Justyna Nemc

“The axiom of equality states that x always equals x: it assumes that if you have a conceptual thing named x, that it must always be equivalent to itself, that it has a uniqueness about it, that it is in possession of something so irreducible that we must assume it is absolutely, unchangeably equivalent to itself for all time, that its very elementalness can never be altered. But it is impossible to prove. Always, absolutes, nevers: these are the words, as much as numbers, that make up the world of mathematics. Not everyone liked the axiom of equality––Dr. Li had once called it coy and twee, a fan dance of an axiom––but he had always appreciated how elusive it was, how the beauty of the equation itself would always be frustrated by the attempts to prove it. It was the kind of axiom that could drive you mad, that could consume you, that could easily become an entire life.

But now he knows for certain how true the axiom is, because he himself––his very life––has proven it. The person I was will always be the person I am, he realizes. The context may have changed: he may be in this apartment, and he may have a job that he enjoys and that pays him well, and he may have parents and friends he loves. He may be respected; in court, he may even be feared. But fundamentally, he is the same person, a person who inspires disgust, a person meant to be hated.”
― Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

“Words: with them you can do and undo as you please.”
― Elena Ferrante, The Story of a New Name

“Představovala jsem si svůj život, jak se přede mnou rozvětvuje jako ten fíkovník z povídky. Na konci každé větvičky mě lákala nějaká skvělá budoucnost jako velký purpurový fík. Jeden fík byl manžel a šťastný domov plný dětí, druhý fík byla slavná básnířka a třetí slavná profesorka, další fík byla É. Gé., skvělá vydavatelka, další byla Evropa a Afrika a jižní Amerika, jiný byl Konstantin a Sokrates a Attila a parta dalších milenců se zvláštními jmény a nezvyklými povoláními, a ještě další fík byla šampiónka ženského olympijského týmu a kromě těchhle fíků tam visela ještě spousta dalších, které jsem nedokázala rozeznat. Viděla jsem se, jak sedím v rozsoše toho fíkovníku a umírám hlady jenom proto, že nevím, který z těch fíků si vybrat. Chtěla jsem je úplně všechny, ale vybrat si jeden znamenalo přijít o všechny ostatní, a jak jsem tam seděla a nemohla se rozhodnout, fíky se začaly scvrkávat a černat a pak mi jeden po druhém spadaly na zem k nohám.”
― Sylvia Plath, THE BELL JAR

“At that moment I knew what the plebs were, much more clearly than when, years earlier, she had asked me. The plebs were us. The plebs were that fight for food and wine, that quarrel over who should be served first and better, that dirty floor on which the waiters clattered back and forth, those increasingly vulgar toasts. The plebs were my mother, who had drunk wine and now was leaning against my father’s shoulder, while he, serious, laughed, his mouth gaping, at the sexual allusions of the metal dealer. They were all laughing, even Lila, with the expression of one who has a role and will play it to the utmost.”
― Elena Ferrante, My Brilliant Friend