No, sir. A sin. A suchmuch thing.
Salman RushdieIn this century history stopped paying attention to the old psychological orientation of reality. I mean, these days, character isn't destiny any more. Economy is destiny. Ideology is destiny. Bombs are destiny. What does a famine, a gas chamber, a grenade care how you lived your life? Crisis comes, death comes, and your pathetic individual self doesn't have a thing to do with it, only to suffer the effects.
Salman RushdieAnd in Kandahar he was taught about survival, about fighting and killing and hunting, and he learned much else without being taught, such as looking out for himself and watching his tongue and not saying the wrong thing, the thing that might get him killed. About the dignity of the lost, about losing, and how it cleansed the soul to accept defeat, and about letting go, avoiding the trap of holding on too tightly to what you wanted, and about abandonment in general, and in particular fatherlesness, the lessness of fathers, the lessness of the fatherless, and the best defenses of those who are less against those who are more: inwardness, forethought, cunning, humility and good peripheral vision. The many lessons of lessness. The lessening from which growing could begin.
Salman RushdieExile is a dream of glorious return. Exile is a vision of revolution: Elba, not St Helena. It is an endless paradox: looking forward by always looking back. The exile is a ball hurled high into the air. He hangs there, frozen in time, translated into a photograph; denied motion, suspended impossibly above his native earth, he awaits the inevitable moment at which the photograph must begin to move, and the earth reclaim its own.
Salman RushdieTags: exile
Докато търсеха стариците, хората опустошиха всичко в техния дом. Сякаш ято скакалци преминаваше през него. Изтръгваха старите гоблени от стените, а овехтялата тъкан се разпадаше в ръцете им и ставаше на прах; чупеха ключалките на кутиите и изваждаха отдавна излезлите от употреба банкноти и монети; отваряха скърцащите врати, старите панти не издържаха и вратите с грохот падаха на пода; преобръщаха дюшеците, измъкваха сребърни прибори от кухненските шкафове, изтръгваха златните крачета на ваните в баните; разпаряха дамаската на диваните и търсеха скрити съкровища; изхвърлиха през прозореца стария диван-люлка на улицата. Сякаш магията се бе развалила и тълпата се бе пробудила от дълбокия си сън; най-после беше получила отговор на отколешната тайна, която толкова години ги бе измъчвала. После щяха изумено да се вглеждат един в друг и да не вярват на очите си, а в душите им щяха да се борят срам и гордост. „Нима това е наше дело? – щяха да се питат те. – Но нали сме най-нормални хора?
Salman RushdieОбезглавеният му труп рухна на пода, а заситеният Звяр отново притихна. Суфия стоеше несигурно на краката си и в недоумение примигваше с очи. Тя не знаеше (и откъде да знае?), че измислица или не, един ден всички разкази внезапно свършват; че всепоглъщащият пламък едва сега се разгаря; че когато дойде Съдният ден съдиите също ще трябва да отговарят за деянията си; че Звяра на срама не може дълго да съществува в чуждо тяло, защото се храни, расте, разкъсва обвивката си и накрая се взривява.
Salman RushdieMost interesting things in our lives happens in our absence
Salman Rushdie...that witchcraft requires no potions, familiar spirits, or magic wands. Language upon a silver tongue affords enchantment enough.
Salman RushdieTags: language magic charm charisma
[What Rushdie took away from reading Gunter Grass's The Tin Drum]: Go for broke. Always try and do too much. Dispense with safety nets. Take a deep breath before you begin talking. Aim for the stars. Keep grinning. Be ruthless. Argue with the world. And never forget that writing is as close as we get to keeping a hold on the thousand and one things--childhood, certainties, cities, doubts, dreams, instants, phrases, parents, loves--that go on slipping like sand, through our fingers.
Salman RushdieTags: life advice writing inspiration carpe-diem
You are ass and I like class. I like diamonds, you are a glass. You brown mouse, I like black cats. You boy pussy but i like tom cats. Just because you got the dance, don't think you stand a fucking chance.
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