Love delayed is lust augmented.
Louis de BernièresTag: philosophy
Antonio, I speak to you from beyond the grave, in seriousness. I have loved you with all my shameful heart, as much as I once loved Francisco, and I have conquered any envy that I might have felt. If a dead man may have a wish, it is that you should find your future with Pelagia. She is beautiful and sweet, there is no one who deserves you more, and no one else worthy of you. I wish that you will have children together, and I wish that once or twice you will tell them about their Uncle Carlo that they never saw. As for me, I hoist my knapsack on my shoulders and buckle the webbing, I put my arm through the sling of my rifle, and I open the veil to march into the unknown as soldiers always will. Remember me.
Carlo.
History is the propaganda of the victors.
Louis de BernièresMan is a bird without wings and a bird is a man without sorrow.
Louis de BernièresIn deference to such spectacular carnage it is perhaps perverse to dwell upon one person's death, but we are creatures so constituted that the passing of one friend or one acquaintance has a profounder effect that that of 100,000 strangers. If there is any metaphorical truth in the Jewish proverb that he who saves one life saves the whole world, then there is equal metaphorical truth in the proposition that when one person dies, the whole world dies with them.
Louis de Bernières...but then the general trouble with ignorance is always that the ignorant person has no idea that that's what they are. You can be ignorant and stupid and go through your whole life without ever encountering any evidence against the hypothesis that you're a genius.
Louis de BernièresLove is a kind of dementia with very precise and oft-repeated clinical symptoms. You blush in each other's presence, you both hover in places where you expect the other to pass, you are both a little tongue-tied, you both laugh inexplicably and too long, you become quite nauseatingly girlish, and he becomes quite ridiculously gallant. You have also grown a little stupid.
Louis de BernièresTag: love
Beauty is precious, you see, and the more beautiful something is, the more precious it is; and the more precious it is the more it hurts us that it will fade away; and the more we are hurt by beauty, the more we love the world.
Louis de BernièresLáska je přechodné šílenství, vybuchne jako sopka a potom opadne. A když opadne, musíš se rozhodnout. Musíš zjistit, zdali je vaše kořeny propletený takovým způsobem, že váš rozchod není vůbec myslitelný. Protože právě tohle je láska. Láska není ta bezdechnost, není to vzrušení, nejsou to halasné sliby věčné vášně, není to touha pářit se čtyřiadvacet hodin denně a není to, když v noci zůstaneš vzhůru a představuješ si, že líbá každý záhyb tvého těla. Ne, nečervenej se, já ti teď říkám náramné pravdy. To je jenom zamilovanost, to svede každý hlupák. Láska samotná je to, co zbude, když se zamilovanost vyčerpá, a to je jak umění, tak šťastná náhoda. Mně a tvé mamince se to povedlo, měli jsme kořeny, které kdesi v podzemí srostly k sobě, a když nám z větvi opadaly všechny ty krásné květy, zjistili jsme, že jsme jeden strom, ne dva. Ale někdy korunní plátky opadnou a ty zjistíš, že kořeny nesrostly. Představ si, že opustíš domov a svůj lid, jen abys po šesti měsících, roce, třech letech zjistila, že strom tvé lásky nezapustil kořeny a vyvrátil se. Představ si to zoufalství, představ si, jak by tě to dusilo.
Louis de BernièresWhen you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots are become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. No... don't blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away. Doesn't sound very exciting, does it? But it is!
Louis de BernièresTag: love
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