Nimalo se, kažem, ne može nauditi velikoj knjizi ako se ponese u zahod. Samo beznačajne knjige trpe zbog toga. Samo beznačajne knjige služe brisanju guzice. Takva je knjiga Mali Cezar koja je sad prevedena na francuski i koja je izišla u biblioteci Passions. Dok okrećem stranice te knjige, čini mi se da sam opet kod kuće i da čitam naslove u novinama, da slušam one proklete radio aparate, da se vozim u starim krntijama, da pijem jeftini džin, da guram kukuruzni klip u dupe prostitutkama djevicama, da vješam Crnce i žive ih spaljujem. Da čovjek dobije sraćku. A to isto vrijedi za Atlantic M o n t h 1 y ili za bilo koji drugi mjesečnik, za Aldousa Huxleyja, Gertrudu Stein, Sinclaria Lewisa, Hemingwaya, Dos Passosa, Dreisera itd, itd... Ne čujem nikakvo zvono da zvoni u meni kad donesem te ptičice u WC. Povučem lančić i odoše u kanal. Niz Seinu pa u Atlantski ocean. Možda će za godinu dana opet izroniti — na obalama Coney Islan-da ili Midland Beacha ili Miamija, s mrtvim meduzama, puževima, račićima, rabljenim prezervativima, ružičastim toaletnim papirom, jučerašnjim novostima, sutrašnjim samoubojstvima ...
str. 58-59
What have we to offer the world beside the superabundant loot which we recklessly plunder from the earth under the maniacal delusion that this insane activity represents progress and enlightenment?
Henry MillerWriting is its own reward.
Henry MillerIt was just the human fatality of things, a cancer worse than blame, or hate or love.
Henry MillerLife has to be given a meaning because of the obvious fact that it has no meaning.
Henry MillerTags: meaning-of-life
The cancer of time is eating us away
Henry MillerJump off. You are a protected individual. Do not fear.
Henry MillerWe clutter the earth with our inventions, never dreaming that possibly they are unnecessary — or disadvantageous. We devise astounding means of communication, but do we communicate with one another? We move our bodies to and fro and incredible speeds, but do we really leave the spot we started from? Mentally, morally, spiritually, we are fettered. What have we achieved in mowing down mountain ranges, harnessing the energy of mighty rivers, or moving whole populations about like chess pieces, if we ourselves remain the same restless, miserable, frustrated creatures we were before? To call such activity progress is utter delusion. We may succeed in altering the face of the earth until it is unrecognizable even to the Creator, but if we are unaffected wherein lies the meaning?
Henry MillerFor seven years I went about, day and night, with only one thing on my mind – her.
Were there a Christian so faithful to his God as I was to her we would all be Jesus
Christs today.
So quietly flows the Seine that
one hardly notices its presence. It is always there, quiet and unobtrusive, like a great
artery running through the human body. In the wonderful peace that fell over me
itseemed as if I had climbed to the top of a high mountain; for a little while I would be
able to look around me, to take in the meaning of the landscape.
Human beings make a strange fauna and flora. From a distance they appear
negligible; close up they are apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than anything they
need to be surrounded with sufficient space – space even more than time.
The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through meits past, its ancient soil, the
changing climate. The hills gently girdle it about: its course is fixed.
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