Joined: Mon Jul 20, 2009 1:39 am Posts: 6762
Country: Canada
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
From The Eyes of the Overworld by Jack Vance:
The dead man's companions at the counter started to their feet, but halted as Voynod with great aplomb turned to face them. "Take care, you dunghill cocks! Notice the fate of your fellow! He died by the power of my magic blade, which is of inexorable metal and cuts rock and steel like butter. Behold!" And Voynod struck out at a pillar. The blade, striking an iron bracket, broke into a dozen pieces. Voynod stood non-plussed, but the bravo's companions surged forward.
"What then of your magic blade? Our blades are ordinary steel but bite deep!" And in a moment Voynod was cut to bits. The bravos now turned upon Cugel. "What of you? Do you wish to share the fate of your comrade?" "By no means!" stated Cugel. "This man was but my servant, carrying my pouch. I am a magician; observe this tube! I will project blue concentrate at the first man to threaten me!" The bravos shrugged and turned away. Cugel secured Voynod's pouch, then gestured to the landlord. "Be so good as to remove these corpses; then bring a further mug of spiced wine."
_________________ Puressence - Traffic Jam In Memory Lane
Tue Jul 05, 2011 4:52 am
noisy requiem
someone please stop the world
Joined: Sun Mar 28, 2010 11:01 pm Posts: 683 Location: sailin' into a spacy blue
Country: Canada
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
confessions of a mask by yukio mishima
Quote:
"What I wanted was to die among strangers, untroubled, beneath a cloudless sky. And yet my desire differed from the sentiments of that ancient Greek who wanted to die under the brilliant sun. What I wanted was some natural, spontaneous suicide. I wanted a death like that of a fox, not yet well versed in cunning, that walks carelessly along a mountain path and is shot by a hunter because of its own stupidity…"
_________________ i’m lookin’ so hard for a place to land, i almost forgot how to fly
At last she looked up. "Sometimes, I'm real lonely." I nodded. "Will it ever stop?" Again I nodded, slowly. "Yes. Someday I think it will." Sheila sighed and pulled away from me, standing up. "Someday never really ever comes, does it?"
_________________
Sun Oct 09, 2011 2:25 am
autumnsoliloquy
Non-elitist
Joined: Sat Oct 08, 2011 4:46 pm Posts: 8
Country: Germany
Sex: Female
Re: Passages from books you've liked
Quote:
“I didn’t understand. But life isn’t something one can understand, I suppose. There are all kinds of life, and sometimes the other side of the hill looks greener. What’s hardest for me is not knowing what living like this will ever come to. But obviously you can never know, no matter what sort of life you live. Somehow I can’t help but feel it would be better to have a little more to keep busy with.”
-- The man, The Woman in the Dunes, Abe Kobo
Sun Oct 09, 2011 7:18 am
Dream
So much better than real life
Joined: Fri Dec 31, 2010 8:18 pm Posts: 2833 Location: Asuncion, Paraguay
Country: Paraguay
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
Quote:
He would have liked to continue talking about his mother. He did not suppose, from what he could remember of her, that she had been an unusual woman, still less an intelligent one; and yet she had possessed a kind of nobility, a kind of purity, simply because the standards that she obeyed were private ones. Her feelings were her own, and could not be altered from outside. It would not have occurred to her that an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love. When the last of the chocolate was gone, his mother had clasped the child in her arms. It was no use, it changed nothing, it did not produce more chocolate, it did not avert the child’s death or her own; but it seemed natural to her to do it. The refugee woman in the boat had also covered the little boy with her arm, which was no more use against the bullets than a sheet of paper. The terrible thing that the Party had done was to persuade you that mere impulses, mere feelings, were of no account, while at the same time robbing you of all power over the material world. When once you were in the grip of the Party, what you felt or did not feel, what you did or refrained from doing, made literally no difference. Whatever happened you vanished, and neither you nor your actions were ever heard of again. You were lifted clean out of the stream of history. And yet to the people of only two generations ago this would not have seemed all- important, because they were not attempting to alter history. They were governed by private loyalties which they did not question. What mattered were individual relationships, and a completely helpless gesture, an embrace, a tear, a word spoken to a dying man, could have value in itself.
George Orwell's 1984.
_________________ Civilization does not consist in exporting much, or walking with hurry, or writing with correct ortography. It consist in the sweetness of the customs, in love and tolerance, in the native elevation of the feelings and of the ideas.
We must not judge his evil, we must heal it.
"It is not reason, more or less furnished, but will that makes the world march"
"A piece of your heart, A piece of your soul, Think what you feel, Write what you know."
Sun Oct 09, 2011 12:29 pm
Dream
So much better than real life
Joined: Fri Dec 31, 2010 8:18 pm Posts: 2833 Location: Asuncion, Paraguay
Country: Paraguay
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
Anyway, another passage from 1984:
‘You tortured her?’ O’Brien left this unanswered. ‘Next question,’ he said. ‘Does Big Brother exist?’ ‘Of course he exists. The Party exists. Big Brother is the embodiment of the Party.’ ‘Does he exist in the same way as I exist? ‘You do not exist,’ said O’Brien. Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved his own nonexistence; but they were nonsense, they were only a play on words. Did not the statement, ‘You do not exist’, contain a logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so? His mind shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments with which O’Brien would demolish him. ‘I think I exist,’ he said wearily. ‘I am conscious of my own identity. I was born and I shall die. I have arms and legs. I occupy a particular point in space. No other solid object can occupy the same point simultaneously. In that sense, does Big Brother exist?’ ‘It is of no importance. He exists.’
As usual, the voice had battered Winston into helplessness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in his disagreement O’Brien would twist the dial again. And yet he could not keep silent. Feebly, without arguments, with nothing to support him except his inarticulate horror of what O’Brien had said, he returned to the attack. ‘I don’t know—I don’t care. Somehow you will fail. Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you.’ ‘We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are imagining that there is something called human nature which will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The others are outside—irrelevant.’ ‘I don’t care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or later they will see you for what you are, and then they will tear you to pieces.’ ‘Do you see any evidence that that is happening? Or any reason why it should?’ ‘No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There is something in the universe—I don’t know, some spirit, some principle—that you will never overcome.’ ‘Do you believe in God, Winston?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us?’ ‘I don’t know. The spirit of Man.’ ‘And do you consider yourself a man?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand that you are alone? You are outside history, you are non-existent.’ His manner changed and he said more harshly: ‘And you consider yourself morally superior to us, with our lies and our cruelty?’
Poor, poor Winston.
_________________ Civilization does not consist in exporting much, or walking with hurry, or writing with correct ortography. It consist in the sweetness of the customs, in love and tolerance, in the native elevation of the feelings and of the ideas.
We must not judge his evil, we must heal it.
"It is not reason, more or less furnished, but will that makes the world march"
"A piece of your heart, A piece of your soul, Think what you feel, Write what you know."
From Margaret Tabor's excellent book "Nightmare street", also published as "Unity Penfold" and "Eclipse".
Quote:
Little tentacles of sensation return. Awareness of space, warmth, sounds. Hands touching, tending,, hurting. Stupid, fussing voices. I shall stay in the safe darkness. I won’t come out. I? I? Me? Who is me? “This patient can be moved to a side ward now. And I want that social worker to dig out the girl who identified her.” Her? Her? Same as I? Want to stay in the darkness. Stay where it’s safe. Patient. Patient? A hospital patient? The operating table and the pale pleading eyes in the dark. No. No. Who moaned? Hospital. I kept my eyes shut and began to remember. Time. Time had passed, a long time. A time of pain and terror. Chrome tubes, nausea, lights and whirling, shrieking noises, and afterward, always, the thankful sinking into the darkness. “Sarah?” A new voice, a louder, buzzing voice. A wasp underneath the sweetness, making demands. “Sarah!” I could make a decision. I could decide not to open my eyes and attend to the wasp. It wasn’t for me anyway. Me? “I know you can hear me, dear. Dr. Reading thinks you might prefer to talk to Laura, but I’ve promised her that I won’t ask her to come and visit till you ask for her. You gave her such a fright, screaming at her like that. But if it wasn’t for her, we would never have found out who you are. Sensible of her to go to the police, don’t you think? You would have been such a puzzle.” I had a puzzle. Who was me? Me? Laura? It was too difficult. I gave up. It didn’t seem to be my problem, so why did they bother me? Me? There was something else… Thinking stopped. I fell asleep.
_________________ "And the turtles, of course...all the turtles are free, as turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be." — Dr. Seuss
Fri Nov 11, 2011 4:41 pm
Dream
So much better than real life
Joined: Fri Dec 31, 2010 8:18 pm Posts: 2833 Location: Asuncion, Paraguay
Country: Paraguay
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
These are some from Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera.
Gaston Leroux wrote:
Raoul ran back to his room and threw back the window. Christine's white form stood on the deserted quay. (...) A few weeks later, when the tragedy at the Opera compelled the intervention of the public prosecutor, M. Mifroid, the commissary of police, examined the Vicomte de Chagny touching the events of the night at Perros. I quote the questions and answers as given in the official report pp. 150 et seq.: (...) Q. "Was the gate open?"
R. "Yes, monsieur, and this surprised me, but did not seem to surprise Mlle. Daae."
Q. "Was there no one in the churchyard?"
R. "I did not see any one; and, if there had been, I must have seen him. The moon was shining on the snow and made the night quite light."
Q. "Was it possible for any one to hide behind the tombstones?"
R. "No, monsieur. They were quite small, poor tombstones, partly hidden under the snow, with their crosses just above the level of the ground. The only shadows were those of the crosses and ourselves. The church stood out quite brightly. I never saw so clear a night. It was very fine and very cold and one could see everything."
Q. "Are you at all superstitious?"
R. "No, monsieur, I am a practising Catholic,"
Q. "In what condition of mind were you?"
R. "Very healthy and peaceful, I assure you. Mlle. Daae's curious action in going out at that hour had worried me at first; but, as soon as I saw her go to the churchyard, I thought that she meant to fulfil some pious duty on her father's grave and I considered this so natural that I recovered all my calmness. I was only surprised that she had not heard me walking behind her, for my footsteps were quite audible on the hard snow. But she must have been taken up with her intentions and I resolved not to disturb her. She knelt down by her father's grave, made the sign of the cross and began to pray. At that moment, it struck midnight. At the last stroke, I saw Mlle. Daae life{sic} her eyes to the sky and stretch out her arms as though in ecstasy. I was wondering what the reason could be, when I myself raised my head and everything within me seemed drawn toward the invisible, WHICH WAS PLAYING THE MOST PERFECT MUSIC! Christine and I knew that music; we had heard it as children. But it had never been executed with such divine art, even by M. Daae. I remembered all that Christine had told me of the Angel of Music. The air was The Resurrection of Lazarus, which old M. Daae used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith. If Christine's Angel had existed, he could not have played better, that night, on the late musician's violin. When the music stopped, I seemed to hear a noise from the skulls in the heap of bones; it was as though they were chuckling and I could not help shuddering."
Q. "Did it not occur to you that the musician might be hiding behind that very heap of bones?"
R. "It was the one thought that did occur to me, monsieur, so much so that I omitted to follow Mlle. Daae, when she stood up and walked slowly to the gate. She was so much absorbed just then that I am not surprised that she did not see me."
Q. "Then what happened that you were found in the morning lying half-dead on the steps of the high altar?"
R. "First a skull rolled to my feet...then another...then another...It was as if I were the mark of that ghastly game of bowls. And I had an idea that false step must have destroyed the balance of the structure behind which our musician was concealed. This surmise seemed to be confirmed when I saw a shadow suddenly glide along the sacristy wall. I ran up. The shadow had already pushed open the door and entered the church. But I was quicker than the shadow and caught hold of a corner of its cloak. At that moment, we were just in front of the high altar; and the moonbeams fell straight upon us through the stained-glass windows of the apse. As I did not let go of the cloak, the shadow turned round; and I saw a terrible death's head, which darted a look at me from a pair of scorching eyes. I felt as if I were face to face with Satan; and, in the presence of this unearthly apparition, my heart gave way, my courage failed me...and I remember nothing more until I recovered consciousness at the Setting Sun."
The worst thing is i didn't change the "WHICH WAS PLAYING THE MOST PERFECT MUSIC!" part from the book at all, . Maybe i should, but it's just too funny.
Gaston Leroux wrote:
"Whom do you mean by `he'?" she asked, in a changed voice. "Who shall not escape you?" Raoul tried to overcome the girl's resistance by force, but she repelled him with a strength which he would not have suspected in her. He understood, or thought he understood, and at once lost his temper. "Who?" he repeated angrily. "Why, he, the man who hides behind that hideous mask of death!...The evil genius of the churchyard at Perros!...Red Death!...In a word, madam, your friend... your Angel of Music!...But I shall snatch off his mask, as I shall snatch off my own; and, this time, we shall look each other in the face, he and I, with no veil and no lies between us; and I shall know whom you love and who loves you!" (...) He burst into a mad laugh, while Christine gave a disconsolate moan behind her velvet mask. With a tragic gesture, she flung out her two arms, which fixed a barrier of white flesh against the door.
"In the name of our love, Raoul, you shall not pass!..."
He stopped. What had she said?...In the name of their love?... Never before had she confessed that she loved him. And yet she had had opportunities enough....Pooh, her only object was to gain a few seconds!...She wished to give the Red Death time to escape... And, in accents of childish hatred, he said:
"You lie, madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me! What a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you have done! Why did you give me every reason for hope, at Perros... for honest hope, madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you to be an honest woman, when your only intention was to deceive me! Alas, you have deceived us all! You have taken a shameful advantage of the candid affection of your benefactress herself, who continues to believe in your sincerity while you go about the Opera ball with Red Death!...I despise you!..."
And he burst into tears. She allowed him to insult her. She thought of but one thing, to keep him from leaving the box.
"You will beg my pardon, one day, for all those ugly words, Raoul, and when you do I shall forgive you"
(...)
"I shall die of shame!"
"No, dear, live!" said Christine's grave and changed voice. "And...good-bye. Good-bye, Raoul..."
"I shall never sing again, Raoul..."
Gaston Leroux wrote:
Explain yourself, Christine, I beg of you! Any one might have been deceived as I was. What is this farce?"
Christine simply took off her mask and said: "Dear, it is a tragedy!"
Raoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and terror. The fresh complexion of former days was gone. A mortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charming and so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them with pitiless lines and traced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes.
Skilpadde wrote:
From Margaret Tabor's excellent book "Nightmare street", also published as "Unity Penfold" and "Eclipse".
Quote:
Little tentacles of sensation return. Awareness of space, warmth, sounds. Hands touching, tending,, hurting. Stupid, fussing voices. I shall stay in the safe darkness. I won’t come out. I? I? Me? Who is me? “This patient can be moved to a side ward now. And I want that social worker to dig out the girl who identified her.” Her? Her? Same as I? Want to stay in the darkness. Stay where it’s safe. Patient. Patient? A hospital patient? The operating table and the pale pleading eyes in the dark. No. No. Who moaned? Hospital. I kept my eyes shut and began to remember. Time. Time had passed, a long time. A time of pain and terror. Chrome tubes, nausea, lights and whirling, shrieking noises, and afterward, always, the thankful sinking into the darkness. “Sarah?” A new voice, a louder, buzzing voice. A wasp underneath the sweetness, making demands. “Sarah!” I could make a decision. I could decide not to open my eyes and attend to the wasp. It wasn’t for me anyway. Me? “I know you can hear me, dear. Dr. Reading thinks you might prefer to talk to Laura, but I’ve promised her that I won’t ask her to come and visit till you ask for her. You gave her such a fright, screaming at her like that. But if it wasn’t for her, we would never have found out who you are. Sensible of her to go to the police, don’t you think? You would have been such a puzzle.” I had a puzzle. Who was me? Me? Laura? It was too difficult. I gave up. It didn’t seem to be my problem, so why did they bother me? Me? There was something else… Thinking stopped. I fell asleep.
Really, i never though writing in that "instinct" way could work in a written work, that passage has proven me aesthethically wrong .
_________________ Civilization does not consist in exporting much, or walking with hurry, or writing with correct ortography. It consist in the sweetness of the customs, in love and tolerance, in the native elevation of the feelings and of the ideas.
We must not judge his evil, we must heal it.
"It is not reason, more or less furnished, but will that makes the world march"
"A piece of your heart, A piece of your soul, Think what you feel, Write what you know."
Sat Nov 19, 2011 6:04 pm
Gavrilo Princip
Elitist
Joined: Sat May 08, 2010 4:26 pm Posts: 452 Location: Little Ease
Country: United Kingdom
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
Henry Miller - Tropic of Cancer.
Quote:
Alone, with a tremendous empty longing and dread. The whole room for my thoughts. Nothing but myself and what I think, what I fear. Could think the most fantastic thoughts, could dance, spit, grimace, curse, wail--nobody would ever know, no body would ever hear. The thought of such absolute privacy is enough to drive me mad. It's like a clean birth. Everything cut away. Separate, naked, alone. Bliss and agony simultaneously. Time on your hands. Each second weighing on you like a mountain. You drown in it. Deserts, seas, lakes, oceans. Time beating away like a meat ax. Nothingness. The world. The me and the not-me. Oomaharumooma. Everything has to have a name. Everything has to be learned, tested, experienced. Faites comme chez vous, chéri.
_________________ We feel that we are in contact with something flavorless, boring . . . What is there in the deep under these masks? Perhaps there is nothing, a dark, hollow-eyed nothing - affective anemia. Behind an ever-silent facade, which twitches uncertainly with every expiring whim . . . nothing but broken pieces, black rubbish heaps, yawning emotional emptiness, or the cold breath of an arctic soullessness .
Wed Dec 21, 2011 11:12 am
noisy requiem
someone please stop the world
Joined: Sun Mar 28, 2010 11:01 pm Posts: 683 Location: sailin' into a spacy blue
Country: Canada
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
a bit late, read to kill a mockingbird for the first time. these two stuck out for me:
Quote:
"If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other? Scout, I think I'm beginning to understand something. I think I'm beginning to understand why Boo Radley's stayed shut up in the house all this time. It's because he wants to stay inside."
Quote:
"I think I'll be a clown when I get grown,' said Dill. Jem and I stopped in our tracks. Yes sir, a clown,' he said. 'There ain't one thing in this world I can do about folks except laugh, so I'm gonna join the circus and laugh my head off.' You got it backwards, Dill,' said Jem. 'Clowns are sad, it's folks that laugh at them.' Well I'm gonna be a new kind of clown. I'm gonna stand in the middle of the ring and laugh at the folks.
_________________ i’m lookin’ so hard for a place to land, i almost forgot how to fly
Kurze Zeit später - es war an einem besonders heißen Mittag - fand Momo auf den Steinstufen der Ruine eine Puppe.
[....]
Momo starrte sie fasziniert an. Als sie sie nach einer Weile mit der Hand berührte, klapperte die Puppe einige Male mit den Augendeckeln, bewegte den Mund und sagte mit einer Stimme, die etwas quäkend klang, als käme sie aus einem Telefon: "Guten Tag. Ich bin Bibigirl, die vollkommene Puppe." Momo fuhr erschrocken zurück, aber dann antwortete sie unwillkürlich: "Guten Tag, ich heiße Momo." Wieder bewegte die Puppe ihre Lippen und sagte: "Ich gehöre dir. Alle beneiden dich um mich." "Ich glaub nicht, dass du mir gehörst", meinte Momo. "Ich glaub eher, dass dich jemand hier vergessen hat." Sie nahm die Puppe und hob sie hoch. Da bewegten sich deren Lippen wieder und sie sagte: "Ich möchte noch mehr Sachen haben." "So?", antwortete Momo und überlegte. "Ich weiß nicht, ob ich was hab, das zu dir passt. Aber warte mal, ich zeig dir meine Sachen, dann kannst du ja sagen, was dir gefällt." Sie nahm die Puppe und kletterte mit ihr durch das Loch in der Mauer in ihr Zimmer hinunter. Sie holte die Schachtel mit allerlei Schätzen unter dem Bett hervor und stellte sie vor Bibigirl hin. "Hier", sagte sie, "das ist alles, was ich hab. Wenn dir was gefällt, dann sag's nur." Und sie zeigte ihr eine hübsche bunte Vogelfeder, einen schön gemaserten Stein, einen goldenen Knopf, ein Stückchen buntes Glas. Die Puppe sagte nichts und Momo stieß sie an. "Guten Tag", quäkte die Puppe, "ich bin Bibigirl, die vollkommene Puppe."
[....]
"Also hör mal", meinte Momo, "so können wir doch nicht spielen, wenn du immer das Gleiche sagst." "Ich möchte noch mehr Sachen haben", antwortete die Puppe und klimperte mit den Wimpern. Momo versuchte es mit einem anderen Spiel, und als auch das misslang, mit noch einem anderen und noch einem und noch einem. Aber es wurde einfach nichts daraus. Ja, wenn die Puppe nichts gesagt hätte, dann hätte Momo an ihrer Stelle antworten können und es hätte sich die schönste Unterhaltung ergeben. [...] Nach einer Weile überkam Momo ein Gefühl, das sie noch nie zuvor empfunden hatte. Und weil es ihr ganz neu war, dauerte es eine Weile, bis sie begriff, dass es die Langeweile war. Momo fühlte sich hilflos. Am liebsten hätte sie die vollkommene Puppe einfach liegen lassen und etwas anderes gespielt, aber sie konnte sich aus irgendeinem Grund nicht von ihr losreißen. So saß Momo schließlich nur noch da und starrte die Puppe an, die ihrerseits wieder mit blauen, gläsernen Augen Momo anstarrte, als hätten sie sich gegenseitig hypnotisiert. Schließlich wandte Momo ihren Blick mit Willen von der Puppe weg - und erschrak ein wenig. Ganz nah stand nämlich ein elegantes, aschgraues Aut, dessen Kommen sie nicht bemerkt hatte. In dem Auto saß ein Herr, der einen spinnweb-farbenen Anzug anhatte, einen grauen steifen Hut auf dem Kopf trug und eine kleine graue Zigarre rauchte. Auch sein Gesicht sah aus wie Asche. Der Herr musste sie wohl schon eine ganze Weile beobachtet haben, denn er nickte Momo lächelnd zu. Und obwohl es heiß an diesem Mittag war, dass die Luft in der Sonnenglut flimmerte, begann Momo plötzlich zu frösteln. Jetzt öffnete der Mann die Wagentür, stieg aus und kam auf Momo zu. In der Hand trug er eine bleigraue Aktentasche. "Was für eine schöne Puppe du hast!", sagte er mit eigentümlich tonloser Stimme. "Darum können dich alle deine Spielkameraden beneiden." Momo zuckte nur die Schultern und schwieg. "Die war bestimmt sehr teuer?", fuhr der graue Herr fort. "Ich weiß nicht", murmelte Momo verlegen, "ich hab sie gefunden." "Was du nicht sagst!", erwiderte der graue Herr. "Du bist ja ein richtiger Glückspilz, scheint mir." Momo schwieg wieder und zog sich ihre viel zu große Männerjacke enger um den Leib. Die Kälte nahm zu. "Ich habe allerdings nicht den Eindruck", meinte der graue Herr mit dünnem Lächeln, "als ob du dich so besonders freust, meine Kleine."
[....]
"Ich habe dich schon seit einer ganzen Weile beobachtet", fuhr der graue Herr fort, "und mir scheint, du weißt überhaupt nicht, wie man mit einer so fabelhaften Puppe spielen muss. Soll ich es dir zeigen?" Momo blickte den Mann überrascht an und nickte. "Ich will noch mehr Sache haben", quäkte die Puppe plötzlich. "Na, siehst du, Kleine", meinte der graue Herr, "sie sagt es dir sogar selbst. Mit einer so fabelhaften Puppe kann man nicht spielen wie mit irgendeiner anderen, das ist doch klar. Dazu ist sie auch nicht da. Man muss ihr schon was bieten, wenn man sich nicht mit ihr langweilen will. Pass mal auf, Kleine!" Er ging zu seinem Auto und öffnete den Kofferraum. "Zuerst einmal", sagte er, "braucht sie viele Kleider. Hier ist zum Beispiel ein entzückendes Abendkleid." Er zog es hervor und warf es Momo zu. "Und hier ist ein Pelzmantel aus echtem Nerz. Und hier ist ein seidener Schlafrock. Und hier ein Tennisdress. Und ein Skianzug. Und ein Badekostüm. Und ein Reitanzug. Ein Pyjama. Ein Nachthemd. Ein anderes Kleid. Und noch eins. Und noch eins. Und noch eins ..." Er warf alle die Sachen zwischen Momo und die Puppe, wo sie sich langsam zum Haufen türmten. "So", sagte er und lächelte wieder dünn, "damit kannst du erst einmal eine Weile spielen, nicht wahr, Kleine? Aber das wird nach ein paar Tagen auch langweilig, meinst du? Nun gut, dann musst du eben mehr Sachen für deine Puppe haben." Wieder beugte er sich über den Kofferraum und warf Sachen zu Momo herüber. "Hier ist zum Beispiel eine richtige kleine Handtasche aus Schlangenleder, mit einem echten kleinen Lippenstift und einem Puderdöschen drin. Hier ist ein kleiner Fotoapparat. Hier ein Tennisschläger. Hier ein Puppenfernseher, der echt funktioniert. Hier ein Armband [....] ein kleines Scheckbuch, Parfümfläschchen, Badesalz, Körperspray ..." Er machte eine Pause und blickte Momo prüfend an, die wie gelähmt zwischen all den Sachen am Boden saß. "Du siehst", fuhr der graue Herr fort, "es ist ganz einfach. Man muss nur immer mehr und mehr haben, dann langweilt man sich niemals. Aber vielelicht denkst du, dass die vollkommene Bibigirl eines Tages alles haben wird und dass es dann eben doch wieder langweilig werden könnte. Nein, meine Kleine, keine Sorge! Da haben wir nämlich einen passenden Gefährten für Bibigirl." Und nun zog er aus dem Kofferraum eine andere Puppe hervor. Sie war ebenso groß wie Bibigirl, ebenso vollkommen, nur dass es ein junger Mann war. Der graue Herr setzte ihn neben Bibigirl, die Vollkommene, und erklärte: "Das ist Bubiboy! Für ihn gibt es auch wieder eine unendliche Menge Zubehör. Und wenn das alles langweilig geworden ist, dann gibt es noch eine Freundin von Bibigirl [...] Du siehst also, es braucht nie Langeweile zu geben, denn die Sache ist endlos fortzusetzen [...]" Während er redete, holte er eine Puppe nach der anderen aus dem Kofferraum seines Wagens, dessen Inhalt unerschöpflich schien, und stellte sie um Momo herum, die noch immer reglos dasaß und dem Mann eher erschrocken zuguckte. "Nun?", sagte der Mann schließlich und paffte dicke Rauchwolken. "Hast du jetzt begriffen, wie man mit einer solchen Puppe spielen muss?" "Schon", antwortet Momo. Sie begann jetzt vor Kälte zu zittern. Der graue Herr nickte zufrieden und sog an seiner Zigarre. "Nun möchtest du alle diese schönen Sachen natürlich gern behalten, nicht wahr? Also gut, meine Kleine, ich schenke sie dir! Du bekommst das alles - nicht sofort, sondern eines nach dem andern versteht sich! - und noch viel, viel mehr. Du brauchst auch nichts dafür zu tun. Du sollst nur damit spielen, so wie ich es dir erklärt habe. Nun, was sagst du dazu?" Der graue Herr lächelte Momo erwartungsvoll an, aber da sie nichts sagte, sondern nur ernst seinen Blick erwiderte, setzte er hastig hinzu: "Du brauchst dann deine Freunde gar nicht mehr, verstehst du? Du hast ja nun genug Zerstreuung, wenn all diese schönen Sachen dir gehören und du immer noch mehr bekommst, nicht wahr? Und das willst du doch? Du willst doch diese fabelhafte Puppe? Du willst sie doch unbedingt, wie?"
[....]
Sie schüttelte den Kopf. "Was denn, was denn?", sagte der graue Herr und zog die Augenbrauen hoch. "Du bist immer noch nicht zufrieden? Ihr heutigen Kidner seid aber wirklich anspruchsvoll! Möchtest du mir wohl sagen, was dieser vollkommenen Puppe denn noch fehlt?" Momo blickte zu Boden und dachte nach. "Ich glaub", sagte sie leise, "man kann sie nicht lieb haben." Der graue Herr erwiderte eine ganze Weile nichts. Er starrte glasig vor sich hin wie die Puppen. Schließlich raffte er sich zusammen. "Darauf kommt es überhaupt nicht an", sagte er eisig. Momo schaute ihm in die Augen. Der Mann machte ihr Angst, vor allem durch die Kälte, die von seinem Blick ausging. Aber irgendwie tat er ihr seltsamerweise auch leid, ohne dass sie hätte sagen können, weshalb. "Aber meine Freunde", sagte sie, "die hab ich lieb." Der graue Herr verzog das Gesicht, als habe er plötzlich Zahnschmerzen. Aber er hatte sich gleich wieder in der Gewalt und lächelte messerdünn. "Ich glaube", erwiderte er sanft, "wir sollten einmal ernsthaft miteinander reden, Kleine, damit du lernst, worauf es ankommt."
[....]
"Das Einzige", fuhr der Mann fort, "worauf es im Leben ankommt, ist, dass man es zu etwas bringt, dass man etwas wird, dass man was hat. Wer es weiterbringt, wer mehr wird und mehr hat als die anderen, dem fällt alles Übrige ganz von selbst zu: Freundschaft, Liebe, Ehre und so weiter. Du meinst also, dass du deine Freunde lieb hast. Wir wollen das einmal ganz sachlich untersuchen." Der graue Herr paffte einige Nullen in die Luft. Momo steckte die nackten Füße unter ihren Rock und verkroch sich, soweit es möglich war, in ihrer großen Jacke. "Da erhebt sich als Erstes die Frage", begann der graue Herr nun wieder, "was haben deine Freunde eigentlich davon, dass es dich gibt? Nützt es ihnen zu irgendetwas? Nein. Hilft es ihnen, voranzukommen, mehr zu verdienen, etwas aus ihrem Leben zu machen? Gewiss nicht. Unterstützt du sie in ihrem Bestreben, Zeit zu sparen? Im Gegenteil. Du hältst sie von allem ab, du bist ein Klotz an ihrem Bein, du ruinierst ihr Vorwärtskommen! Vielleicht ist es dir bisher noch nicht bewusst geworden, Momo - jedenfalls schadest du deinen Freunden einfach dadurch, dass du da bist. Ja, du bist in Wirklichkeit, ohne es zu wollen, ihr Feind! Und das nennst du also jemand lieb haben?" Momo wusste nicht, was sie erwidern sollte. So hatte sie die Dinge noch nie betrachtet. Einen Augenblick lang war sie sogar unsicher, ob der grauen Herr nicht vielleicht recht hatte. "Und deshalb", fuhr der graue Herr fort, "wollen wir deine Freunde vor dir beschützen. Und wenn du sie wirklich lieb hast, dann hilfst du uns dabei. Wir wollen, dass sie es zu etwas bringen. Wir sind ihre wahren Freunde. Wir können nicht stillschweigend mit ansehen, dass du sie von allem abhältst, was wichtig ist [....]" "Wer 'wird'?", fragte Momo mit bebenden Lippen. "Wir von der Zeit-Spar-Kasse", antwortete der graue Herr. "[....] Gib dir keine Mühe", sagte er, "mit uns kannst du es nicht aufnehmen." Momo gab nicht nach. "Hat dich denn niemand lieb?", fragte sie flüsternd. Der graue Herr krümmte sich und sank plötzlich ein wenig in sich zusammen. Dann antwortete er mit aschengrauer Stimme: "Ich muss schon sagen, so jemand wie du ist mir noch nicht untergekommen, wirklich nicht. [...] Wenn es mehr von deiner Sorte gäbe, dann könnten wir unsere Zeit-Spar-Kasse bald zumachen und uns selbst in nichts auflösen - denn wovon sollten wir dann noch existieren?"
Google translation:
A short time later - it was on a particularly hot afternoon - Momo found on the stone steps of the ruins of a doll.
[....]
Momo stared at her, fascinated. When she touched it after a while with his hand, the doll a few times rattling the eyelids, moving his mouth and said in a voice that sounded somewhat squeaky, as if coming from a phone. "Good day I'm Bibigirl that perfect doll. " Momo ran back terrified, but she instinctively replied: "Good day, my name is Momo." Again moving the doll her lips and said, "I'm yours All I envy you.." "I do not think that you're mine," Momo said. "I think rather that you have forgotten anyone here." She took the doll and lifted her up. Since moving their lips again and she said: "I would like to have more stuff." "Indeed," replied Momo and considered. "I do not know if I've got something that suits you. But wait a minute, I'll show you my stuff, then yes you can say what you like." She took the doll with her and climbed down through the hole in the wall in her room. She took the box with all sorts of treasures from under the bed and placed it in front Bibigirl. "Here," she said, "that's all I got. If you like something, it's just say." And they showed her a pretty colorful bird feathers, a beautifully grained stone, a gold button, a piece of colored glass. The doll did not say anything and Momo nudged her. "Good day," squeaked the doll, "I'm Bibigirl, the perfect doll."
[....]
"So listen," said Momo, "so we can play but not if you always say the same thing." "I would like to have more things," answered the doll and fluttered her eyelashes. Momo tried another game, and as well as the failed, with yet another and another and another. But there simply nothing came of it. Yes, if the doll would have said nothing, then Momo would be able to answer in its place and it would have been in the best entertainment. [...] After a while Momo overcame a feeling that she had never felt before. And because she was new, it took a while before she realized that it was the boredom. Momo felt helpless. She wanted to leave just the perfect doll and played something else, but she could not tear myself away from her for some reason. Sun finally Momo sat there just staring at the pupa, which in turn stared back with blue glass eyes, Momo, as if they had hypnotized each other. Momo finally turned her gaze away with will of the doll - and a little frightened. Namely close was an elegant, ashen-gray Aust, whose coming had not noticed. In the car sat a gentleman who wore a cobweb-colored suit, a gray bowler hat on his head and smoking a cigar little gray. His face looked like ash. The Lord had probably been a while have seen, for he nodded with a smile Momo. And even though it was hot that afternoon, the air shimmered in the heat of the sun, Momo began to shiver suddenly. Now the man opened the car door, got out and walked up to Momo. In his hand he carried a lead-gray briefcase. "What have you for a beautiful doll," he said with curiously flat voice. "So you can all envy your playmates." Momo just shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. "That was certainly very expensive?" Continued the man in gray. "I do not know," muttered Momo embarrassed, "I've found." "The hell you say!" Replied the man in gray. "You're a real lucky, I think." Momo was silent again and pulled her close to many great men jacket around his waist. The cold increased. "However, I do not feel," said the man in gray with a thin smile, "as if you're so very looking forward, my little one."
[....]
"I've been watching you for quite a while," continued the man in gray, "and it seems to me, you know at all how to play with such a fabulous doll needs. Shall I show you?" Momo looked surprised at the man and nodded. "I will have more thing," squeaked the doll suddenly. "Well, you see, little one," said the man in gray, "she says, you can even itself with such a fabulous doll play is not like any other, that's obvious. This is because they do not. You have to you already have something, if you do not want to bore you with it. Listen, Small! " He went to his car and opened the trunk. "First of all," he said, "it takes a lot of clothes. This is such a delightful evening dress." He pulled it out and threw it to Momo. "And here's a fur coat made of real mink. And here is a silk dressing gown. And here's a tennis dress. And a ski suit. And a bathing costume. And a riding suit. Lover. A nightgown. Another dress. And one more thing. And a. And one more thing ... " He threw all the stuff between Momo and the doll, where they were piling up slowly to the pile. "So," he said and smiled thinly, "so that you can only play once in a while, do not you, little one? But after a few days too boring, you mean? Well, you just need more things for your have doll. " Again he bent over the trunk and threw things over to Momo. "Here, for example, a real little handbag of snakeskin, with a real little lipstick and a powder compact inside. Here is a small camera. Here is a tennis racket. Here is a puppet TV that works real. Here is a bracelet [....] a small checkbook, perfume bottles, bath salts, body spray ... " He paused and looked searchingly at Momo who was paralyzed from all the stuff on the ground. "You see," continued the man in gray, "it is quite simple. You just have more and more, then get bored you never. But a lot of light do you think that the perfect Bibigirl one day [i] everything [/ i ] and that it will have to be a matter might be boring again. No, my dear, do not worry because we have that is a fitting companion for Bibigirl. " And then he pulled out from the trunk of another doll. She was as big as Bibigirl, as perfect, only that it was a young man. The gray gentleman sat down next to him Bibigirl, the perfect, and said:. "This is Bubiboy For him, there is again an infinite amount Accessories And when all things have become boring, there's still a friend of Bibigirl [... ] So you see, it does not give boredom, because the matter is to be continued indefinitely [...] " As he spoke, he pulled out a doll at a time from the trunk of his car, its contents seemed inexhaustible, and placed them around Momo, who sat motionless and still the man zuguckte rather frightened. "Well," the man finally said, puffing clouds of smoke. "Do you now understand how we have to play with such a doll?" "Already," replied Momo. They now began to tremble with cold. The gray gentleman nodded approvingly and sucked on his cigar. "Now you want to keep all these beautiful things, of course, like, right Well, my dear, I'll give you everything you get -? Not immediately, but one after the other understands sic - and much, much more. You will also need to do anything for it. You should only play it, as I have explained it to you. Well, what do you say? " The gray man smiled Momo expectantly, but she said nothing, but only seriously looked back at him, he added hastily: "You need then no longer your friends, you know you've got now enough diversion if all these beautiful? things are yours and you'll get still more, is not it? And that's what you want? You do not want this fabulous doll? you want but they must, eh? "
[....]
She shook her head. "What, what?" Said the man in gray, and raised his eyebrows. "You're still not satisfied? Your Kidner today are really challenging! Would you tell me, well what is wrong with this perfect doll yet?" Momo looked down and thought. "I think," she said quietly, "you can not love them." The man in gray said nothing for a while. He stared glassy as the doll in front of him. Finally he pulled himself together. "That's important to not at all," he said icily. Momo looked into his eyes. The man scared her, especially through the cold, which started from his eyes. But somehow he did it strangely also sorry that she could not say why. "But my friends," she said, "I'm the love." The man in gray grimaced as if he had a sudden toothache. But he'd be back in the hands and smiled razor thin. "I think," he replied softly, "we should seriously talk to each other again, little one, so you learn what it takes."
[....]
"The only thing," continued the man, "what life matters is that it brings something that one is something that you have something. Those who continue to bring, who will be more and more than the other, which everything else falls entirely on itself.. friendship, love, honor and so on So you think that you love your friends, we have the time to examine all factual ". The man in gray puffed a few zeros in the air. Momo tucked her bare feet under her skirt and crept as far as was possible, great in her jacket. "Elevates Since the first question," the man in gray began again, "what did your friends really believe that you exist? It profit them anything? No. Does it help them move forward, to earn more, some of to make their lives? Certainly not. Do you support them in their quest to save time? the contrary. You keep away from all that you are a millstone around their leg, you ruin their progress! Perhaps it is you are not yet aware become Momo -.! at least you hurting your friends simply by the fact that you're there Yeah, you're in reality, without meaning to, their enemy And you call someone that is love "? Momo did not know what they say. They had seen things before. For a moment it was even uncertain whether the gray gentleman was right, maybe not. "And therefore," continued the man in gray, "we want to protect your friends before you. And if you really love, then you can help us. We want them to get anywhere. We are your true friends. We can not silently watch that you fends them of everything that is important [....] " "Who 'is'?" Momo said with trembling lips. "We of the time-saving fund," replied the man in gray. "Give [....] Do not bother," he said, "with us you can not take it." Momo did not yield. "If you love because no one?" She whispered. The man in gray was writhing and suddenly sank a little into himself. Then he answered, with ash-gray voice. "I have to say already, somebody like you I have not come across, not really [...] If there were more of your kind, then we could carry on our time-saving fund soon and we resolved itself into nothing - because what would we exist? "
_________________ Ich leg meine Hand in das Feuer vom Würstchengrill unten am Fluss dafür, dass nicht alles umsonst war und jeder nur tut, was er muss Deinen Namen hab ich vergessen, deine Nummer fällt mir nicht ein Einen Ring hab ich niemals besessen und einsam will ich nicht sein
Sun Apr 01, 2012 6:24 am
noisy requiem
someone please stop the world
Joined: Sun Mar 28, 2010 11:01 pm Posts: 683 Location: sailin' into a spacy blue
Country: Canada
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
breath by tim winton
Quote:
I couldn’t have put words to it as a boy, but later I understood what seized my imagination that day. How strange it was to see men do something beautiful. Something pointless and elegant, as though nobody saw or cared… For all those years when Loonie and I surfed together, having caught the bug that first morning at the Point, we never spoke about the business of beauty. We were mates but there were places our conversation simply couldn't go. There was never any doubt about the primary thrill of surfing, the huge body-rush we got flying down the line with the wind in our ears. We didn't know what endorphins were but we quickly understood how narcotic the feeling was. We talked about skill and courage and luck—we shared all that, and in time we surfed to fool with death—but for me there was still the outlaw feeling of doing something graceful, as if dancing on water was the best and bravest thing a man could do.
_________________ i’m lookin’ so hard for a place to land, i almost forgot how to fly
Sat Apr 14, 2012 1:45 pm
Gavrilo Princip
Elitist
Joined: Sat May 08, 2010 4:26 pm Posts: 452 Location: Little Ease
Country: United Kingdom
Sex: Male
Re: Passages from books you've liked
Tolstoy - The Death of Ivan Ilyich.
Quote:
And in imagination he began to recall the best moments of his pleasant life. But strange to say none of those best moments of his pleasant life now seemed at all what they had then seemed — none of them except the first recollections of childhood. There, in childhood, there had been something really pleasant with which it would be possible to live if it could return. But the child who had experienced that happiness existed no longer, it was like a reminiscence of somebody else.
As soon as the period began which had produced the present Ivan Ilych, all that had then seemed joys now melted before his sight and turned into something trivial and often nasty.
And the further he departed from childhood and the nearer he came to the present the more worthless and doubtful were the joys. This began with the School of Law. A little that was really good was still found there — there was light-heartedness, friendship, and hope. But in the upper classes there had already been fewer of such good moments. Then during the first years of his official career, when he was in the service of the governor, some pleasant moments again occurred: they were the memories of love for a woman. Then all became confused and there was still less of what was good; later on again there was still less that was good, and the further he went the less there was. His marriage, a mere accident, then the disenchantment that followed it, his wife's bad breath and the sensuality and hypocrisy: then that deadly official life and those preoccupations about money, a year of it, and two, and ten, and twenty, and always the same thing. And the longer it lasted the more deadly it became. "It is as if I had been going downhill while I imagined I was going up. And that is really what it was. I was going up in public opinion, but to the same extent life was ebbing away from me. And now it is all done and there is only death."
"Then what does it mean? Why? It can't be that life is so senseless and horrible. But if it really has been so horrible and senseless, why must I die and die in agony? There is something wrong!"
"Maybe I did not live as I ought to have done," it suddenly occurred to him. "But how could that be, when I did everything properly?" he replied, and immediately dismissed from his mind this, the sole solution of all the riddles of life and death, as something quite impossible."
_________________ We feel that we are in contact with something flavorless, boring . . . What is there in the deep under these masks? Perhaps there is nothing, a dark, hollow-eyed nothing - affective anemia. Behind an ever-silent facade, which twitches uncertainly with every expiring whim . . . nothing but broken pieces, black rubbish heaps, yawning emotional emptiness, or the cold breath of an arctic soullessness .
"Is it possible to become friends with a butterfly?" "It is if you first become a part of nature. You suppress your presence as a human being, stay very still, and convince yourself that you are a tree or grass or a flower. It takes time, but once the butterfly lets its guard down, you can become friends quite naturally." "Do you give them names?" Aomame asked, curious. "Like dogs or cats?" The dowager gave her head a little shake. "No, I don't give them names, but I can tell one from another by their shapes and patterns. And besides, there wouldn't be much point in giving them names: they die so quickly. These people are your nameless friends for just a little while. I come here every day, say hello to the butterflies, and talk about things with them. When the time comes, though, they just quietly go off and disappear. I'm sure it means they've died, but I can never find their bodies. They don't leave any trace behind. It's as if they've been absorbed by the air. They're dainty little creatures that hardly exist at all: they come out of nowhere, search quietly for a few, limited things, and disappear into nothingness again, perhaps to some other world."
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. Maybe i should, but it's just too funny.
.
