't have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn't play any parts or make wrong gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn't watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you're forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you're genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don't speak, why you don't move, why you've created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you've left your other parts one by one.”
― Ingmar Bergman

“Cel ce tinde sa urce mereu "mai sus" trebuie sa se astepte ca, intr-o buna zi, sa-l surprinda ameteala. Ce inseamna ameteala? Teama de a cadea? Dar cum se face ca ne cuprinde ameteala chiar atunci cand ne aflam pe o belvedere prevazuta cu o balustrada solida? Ameteala e altceva decat teama de a cadea. E vocea golului de sub noi, care ne atrage, ne ispiteste, trezind in noi dorinta caderii, careia ne impotrivim apoi, cu teama.”
― Milan Kundera, Insuportabila ușurătate a ființei

“Omul, fara sa-si dea seama, isi compune viata potrivit legilor frumosului, chiar si in clipele cele mai adanci ale disperarii. Asadar, romanului nu i se poate reprosa faptul ca e fascinat de misterioasele intalniri ale intamplarilor (cum e, de pilda, intalnirea Varonsky-Anna cu peronul si moartea, sau intalnirea Beethoven-Tomas si coniacul), in schimb i se poate reprosa omului, pe buna dreptate, faptul ca e orb la aceste intamplari cotidiene, pagubind in felul acesta viata de dimensiunile frumusetii sale.”
― Milan Kundera, Insuportabila ușurătate a ființei

“Doar un pas ne desparte.
Nu ştiu dacă pasul absent
e al meu
sau al tău.
Tu stai pe un mal al lui
eu pe altul
şi între noi curge noaptea.
Ca să ajungem atât de aproape
ca să rămânem atât de departe
doar un pas ne desparte
şi între noi curge noaptea continuu
prin pasul absent.”
― Octavian Paler