Toute la scène avait quelque chose d’imaginaire. J’étais conscient qu’elle était réelle, mais en même temps c’était mieux que la réalité, plus proche d’une projection de ce que j’attendais de la réalité que tout ce qui m’étais arrivé auparavant.
Avec le temps, je commençai à remarquer que les bonnes choses m’arrivaient que lorsque j’avais renoncé à les espérer.
Mots clés moon-palace
He who lives for an encounter with the unseen becomes the instrument of the seen.
Paul AusterRaymond Chandler invented a new way of talking about America, and America has never looked the same to us since.
Paul AusterIt's June second, he told himself. Try to remember that. This is New York, and tomorrow will be June third. If all goes well, the following day will be the fourth. But nothing is certain.
Paul AusterI felt the taste of mortality in my mouth, and at that moment I understood that I was not going to live forever. It takes a long time to learn that, but when you finally do, everything changes inside you, you can never be the same again. I was seventeen years old, and all of a sudden, without the slightest flicker of a doubt, I understood that my life was my own, that it belonged to me and no one else.
I’m talking about freedom, Fogg. A sense of despair that becomes so great, so crushing, so catastrophic, that you have no choice but to be liberated by it. That’s the only choice, or else you crawl into a corner and die.
Mots clés life freedom philosophy self-determination adulthood
Bit by bit, I found myself relaxing into the conversation. Kitty had a natural talent for drawing people out of themselves, and it was easy to fall in with her, to feel comfortable in her presence. As Uncle Victor had once told me long ago, a conversation is like having a catch with someone. A good partner tosses the ball directly into your glove, making it almost impossible for you to miss it; when he is on the receiving end, he catches everything sent his way, even the most errant and incompetent throws. That’s what Kitty did. She kept lobbing the ball straight into the pocket of my glove, and when I threw the ball back to her, she hauled in everything that was even remotely in her area: jumping up to spear balls that soared above her head, diving nimbly to her left or right, charging in to make tumbling, shoestring catches. More than that, her skill was such that she always made me feel that I had made those bad throws on purpose, as if my only object had been to make the game more amusing. She made me seem better than I was, and that strengthened my confidence, which in turn helped to make my throws less difficult for her to handle. In other words, I started talking to her rather than to myself, and the pleasure of it was greater than anything I had experienced in a long time.
Paul AusterMots clés love conversation
In the end, the art of hunger can be described as an existential art. It is a way of looking death in the face, and by death I mean death as we live it today: without God, without hope of salvation. Death as the abrupt and absurd end of life
Paul AusterMots clés introduction hunger
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But that was the beauty of this particular game. The moment you lost, you won.
Paul Austerwhat at first had seemed to be no more than a small bump in the road was turned into a full-scale misfortune
Paul AusterHe slipped away slowly, withdrawing from this world by small, imperceptible degrees, and in the end it was as if
he were a drop of water evaporating in the sun, shrinking and shrinking until at last he wasn’t there anymore.
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