In the end, each life is no more than the
sum of contingent facts, a chronicle of chance intersections, of flukes, of random events that divulge nothing but their own
lack of purpose.
Stories without endings can do nothing but go on forever, and to be caught in one means that you must die before your part in it is played out.
Paul Austeryou can’t punish someone for a lack of affection, can you? You can’t force a child to love you just because he’s your child.
Paul Austerin the end, each life is irreducible to anything other than itself. Which is as much as to say: lives make no sense.
Paul AusterIn general, lives seem to veer abruptly from one thing to another, to jostle and bump, to squirm. A person heads in one direction, turns sharply in mid-course, stalls, drifts, starts up again. Nothing is ever known, and inevitably we come to a place quite different from the one we set out for.
Paul AusterAt that point, Noriko finally breaks down and begins to cry sobbing into her hands as the floodgates open - this young woman who has suffered in silence for so long, this good woman who refuse to believe she's good, for only the good doubt their own goodness, which is what makes them good in the first place. The bad know they are good, but the good know nothing. They spend their lives forgiving others, but they can't forgive themselves.
Paul Austerأحياناً أعتقد أن الموت هو الشيء الوحيد الذي نكن له أي مشاعر. إنه شكلنا الفني، الطريقة الوحيدة التي نستطيع بها أن نعبر عن أن أنفسنا.
Paul Austerhameye ma dar barkhord ba gozashte chenin raftar mikonim,sagha va adamha
Paul AusterMostra la citazione in tedesco
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But fierce as my attraction was, I also knew that it was more than just a physical attraction [...], more than just a momentenry surge of animal desire. I understood that she wasn't a terribly articulate person and nothing she said that afternoon was particularly brilliant or memorable. And yet there I was in a state of maximum torment - burning and longing and pining, a man trapped in the spines of love.
Paul AusterTag: oracle-night
Bodies count, of course - they count more than we're willing to admit - but we don't fall in love with bodies, we fall in love with each other. We all know that, but the moment we go beyond a catalogue of surface qualities and appearances, words begin to fail us, to crumble apart in mystical confusions and cloudy, unsubstantial metaphors.
Paul AusterTag: love
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