Hamed

“ This morning, on the avenue, my death was walking next to me, under the plane-trees. I came back home, lied on the bed. My death looked tired as much as I was. A few minuts later, I woke up, made a coffee and opened a poems book. Some light came out from the book. I think it was at this moment that my death left the appartment, crossing the door, without noise. It was not her time, and perhaps she was depressed by the beauty of a few words, yes, perhaps the death doesn't support books and prefers the head ache maker television.”
― Christian Bobin, Autoportrait au radiateur

“،درد را دوسـت نـدارم
،هـرگز هـم آن را دوســت نـخـواهـم داشـت
....ولی باید اذعـان کـنـم که آمـوزگارِ خـوبی اســت”
― Christian Bobin

“Today, my love, I am too tired to write for you. You will find in your heart a letter, several pages, full of silence. Read it slowly. The light of this day wrote it for me. In it, it si just about you and the rest coming to me each time I look to you, far away, hundreds kilometers from here.”
― Christian Bobin, L'Enchantement simple : suivi de, Le Huitième Jour De La Semaine, Le Colporteur, L'Éloignement du monde

“به هر صورت اینطورم: آنچه را به من می‌دهند، می‌گیرم، آنچه را از من می‌گیرند، دیگر نمی‌خواهم. حقیقتاً ترک‌کردنم آسان است.”
― Christian Bobin, دیوانه‌بازی