It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices.
Italo Calvino... мечтая за безгранични космологии, саги и епопеи, затворени в размерите на епиграма.
Italo CalvinoThe universe will express itself as long as somebody will be able to say, "I read, therefore it writes.
Italo CalvinoYou fight with dreams as with formless and meaningless life, seeking a pattern, a route that must surely be there, as when you begin to read a book and you don't yet know in which direction it will carry you. What you would like is the opening of an abstract and absolute space and time in which you could move, following an exact, taut trajectory; but when you seem to be succeeding, you realize you are motionless, blocked, forced to repeat everything from the beginning.
Italo CalvinoNow the situation is different, I admit: I have a wristwatch, I compare the angle of its hands with the angle of all the hands I see; I have an engagement book where the hours of my business appointments are marked down; I have a chequebook on whose stubs I add and subtract numbers. At Penn Station I get off the train, I take the subway, I stand and grasp the strap with one hand to keep my balance while I hold the newspaper up in the other, folded so I can glance over the figures of the stock market quotations: I play the game, in other words, the game of pretending there's an order in the dust, a regularity in the system, or an interpretation of different systems, incongruous but still measurable, so that every graininess of disorder coincides with the faceting of an order which promptly crumbles.
Italo CalvinoThe ideal place for me is the one in which it is most natural to live as a foreigner.
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In Chloe, a great city, the people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping.
A girl comes along, twirling a parasol on her shoulder, and twirling slightly also her rounded hips. A woman in black comes along, showing her full age, her eyes restless beneath her veil, her lips trembling. At tattooed giant comes along; a young man with white hair; a female dwarf; two girls, twins, dressed in coral. Something runs among them, an exchange of glances link lines that connect one figure with another and draws arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene: a blind man with a cheetah on a leash, a courtesan with an ostrich-plume fan, an ephebe, a Fat Woman. And thus, when some people happen to find themselves together, taking shelter from the rain under an arcade, or crowding beneath an awning of the bazaar, or stopping to listen to the band in the square, meetings, seductions, copulations, orgies are consummated among them without a word exchanged, without a finger touching anything, almost without an eye raised.
A voluptuous vibration constantly stirs Chloe, the most chaste of cities. If men and women began to live their ephemeral dreams, every phantom would become a person with whom to begin a story of pursuits, pretenses, misunderstandings, clashes, oppressions, and the carousel of fantasies would stop.
Tag: cities
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-Hep başın arkaya dönük mü ilerlersin sen- ya da: -Gördüğün şey hep geride kalan mıdır?- ya da daha doğrusu: -Yalnız geçmişe mi senin yolculuğun?
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Ben ucu ucuna görmüştüm onu. O kadar genç olmasına şaşırmıştım: Bir delikanlıyı andırıyordu, sapasağlam, kazınmış ensesi, gergin ve bronz teni, kaygılı bir sevincin egemen olduğu ışıltılı gözleriyle bir delikanlıyı: Savaş vardı, onun yarattığı savaş ve o generallerle arabadaydı; yeni bir üniforma vardı üzerinde, en faal ve soluk soluğa günlerini geçiriyordu, o yaz akşamlarında hızla insanların kendisini tanıdığı köylerden geçiyordu. Ve sanki bir oyun oynanıyormuş gibi, yalnızca oyun aradaşları arıyordu kendine, hepsi bu.
Italo CalvinoAnd at the bottom of each of those eyes I lived, or rather another me lived, one of the images of me, and it encountered the image of her, the most faithful image of her, in that beyound which opens, past the semiliquid sphere of the irises, in the darkness of the pupils, the mirrored hall of retinas, in our true element which extends without shores, without boundaries.
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