We are all aliens to ourselves.
Paul AusterTag: winter-journal
Each book is a new book. I’ve never written it before and I have to teach myself how to write it as I go along. The fact that I’ve written books in the past seems to play no part in it. I always feel like a beginner and I’m continually running into the same difficulties, the same blocks, the same despairs. You make so many mistakes as a writer, cross out so many bad sentences and ideas, discard so many worthless pages, that finally what you learn is how stupid you are. It’s a humbling occupation.
Paul AusterĐồ vật, những vật vô tri, có thể diễn đạt tình cảm của con người.
Paul AusterSáng trưng, rồi bóng tối. Nắng dội xuống từ mọi ngả trời, sau đó là đêm đen, những vì sao im lặng, gió xao động lá cành. Lệ thường là vậy.
Paul AusterBildiğim bir şey varsa oda karşılığını vermeden bir şey alamayacağınızdır, istediğiniz şey ne kadar büyükse karşılığında ödemeniz gereken bedel de o kadar büyük olur.
Paul AusterTag: auster
In the end, the problem was not grief. Grief was the first cause, perhaps, but it soon gave way to something else - something more tangible, more calculable in its effects, more violent in the damage it produced. A whole chain of forces had been set in motion, and at a certain point I began to wobble, to fly in greater and greater circles around myself, until at last I spun out of orbit.
Paul AusterTag: moon-palace
The room was a machine that measured my condition: how much of me remained, how much of me was no longer there. I was both perpetrator and witness, both actor and audience in a theater of one. I could follow the progress of my own dismemberment. Piece by piece, I could watch myself dissapear.
Paul AusterA here exists only in relation to a there, not the other way around. There's this only because there's that; if we don't look up, we'll never know what's down. Think of it, boy. We find ourselves only by looking what we're not. You can't put your feet on the ground until you've touched the sky.
Paul AusterThat was the trouble. The land is too big out there, and after a while it starts to swallow you up. I reached a point when I couldn't take it anymore. All that bloody silence and emptiness. You try to find your bearings in it, but it's too big, the dimensions are too monstrous, and eventually, I don't know how else to put it, eventually it just stops being there. There's no world, no land, no nothing. It comes down to that, Fogg, in the end it's all a figment. The only place you exist is in your head.
Paul AusterI became hypnotized by my own loneliness, unwilling to stop until my eyes wouldn't stay open anymore, watching the white line of the highway as though it was the last thing that connected me to the earth.
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