Every book is an image of solitude. It is a tangible object that one can pick up, put down, open, and close, and its words represent many months if not many years, of one man’s solitude, so that with each word one reads in a book one might say to himself that he is confronting a particle of that solitude
Paul AusterImpossible, I realize, to enter another’s solitude. If it is true that we can ever come to know another human being, even to a small degree, it is only to the extent that he is willing to make himself known. A man will say: I am cold. Or else he will say nothing, and we will see him shivering. Either way, we will know that he is cold. But what of the man who says nothing and does not shiver? Where all is intractable, here all is hermetic and evasive, one can do no more than observe. But whether one can make sense of what he observes is another matter entirely
Paul AusterThere is nothing more terrible, I learned, than having to face the objects of a dead man. Things are inert: that have meaning only in function of the life that makes use of them. When that life ends, the things change, even though they remain the same. […] they say something to us, standing there not as objects but as remnants of thought, of consciousness, emblems of the solitude in which a man comes to make decisions about himself.
Paul AusterHe has been marked by the past, and once that happens, nothing can be
done about it. Something happens, Blue thinks, and then it goes on
happening forever. It can never be changed, can never be otherwise.
But lost chances are as much a part of life as chances taken, and a
story cannot dwell on what might have been.
Cada hombre es distinto de todos los demás, y cuando ocurren cosas horribles, cada cual reacciona a su manera.
Paul Austeruna vida rota por el exceso y la escasez de este mundo
Paul AusterNothing lasts, you see, not even the thoughts inside you. And you musn't
waste your time looking for them. Once a thing is gone, that is the end of it.
You had to invent something. It's not possible to leave it blank. The mind
won't let you.
To think one thought meant thinking the opposite thought, and no sooner did
that second thought destroy the first thought than a third thought rose up to
destroy the second.
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