“Then it happened. One night as the rain beat on the slanted kitchen roof a great spirit slipped forever into my life. I held his book in my hands and trembled as he spoke to me of man and the world, of love and wisdom, pain and guilt, and I knew I would never be the same. His name was Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky. He knew more of fathers and sons than any man in the world, and of brothers and sisters, priests and rogues, guilt and innocence. Dostoyevsky changed me. The Idiot, The Possessed, The Brothers Karamazov, The Gambler. He turned me inside out. I found I could breathe, could see invisible horizons. The hatred for my father melted. I loved my father, poor, suffering, haunted wretch. I loved my mother too, and all my family. It was time to become a man, to leave San Elmo and go out into the world. I wanted to think and feel like Dostoyevsky. I wanted to write.
The week before I left town the draft board summoned me to Sacramento for my physical. I was glad to go. Someone other than myself could make my decisions. The army turned me down. I had asthma. Inflammation of the bronchial tubes.
“That’s nothing. I’ve always had it.”
“See your doctor.”
I got the needed information from a medical book at the public library. Was asthma fatal? It could be. And so be it. Dostoyevsky had epilepsy, I had asthma. To write well a man must have a fatal ailment. It was the only way to deal with the presence of death.”
― The Brotherhood of the Grape
The week before I left town the draft board summoned me to Sacramento for my physical. I was glad to go. Someone other than myself could make my decisions. The army turned me down. I had asthma. Inflammation of the bronchial tubes.
“That’s nothing. I’ve always had it.”
“See your doctor.”
I got the needed information from a medical book at the public library. Was asthma fatal? It could be. And so be it. Dostoyevsky had epilepsy, I had asthma. To write well a man must have a fatal ailment. It was the only way to deal with the presence of death.”
― The Brotherhood of the Grape
“Reading good literature is an experience of pleasure...but it is also an experience of learning what and how we are, in our human integrity and our human imperfection, with our actions, our dreams, and our ghosts, alone and in relationships that link us to others, in our public image and in the secret recesses of our consciousness.”
―
―
“Mogu da pokažem to mesto na kojem je stajao.
Stan se ubrzo ispunio ljudima: žene su spremale u kuhinji, muškarci pili u trpezariji. Ništa nije trebalo govoriti: svi su već sve znali. Tada je neko zazvonio, a kada sam otvorio, devojka pred vratima upitala me je da li želim da osiguram život. Imala je svetlu kosu i svetle oči; zapazio sam i oblinu kolena. Odmahnuo sam glavom i zatvorio vrata. Anđeli uvek dolaze prekasno.”
― Cink
Stan se ubrzo ispunio ljudima: žene su spremale u kuhinji, muškarci pili u trpezariji. Ništa nije trebalo govoriti: svi su već sve znali. Tada je neko zazvonio, a kada sam otvorio, devojka pred vratima upitala me je da li želim da osiguram život. Imala je svetlu kosu i svetle oči; zapazio sam i oblinu kolena. Odmahnuo sam glavom i zatvorio vrata. Anđeli uvek dolaze prekasno.”
― Cink
“Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don't plan it. Don't wait for it. Just let it happen. It could be a new shirt at the men's store, a catnap in your office chair, or two cups of good, hot black coffee.”
―
―
“Almighty God, I am sorry I am now an atheist, but have You read Nietzsche?”
― Ask the Dust
― Ask the Dust
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