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Die Geschichte meines Lebens
Casanova, Giacomo
Die Geschichte meines Lebens. Anhang mit Nachwort und Chronologie "Daten zu Leben und Werk von Giacomo Casanova (1725-1798)"
Dortmund 1984, Harenberg ("Die große Erzähler-Bibliothek der Weltliteratur")
270 S. mit Frontispizbild nach einer Radierung von Fritz Janschka, die für diese Ausgabe entstanden ist. Kunstleder mit dekor. Deckel- und Rücken-Gold, 8°, ISBN: 3-88379-811-8
"Die in diesem Band gedruckten Texte stellen eine Auswahl aus dem zwölfbändigen Memoirenwerk nach den Übersetzungen von L.v. Alvensleben und C.F. Schmidt dar, deren teilweise geringfügig gekürzte Fassungen für diese Ausgabe überarbeitet wurden." (Impressum-Vermerk).
[Schlagworte: SW Literatur Memoiren Italien Venedig 18.Jh.]
Sprache: Deutsch
Die Geschichte meines Lebens. Anhang mit Nachwort und Chronologie "Daten zu Leben und Werk von Giacomo Casanova (1725-1798)"
Dortmund 1984, Harenberg ("Die große Erzähler-Bibliothek der Weltliteratur")
270 S. mit Frontispizbild nach einer Radierung von Fritz Janschka, die für diese Ausgabe entstanden ist. Kunstleder mit dekor. Deckel- und Rücken-Gold, 8°, ISBN: 3-88379-811-8
"Die in diesem Band gedruckten Texte stellen eine Auswahl aus dem zwölfbändigen Memoirenwerk nach den Übersetzungen von L.v. Alvensleben und C.F. Schmidt dar, deren teilweise geringfügig gekürzte Fassungen für diese Ausgabe überarbeitet wurden." (Impressum-Vermerk).
[Schlagworte: SW Literatur Memoiren Italien Venedig 18.Jh.]
Sprache: Deutsch
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About the author
Giacomo Casanova
1,449 books274 followersA seminary expelled Giovanni Jacopo Casanova de Seingalt, Italian adventurer, who afterward wandered Europe, met luminaries, worked in a variety of occupations, established a legendary reputation for lust, and chronicled his memoirs.
Giacomo Girolamo Casanova de Seingalt, a Venetian, authored book. People regard Histoire de ma vie ( Story of My Life ), his main book, part autobiography, as one most authentic source of the customs and norms of social life during the 18th century.
He, sometimes called the greatest lust of the world, so famously womanized with his synonymous name with the art of seduction.
Giacomo Girolamo Casanova de Seingalt, a Venetian, authored book. People regard Histoire de ma vie ( Story of My Life ), his main book, part autobiography, as one most authentic source of the customs and norms of social life during the 18th century.
He, sometimes called the greatest lust of the world, so famously womanized with his synonymous name with the art of seduction.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 42 reviews
August 12, 2017
(Taken from my review of the final volume of Casanova's Memoirs).
It's been some three or four years since I first read this, but Giacomo Casanova's loomed large in my psyche ever since.
We have an unusually progressive doctor from what is now the Czech Republic to thank for these memoirs' existence. Upon a routine check-up with an ageing, ailing, anomic Casanova, this doctor noticed that the Venetian would become animated whenever he alluded to his past exploits, and so recommended that he spend some time revisiting his life in an autobiography. I'm sure he couldn't have expected that this autobiography would eventually number between 3000-4000 pages and still remain unfinished, but Casanova put almost as much zest into writing about his life as he did into living it.
Before continuing too far into these memoirs, the reader must first decide whether or not they're in the hands of a reliable narrator. At the end of the final volume of his memoirs, we're suddenly wrenched out of Casanova's hands and placed into a third-person wrap-up of his life's affairs. The juxtaposition is a little jolting: it appears, by the end of his life, Casanova was not seen as a well-travelled, venerable older gentleman, but more as an outdated anachronism, dressed in apparel several decades out of date, and even lumbered with a repertoire of archaic mannerisms and politesse more fitting to a prior age. It made me question just how subjective and skewed were the preceding volumes. I honestly believe there are few lettered individuals more in thrall to verity and truthfulness than Casanova, but that doesn't mean to say he didn't misperceive events. Did the legions of women whose lives he fleetingly entered really leave him on as good terms as he imagined? Did the royal and notable personages of the era- including Catherine the Great, Voltaire, Frederick the Great, Rousseau, Benjamin Franklin and the like- really get to know him as well as implied? (Although in Voltaire's case, he and Casanova had something of an ego-clash). I've read contemporaneous memoirs from the era and a few of them actually feature the exact same personages. It makes me think that the royal courts of Europe were very nearly open to all and sundry.
Nevertheless, I wouldn't have been able to get this deep into a book of this size if I hadn't put myself entirely into its author's hands. Casanova was as much a shining product of the Age of Enlightenment as the best work by Bacon or Newton, except his masterpiece was his life. I haven't personally interviewed everyone who's ever lived, but I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that no one else has lived as full a life as Giacomo Casanova. He is our discriminating guide through dozens of countries, career choices and social classes over the largest part of the 18th Century. We travel from Venice to Constantinople, to Rome, to Paris, to Austria, France, Holland, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Russia, Switzerland, England, and hundreds of other places besides; we see him morph from priest to soldier, professional gambler to science fiction author, fiddler to cabalist, inventor to ambassador, state prisoner to state spy, alchemist to one of the first people to introduce the lottery to Europe. No other author from the era straddled the various classes with as much impartial ease as he. Though he did often find himself drawn to the aristocracy, simply by dint of their decadent lifestyles, he was all-too-aware of the royalty's susceptibility to simpering idiocy, and the poorer classes' innate nobility. In fact, in a century of breakthroughs and acute intellectualism, he was one of the era's brightest thinkers, having shrugged off almost all traces of medieval fog from his system. He was so much more than just a by-word for womanising. Though there's that, too...
Next time I read this, I think I'll do a count of the number of conquests he made throughout his life. At least that he remembered. The final figure must be in the thousands. There's even a How To Seduce a Lady section here which makes that silly pick-up artist book look like the dilettantish dabblings of bare-faced amateurs. Women of today still have a bit of an uphill struggle to duke it out on a level footing with men in terms of fair pay, but back then in Europe their only viable career paths tended to be nunneries and marriage. Which made Casanova's conquests even more astounding, as a woman's virtue was often their most valuable asset. It could be self-aggrandizing, but it appears Casanova genuinely improved hundreds of women's lives over the course of his own. He would invariably leave them in a better position than before he met them: suitably remunerated, or using his connections to give them employment, or even setting them up with a rich, loving suitor far less footloose than him. He could easily have sated his pathological addiction to new women in a much more economical fashion. He wasn't just drawn to their bodies, either. You might even call him something of a proto-feminist. He could hardly bring himself to bed a woman if he didn't first fall for her wit and clear-headedness. You can tell from his few accounts of attending brothels that these were experiences which gave him little joy. The reader might be less forgiving of the fact that, among his innumerable paramours, number eleven year olds (OK, I can only think of two offhand), and his very own daughter! Even if you say that the 1700s weren't so far off from the age when barely pubescent girls were married off to much older men they'd never met, I think even Casanova knew he was pushing it a bit. The episode with his daughter's a great little story in its own right, however. Of all the thousands of women he bedded, she was the closest to forcing Casanova to settle down. He had no idea she was his daughter, and, just days away from their marriage, he met her mother and realised just what a pickle he'd gotten himself tangled in. Then some years later when they meet up again and she's married, he has a ménage à trois with she and her mother anyway. And, like with most of his frissons, you can't help but sit back and nod in scandalized assent. Casanova lost his virginity to two sisters in his early teens, and the liaisons only get more seamy and fascinating from there on out- with arguably the love of his life being an escapee nun.
This brings me to the issue of the expurgated version translated by one of my favourite authors, Arthur Machen. Much ballyhoo is made of the various ways in which Casanova's more contentious passages were chopped up and thrown on the fire, but considering what made the cut, we'd have to be talking about the type of stuff that would have made the Marquis de Sade blush. Perhaps whoever initially attempted to edit these memoirs threw their hands up in the air and gave up around the sixtieth tale of catching the eye of an innkeeper's daughter and practising his cunnilingus skills on her? The only instances of Casanova holding back from presenting the full HD Retina version of the truth was if the people he was talking about were still alive and liable to be compromised by his account; in those instances he cut their names short to things like Madame M.
Although it might not seem like it at first, Machen was something of a kindred spirit and a perfect choice to make this translation from the original French into English. While he might appear on the surface to be just another starchy English Christian, his tales, such as The White People, generally focus on the Saturnine pagan sexuality which lurks between the cracks of modern-day society. Casanova himself, from the off, identifies himself as a firm believer in God, though his interpretation of scripture is pretty unique to say the least. I'm sure Machen, as a lover of the eldritch, found himself particularly fascinated by Casanova's delvings into the arcane arts. Casanova's most lucrative exploits came through soothsaying, alchemy, and similar offshoots like necromancy; though he didn't for a second believe in the veracity of any of them, he took full advantage of the fact that others did. It is essential for author and translator to be relatively simpatico. The number of dry, dour translations which have no doubt soured readers to the genius of the original source is far too high. For a project of this magnitude, the importance is only doubled, and Machen clearly felt like this project was an utter joy which was over far too soon. Casanova, to him, was likely a manifestation of something he was far too Victorian and English to ever fully realise, but someone whom he idealised all the more because of this fact.
You can't really blame him, as Casanova's life really was one big adventure. Various episodes, such as his famous daring escape from the Venetian Leads bastille, where he was imprisoned at the hands of the inquisition for having slightly sketchy taste in literature, and his two duels and their consequences, have been turned into books in their own right. The only time when it started to flag was in these two volumes. This is around the time when he met his match in a famous London harlot who bled him dry and left him destitute. London has a knack for that kind of thing. His looks are starting to abandon him, and the flock of fawning women are thinning. One of the main things I learnt from these memoirs was to never let any opportunity slip by. If someone invites you to tag along to some happening, without doubt do so! If you hear tell of a position opening in some far-flung corner of the world, take it! Fashion your life like a leaf caught in a hurricane. It's evident that Casanova embarked upon these memoirs as a means of becoming a young man again. He got to re-read his diaries for the first time in decades and remember each encounter as if it were happening for the first time. The closer he crept to his present position, the less effective this therapeutic method became. So harrowing must old age have been to him, that he left his masterwork unfinished, failing even to mention such fascinating episodes as becoming a spy for the very institution that had perniciously jailed him as a younger man. The writing itself, whilst still eminently readable, seems to sag and wrinkle and warp, as if old age has infected the very leaves it was written on. It's a sad, frail ending to one of the most ostentatiously wonderful works of literature ever written. Curse that wench from the motherland for breaking the seemingly cast-iron spirit of Casanova. Then again, I seem to recall our author being offered a marriage opportunity or two even after returning from the place of so many misfortunes, England. If he'd willed it he could have settled down with a loving wife in a comfortable home, and occasionally duck out into a fugal reverie of his younger times when no one was looking. He was ever a gambler, however, so this ending was never on the cards for Giacomo Casanova.
At their best- which would be the whole stretch of volume 3 to volume 8- these memoirs sizzle with the sheer joy of being alive. They were written by a toothless, hairless, withered old man who once knew inconceivable beauty. While other accounts from the era might take us through one strata of life, Casanova was an unprejudiced man and dove into new societies and experiences with the élan of a true Epicurean, and the probing wit and self-awareness of one, too.
It's been some three or four years since I first read this, but Giacomo Casanova's loomed large in my psyche ever since.
We have an unusually progressive doctor from what is now the Czech Republic to thank for these memoirs' existence. Upon a routine check-up with an ageing, ailing, anomic Casanova, this doctor noticed that the Venetian would become animated whenever he alluded to his past exploits, and so recommended that he spend some time revisiting his life in an autobiography. I'm sure he couldn't have expected that this autobiography would eventually number between 3000-4000 pages and still remain unfinished, but Casanova put almost as much zest into writing about his life as he did into living it.
Before continuing too far into these memoirs, the reader must first decide whether or not they're in the hands of a reliable narrator. At the end of the final volume of his memoirs, we're suddenly wrenched out of Casanova's hands and placed into a third-person wrap-up of his life's affairs. The juxtaposition is a little jolting: it appears, by the end of his life, Casanova was not seen as a well-travelled, venerable older gentleman, but more as an outdated anachronism, dressed in apparel several decades out of date, and even lumbered with a repertoire of archaic mannerisms and politesse more fitting to a prior age. It made me question just how subjective and skewed were the preceding volumes. I honestly believe there are few lettered individuals more in thrall to verity and truthfulness than Casanova, but that doesn't mean to say he didn't misperceive events. Did the legions of women whose lives he fleetingly entered really leave him on as good terms as he imagined? Did the royal and notable personages of the era- including Catherine the Great, Voltaire, Frederick the Great, Rousseau, Benjamin Franklin and the like- really get to know him as well as implied? (Although in Voltaire's case, he and Casanova had something of an ego-clash). I've read contemporaneous memoirs from the era and a few of them actually feature the exact same personages. It makes me think that the royal courts of Europe were very nearly open to all and sundry.
Nevertheless, I wouldn't have been able to get this deep into a book of this size if I hadn't put myself entirely into its author's hands. Casanova was as much a shining product of the Age of Enlightenment as the best work by Bacon or Newton, except his masterpiece was his life. I haven't personally interviewed everyone who's ever lived, but I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that no one else has lived as full a life as Giacomo Casanova. He is our discriminating guide through dozens of countries, career choices and social classes over the largest part of the 18th Century. We travel from Venice to Constantinople, to Rome, to Paris, to Austria, France, Holland, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Russia, Switzerland, England, and hundreds of other places besides; we see him morph from priest to soldier, professional gambler to science fiction author, fiddler to cabalist, inventor to ambassador, state prisoner to state spy, alchemist to one of the first people to introduce the lottery to Europe. No other author from the era straddled the various classes with as much impartial ease as he. Though he did often find himself drawn to the aristocracy, simply by dint of their decadent lifestyles, he was all-too-aware of the royalty's susceptibility to simpering idiocy, and the poorer classes' innate nobility. In fact, in a century of breakthroughs and acute intellectualism, he was one of the era's brightest thinkers, having shrugged off almost all traces of medieval fog from his system. He was so much more than just a by-word for womanising. Though there's that, too...
Next time I read this, I think I'll do a count of the number of conquests he made throughout his life. At least that he remembered. The final figure must be in the thousands. There's even a How To Seduce a Lady section here which makes that silly pick-up artist book look like the dilettantish dabblings of bare-faced amateurs. Women of today still have a bit of an uphill struggle to duke it out on a level footing with men in terms of fair pay, but back then in Europe their only viable career paths tended to be nunneries and marriage. Which made Casanova's conquests even more astounding, as a woman's virtue was often their most valuable asset. It could be self-aggrandizing, but it appears Casanova genuinely improved hundreds of women's lives over the course of his own. He would invariably leave them in a better position than before he met them: suitably remunerated, or using his connections to give them employment, or even setting them up with a rich, loving suitor far less footloose than him. He could easily have sated his pathological addiction to new women in a much more economical fashion. He wasn't just drawn to their bodies, either. You might even call him something of a proto-feminist. He could hardly bring himself to bed a woman if he didn't first fall for her wit and clear-headedness. You can tell from his few accounts of attending brothels that these were experiences which gave him little joy. The reader might be less forgiving of the fact that, among his innumerable paramours, number eleven year olds (OK, I can only think of two offhand), and his very own daughter! Even if you say that the 1700s weren't so far off from the age when barely pubescent girls were married off to much older men they'd never met, I think even Casanova knew he was pushing it a bit. The episode with his daughter's a great little story in its own right, however. Of all the thousands of women he bedded, she was the closest to forcing Casanova to settle down. He had no idea she was his daughter, and, just days away from their marriage, he met her mother and realised just what a pickle he'd gotten himself tangled in. Then some years later when they meet up again and she's married, he has a ménage à trois with she and her mother anyway. And, like with most of his frissons, you can't help but sit back and nod in scandalized assent. Casanova lost his virginity to two sisters in his early teens, and the liaisons only get more seamy and fascinating from there on out- with arguably the love of his life being an escapee nun.
This brings me to the issue of the expurgated version translated by one of my favourite authors, Arthur Machen. Much ballyhoo is made of the various ways in which Casanova's more contentious passages were chopped up and thrown on the fire, but considering what made the cut, we'd have to be talking about the type of stuff that would have made the Marquis de Sade blush. Perhaps whoever initially attempted to edit these memoirs threw their hands up in the air and gave up around the sixtieth tale of catching the eye of an innkeeper's daughter and practising his cunnilingus skills on her? The only instances of Casanova holding back from presenting the full HD Retina version of the truth was if the people he was talking about were still alive and liable to be compromised by his account; in those instances he cut their names short to things like Madame M.
Although it might not seem like it at first, Machen was something of a kindred spirit and a perfect choice to make this translation from the original French into English. While he might appear on the surface to be just another starchy English Christian, his tales, such as The White People, generally focus on the Saturnine pagan sexuality which lurks between the cracks of modern-day society. Casanova himself, from the off, identifies himself as a firm believer in God, though his interpretation of scripture is pretty unique to say the least. I'm sure Machen, as a lover of the eldritch, found himself particularly fascinated by Casanova's delvings into the arcane arts. Casanova's most lucrative exploits came through soothsaying, alchemy, and similar offshoots like necromancy; though he didn't for a second believe in the veracity of any of them, he took full advantage of the fact that others did. It is essential for author and translator to be relatively simpatico. The number of dry, dour translations which have no doubt soured readers to the genius of the original source is far too high. For a project of this magnitude, the importance is only doubled, and Machen clearly felt like this project was an utter joy which was over far too soon. Casanova, to him, was likely a manifestation of something he was far too Victorian and English to ever fully realise, but someone whom he idealised all the more because of this fact.
You can't really blame him, as Casanova's life really was one big adventure. Various episodes, such as his famous daring escape from the Venetian Leads bastille, where he was imprisoned at the hands of the inquisition for having slightly sketchy taste in literature, and his two duels and their consequences, have been turned into books in their own right. The only time when it started to flag was in these two volumes. This is around the time when he met his match in a famous London harlot who bled him dry and left him destitute. London has a knack for that kind of thing. His looks are starting to abandon him, and the flock of fawning women are thinning. One of the main things I learnt from these memoirs was to never let any opportunity slip by. If someone invites you to tag along to some happening, without doubt do so! If you hear tell of a position opening in some far-flung corner of the world, take it! Fashion your life like a leaf caught in a hurricane. It's evident that Casanova embarked upon these memoirs as a means of becoming a young man again. He got to re-read his diaries for the first time in decades and remember each encounter as if it were happening for the first time. The closer he crept to his present position, the less effective this therapeutic method became. So harrowing must old age have been to him, that he left his masterwork unfinished, failing even to mention such fascinating episodes as becoming a spy for the very institution that had perniciously jailed him as a younger man. The writing itself, whilst still eminently readable, seems to sag and wrinkle and warp, as if old age has infected the very leaves it was written on. It's a sad, frail ending to one of the most ostentatiously wonderful works of literature ever written. Curse that wench from the motherland for breaking the seemingly cast-iron spirit of Casanova. Then again, I seem to recall our author being offered a marriage opportunity or two even after returning from the place of so many misfortunes, England. If he'd willed it he could have settled down with a loving wife in a comfortable home, and occasionally duck out into a fugal reverie of his younger times when no one was looking. He was ever a gambler, however, so this ending was never on the cards for Giacomo Casanova.
At their best- which would be the whole stretch of volume 3 to volume 8- these memoirs sizzle with the sheer joy of being alive. They were written by a toothless, hairless, withered old man who once knew inconceivable beauty. While other accounts from the era might take us through one strata of life, Casanova was an unprejudiced man and dove into new societies and experiences with the élan of a true Epicurean, and the probing wit and self-awareness of one, too.
June 22, 2010
The guy was an asshole pervert with no regard for females, but he was also genius. And I named my dog after him.
October 6, 2019
The full, unabridged and uncensored (except by himself) memoirs of the Venetian adventurer of the Spanish house of Casanova have been my companion for five years, and I will leave a full review soon. It is the only book that deserves 6 stars. I agree with Havelock Ellis's assessment that there are few more delightful books in the world.
September 20, 2017
Probably you never knew how colorful those times could be, neither I until I read Jacques Casanova memoirs.
Read
October 7, 2019Casanova at the age of 73 writes the story of his life. At 2000+ pages it must be considered incomplete; there are numerous unfulfilled promises to come back to a certain event or person at a later stage in the biography.
An avowed con artist, Casanova should not inspire confidence in the veracity of his writings; and yet there is a candour in the tone that makes you assume everything is literally true - but perhaps that is the hallmark of the successful fraudster? In any case literary research has confirmed most of the places and characters as well as numerous details, although here and there the timing seems to have been adapted to suit the story, and in at least one case two subsequent visits to a city have been merged into one.
On the one hand, the author appears to suffer from severe personality issues. He is an obsessive gambler and seducer of women; and although he never willingly leaves his lovers (at least according to his own descriptions), he starts looking for a new partner as soon as circumstances have removed him from the previous one. In one case he admits to a brutal rape without much apparent regret, and in many cases his partners would be considered severely underage by 21st century standards.
On the other hand he is an intelligent and educated child of the Age of Enlightenment. The text is laced with considerations on the tension between individual freedom and the mechanistic explanation of nature (Laplace's demon). Casanova feels that with each gambling table, he has the freedom to walk away; with every woman, he has the choice to conquer her or leave her in peace; and yet he observes that most of the time his choice is to defy contemporary morals and go for the kill. He insists that he is a free agent, yet feels compelled to accept that his body consists of atoms obeying the laws of mechanics.
The story of his extrajudicial imprisonment at the hands of the Republic's secret service can serve as a metaphor for his personal struggle with the concept of freedom. Through patience and ingenuity he is eventually able to escape and exercise his cherished freedom, albeit at the cost of not returning to his fatherland.
Significantly, Casanova does not write in his native Venitian (an Italian dialect) but in French, the language of Reason. Despite this, he does not have a mission to educate the world. On at least two occasions he sets up a long lasting fraud to procure a steady income for himself from credulous wealthy people. On both occasions the fraud is based on exploiting pseudo-religious superstitions. A staunch believer in the superiority of aristocrats, he awards himself a fictitious title and does not actively seek to unmask others who do the same. He criticizes the contradictions of Catholic dogma and endemic corruption in the Kingdom of France, but deplores the Revolution as the ascendancy of the rabble and the destruction of everything that is worthwile in a society.
The language is surprisingly modern; I honestly expected more difficulties with 18th century French. It helps that Casanova has learned a lot from classical storytellers and he knows how to keep his readers' attention. The prison escape story is a match for the best parts of The Count of Monte Cristo. The problem is that much of his life, especially his love affairs, tends to become repetitive. Had Casanova been a novelist, he would have been able to reduce the number of conquests to the benefit of readability. On top of that he lacks the irony of Pierre Laclos in Les liaisons dangereuses, which shares its central theme and appeared 17 years earlier.
An avowed con artist, Casanova should not inspire confidence in the veracity of his writings; and yet there is a candour in the tone that makes you assume everything is literally true - but perhaps that is the hallmark of the successful fraudster? In any case literary research has confirmed most of the places and characters as well as numerous details, although here and there the timing seems to have been adapted to suit the story, and in at least one case two subsequent visits to a city have been merged into one.
On the one hand, the author appears to suffer from severe personality issues. He is an obsessive gambler and seducer of women; and although he never willingly leaves his lovers (at least according to his own descriptions), he starts looking for a new partner as soon as circumstances have removed him from the previous one. In one case he admits to a brutal rape without much apparent regret, and in many cases his partners would be considered severely underage by 21st century standards.
On the other hand he is an intelligent and educated child of the Age of Enlightenment. The text is laced with considerations on the tension between individual freedom and the mechanistic explanation of nature (Laplace's demon). Casanova feels that with each gambling table, he has the freedom to walk away; with every woman, he has the choice to conquer her or leave her in peace; and yet he observes that most of the time his choice is to defy contemporary morals and go for the kill. He insists that he is a free agent, yet feels compelled to accept that his body consists of atoms obeying the laws of mechanics.
The story of his extrajudicial imprisonment at the hands of the Republic's secret service can serve as a metaphor for his personal struggle with the concept of freedom. Through patience and ingenuity he is eventually able to escape and exercise his cherished freedom, albeit at the cost of not returning to his fatherland.
Significantly, Casanova does not write in his native Venitian (an Italian dialect) but in French, the language of Reason. Despite this, he does not have a mission to educate the world. On at least two occasions he sets up a long lasting fraud to procure a steady income for himself from credulous wealthy people. On both occasions the fraud is based on exploiting pseudo-religious superstitions. A staunch believer in the superiority of aristocrats, he awards himself a fictitious title and does not actively seek to unmask others who do the same. He criticizes the contradictions of Catholic dogma and endemic corruption in the Kingdom of France, but deplores the Revolution as the ascendancy of the rabble and the destruction of everything that is worthwile in a society.
The language is surprisingly modern; I honestly expected more difficulties with 18th century French. It helps that Casanova has learned a lot from classical storytellers and he knows how to keep his readers' attention. The prison escape story is a match for the best parts of The Count of Monte Cristo. The problem is that much of his life, especially his love affairs, tends to become repetitive. Had Casanova been a novelist, he would have been able to reduce the number of conquests to the benefit of readability. On top of that he lacks the irony of Pierre Laclos in Les liaisons dangereuses, which shares its central theme and appeared 17 years earlier.
May 7, 2025
"Kochałem kobiety jak szalony, lecz jeszcze bardziej kochałem swą swobodę.”
Giacomo Casanova, to nazwisko, które stało się synonimem uwodziciela. Kto go nie zna? W swoich "Pamiętnikach" zwraca się do nas bezpośrednio, jak do powierników swoich sekretów, z emfazą, przesadą, egzaltacją, ale i szczerością, która rozbraja. Zanurzyłam się w jego opowieści, jak w gęstą mgłę namiętności, intryg i uciech cielesnych i choć czasem marszczyłam brwi z niedowierzaniem, to nie potrafiłam się od nich oderwać.
Styl? Barokowy, teatralny, pełen rozpasanych emocji i dramatycznych westchnień. A jednak autentyczny. Casanova nie udaje świętego. On celebruje grzech. Czasem aż do przesady, gdy każde „kocham cię” rzuca jak płatki róż w próżnię. A mimo to czytałam dalej, bo ten człowiek, choć niestały i narcystyczny, ma w sobie nieodparty urok. To jak patrzeć na ogień z bliska. Parzy, ale trudno odwrócić wzrok.
To nie jest klasyczna powieść — to kalejdoskop przygód, łóżkowych i podróżniczych, z kobiecymi imionami jako drogowskazami. Bettina, Aniela, Łucja, Anita, Marieta… Każda z nich to rozdział, epizod, westchnienie. I każda z nich daje się uwieść, bo Casanova potrafi być czarujący, elokwentny, miły. Umie zgrywać kaznodzieję, żołnierza, dworzanina. A że przy okazji zostawia za sobą złamane serca i czasem weneryczne choroby? Cóż, taki jego urok.
Uśmiałam się przy scenie z lekarzem, który dziękował mu za przysporzenie klienteli. Zdziwiłam się też, jak często Casanova wycofuje się w kluczowych momentach. Nie zawsze wykorzystuje okazję, choć przecież mógłby, co pokazuje, że nie jest tylko drapieżnikiem. Czasem się cofa, czasem gubi, czasem naprawdę cierpi.
Najbardziej poruszył mnie jego powrót do Wenecji i refleksja, że kiedy jesteś bogaty i szczęśliwy, wszyscy są wokół ciebie, a kiedy wszystko tracisz zostajesz sam. W tej jednej chwili Giacomo przestaje być tylko kochankiem i kpiarzem, a staje się człowiekiem. I to mnie poruszyło. Bo w jego „Pamiętnikach” więcej jest prawdy o nas samych, niż chcielibyśmy przyznać.
Casanova to nie tylko uwodziciel, to również lustro epoki, mężczyzna o wielkiej potrzebie wolności i miłości. Czy warto go czytać? Jeśli lubisz emocje, pożądanie, skandale i refleksję pod spodem, to zdecydowanie tak. Ale czy mu uwierzysz? To już inna sprawa. Wiemy przecież, że niektórzy mężczyźni lubiący przechwalać się swoimi podbojami, ubarwiają swe opowieści, a pewnie czasem mijają się z prawdą.
Chcesz poznać człowieka, który naprawdę żył pełnią życia, choć nie zawsze czysto? Otwórz „Pamiętniki”. Płomienne spojrzenia, gorące pocałunki i niestałe serce czekają, a wraz z nimi opowieść, której się nie zapomina.
Giacomo Casanova, to nazwisko, które stało się synonimem uwodziciela. Kto go nie zna? W swoich "Pamiętnikach" zwraca się do nas bezpośrednio, jak do powierników swoich sekretów, z emfazą, przesadą, egzaltacją, ale i szczerością, która rozbraja. Zanurzyłam się w jego opowieści, jak w gęstą mgłę namiętności, intryg i uciech cielesnych i choć czasem marszczyłam brwi z niedowierzaniem, to nie potrafiłam się od nich oderwać.
Styl? Barokowy, teatralny, pełen rozpasanych emocji i dramatycznych westchnień. A jednak autentyczny. Casanova nie udaje świętego. On celebruje grzech. Czasem aż do przesady, gdy każde „kocham cię” rzuca jak płatki róż w próżnię. A mimo to czytałam dalej, bo ten człowiek, choć niestały i narcystyczny, ma w sobie nieodparty urok. To jak patrzeć na ogień z bliska. Parzy, ale trudno odwrócić wzrok.
To nie jest klasyczna powieść — to kalejdoskop przygód, łóżkowych i podróżniczych, z kobiecymi imionami jako drogowskazami. Bettina, Aniela, Łucja, Anita, Marieta… Każda z nich to rozdział, epizod, westchnienie. I każda z nich daje się uwieść, bo Casanova potrafi być czarujący, elokwentny, miły. Umie zgrywać kaznodzieję, żołnierza, dworzanina. A że przy okazji zostawia za sobą złamane serca i czasem weneryczne choroby? Cóż, taki jego urok.
Uśmiałam się przy scenie z lekarzem, który dziękował mu za przysporzenie klienteli. Zdziwiłam się też, jak często Casanova wycofuje się w kluczowych momentach. Nie zawsze wykorzystuje okazję, choć przecież mógłby, co pokazuje, że nie jest tylko drapieżnikiem. Czasem się cofa, czasem gubi, czasem naprawdę cierpi.
Najbardziej poruszył mnie jego powrót do Wenecji i refleksja, że kiedy jesteś bogaty i szczęśliwy, wszyscy są wokół ciebie, a kiedy wszystko tracisz zostajesz sam. W tej jednej chwili Giacomo przestaje być tylko kochankiem i kpiarzem, a staje się człowiekiem. I to mnie poruszyło. Bo w jego „Pamiętnikach” więcej jest prawdy o nas samych, niż chcielibyśmy przyznać.
Casanova to nie tylko uwodziciel, to również lustro epoki, mężczyzna o wielkiej potrzebie wolności i miłości. Czy warto go czytać? Jeśli lubisz emocje, pożądanie, skandale i refleksję pod spodem, to zdecydowanie tak. Ale czy mu uwierzysz? To już inna sprawa. Wiemy przecież, że niektórzy mężczyźni lubiący przechwalać się swoimi podbojami, ubarwiają swe opowieści, a pewnie czasem mijają się z prawdą.
Chcesz poznać człowieka, który naprawdę żył pełnią życia, choć nie zawsze czysto? Otwórz „Pamiętniki”. Płomienne spojrzenia, gorące pocałunki i niestałe serce czekają, a wraz z nimi opowieść, której się nie zapomina.
December 22, 2019
I think Casanova is a Bullshitter. But I loved the raunchy ass book. I listened to the audiobook performed by Benedict Cumberbatch.
January 16, 2019
Finishing the longest book I've read in my life, after the bible: "The history of my life", by Giacomo Casanova ...
A collection of conquests of all kinds, which always ruined him. The search for bohemian life and approaching bad companies prevented him from reaching where he could have come, since he was intelligent, well-educated, had a good complexion and was not ugly.
Perhaps the strongest point of the book is when his daughter claimed that he had not allowed her to live his childhood, as he had fondled her as a child ... but when he grows up they both indulge in the pleasure of sex.
He did not finish his memories; But what he regrets at the end of his life is not being able to continue doing what he likes, because he is already impotent, old, weak and poor.
How many know someone like this? Most like him end this way.
A collection of conquests of all kinds, which always ruined him. The search for bohemian life and approaching bad companies prevented him from reaching where he could have come, since he was intelligent, well-educated, had a good complexion and was not ugly.
Perhaps the strongest point of the book is when his daughter claimed that he had not allowed her to live his childhood, as he had fondled her as a child ... but when he grows up they both indulge in the pleasure of sex.
He did not finish his memories; But what he regrets at the end of his life is not being able to continue doing what he likes, because he is already impotent, old, weak and poor.
How many know someone like this? Most like him end this way.
May 28, 2021
The most authentic source on the customs, cultures, and thought processes of the people of the 18th century, giving us a glimpse of how the backstage behind many famous events truly looked like. Reading his words is like traveling back in time, and seeing that which most wouldn't dare to say. Such realistic descriptions tell us a lot about the truth behind human nature, and in this sense, remain factual even today, while allowing us to see how humanity has changed and in which direction. Casanova was a brilliant writer and highly educated, with an interesting curiosity for mysticism and the occult, which was extremely unusual for his time.
September 1, 2016
== This was crap. Rightfully, it deserves zero stars. Crap.==
I would NEVER EVER have read any part of this except that it was actually selected by one of our book club members! After several of us being in shock over the insane length of it, we were assigned several chapters each by the person who selected this tome.
July 3, 2013
Although Giacomo Chevalier de Seingalt Casanova , ( Phew !! That's a mouthful ) is widely (in)famous for his multitudinous affairs and seduction skills , this self-penned memoir reveals him to be a true intellectual and in some degree , a genius too !!!
June 21, 2020
Empiezo a escribir esta reseña al haber acabado el primer tomo, cuando Casanova tenía alrededor de 35 años, es decir en 1760. Es evidente que no todo lo que cuenta es real, está en algunos casos exagerado y en otros directamente inventado. La manera en que va narrando las diferentes anécdotas es absolutamente genial. Te traslada realmente al mundo del siglo XVIII. Algunas descripciones que hace de la belleza femenina son inigualables y la ironía y el humor son constantes. También creo ver un cierto afán de inmortalidad por parte de Casanova, dice escribir sólo para revivir su juventud en su vejez como único placer que le queda, pero se transmite durante todo el tiempo el deseo del autor de contar su vida como si ésta en sí misma fuera una obra de arte.
Me ha sorprendido, ignorante como soy de las costumbres de esa época, la libertad sexual que muchas veces creemos exclusiva de nuestra época. Las grandes desigualdades en la sociedad aparecen de una forma natural a lo largo de las memorias, pues Casanova las considera completamente naturales.
Cuando escribe sobre alguna de sus aventuras no tiene reparo en contar que ha tenido relaciones sexuales con niñas o pagando a prostitutas. Simplemente lo cuenta como una parte más de lo natural que es para un hombre el saciar sus apetitos. Por supuesto, sería equivocado juzgar con los principios éticos de la actualidad los hechos de hace casi 300 años.
Algo que me ha interesado mucho es sus descripciones de los juegos de azar, pues fue jugador profesional, aunque él nunca lo reconoce, de diferentes juegos de cartas. Algunas apreciaciones que hace de la psicología del jugador son totalmente ciertas y aplicables a cualquier época. El dinero ganado en el juego hace que el hombre se sienta mejor a la hora de gastarlo en lujos que de otra manera o bien no se permitiría o bien lo haría sintiéndose culpable de gastar en algo superfluo. Realmente a mí me ha ocurrido durante un periodo de mi vida en el que lo que ganaba jugando lo gastaba con una alegría superior a lo que ganaba trabajando y ahora que estoy en confinamiento por el Covid-19 guardo unos grandes recuerdos de esos lujos superfluos pero deliciosos.
Voy a seguir leyendo el segundo tomo, pues consigo mayor placer en la lectura que en la escritura.
En el principio del segundo tomo, 1762-63, se cuentan una serie de aventuras a cuál más exagerada y degenerada. Puede que sea la evolución del vicio de un hombre que ya ha pasado su primera juventud y cada vez necesita placeres más bizarros para excitarse.
Es interesante la relación que tiene con un criado al que llama 'mi español, Le Duc'. Lo acaba despidiendo en París pero dice que se arrepiente, pues aunque era un granuja, le era fiel en el fondo. Me gustaría saber si hay algo sobre la vida de Le Duc.
Sigo la reseña al acabar el segundo tomo. Por cierto gran desilusión al ver que las memorias acaban de forma abrupta en 1774 cuando Casanova tiene 50 años y recibe el permiso para volver a Venecia.
En esta segunda parte se percibe la lenta decadencia física. También creo percibir una mayor perversión en algunas de las aventuras sexuales del autor.
Me ha llamado la atención al leer las notas y el propio texto que Casanova repasa muchas veces entre 1789 y 1792 las memorias, cambiando continuamente las referencias temporales a medida que pasa el tiempo. Parece como si quisiera que estuvieran actualizadas en todo momento, si por ejemplo ha escrito 'fulanito ha muerto hace 1 año', después corrige el 1, por 2 ó 3 según el momento de la corrección. También puede ser que fuera un reflejo de los problemas mentales que sufrió al final de su vida, y las memorias se transformaran en una especie de obsesión para él. En este caso no es extraño que se ahorrara el periodo de su vida entre los 50 años hasta su muerte. Hubiera sido un relato triste en comparación con la alegría y energía que desprende su vida durante su juventud.
En definitiva, una gran obra que consigue divertir y hacer reflexionar sobre el paso del tiempo. Me siento incapaz de hacer una reseña más pormenorizada pues la magnitud de la obra es inmensa.
Me ha sorprendido, ignorante como soy de las costumbres de esa época, la libertad sexual que muchas veces creemos exclusiva de nuestra época. Las grandes desigualdades en la sociedad aparecen de una forma natural a lo largo de las memorias, pues Casanova las considera completamente naturales.
Cuando escribe sobre alguna de sus aventuras no tiene reparo en contar que ha tenido relaciones sexuales con niñas o pagando a prostitutas. Simplemente lo cuenta como una parte más de lo natural que es para un hombre el saciar sus apetitos. Por supuesto, sería equivocado juzgar con los principios éticos de la actualidad los hechos de hace casi 300 años.
Algo que me ha interesado mucho es sus descripciones de los juegos de azar, pues fue jugador profesional, aunque él nunca lo reconoce, de diferentes juegos de cartas. Algunas apreciaciones que hace de la psicología del jugador son totalmente ciertas y aplicables a cualquier época. El dinero ganado en el juego hace que el hombre se sienta mejor a la hora de gastarlo en lujos que de otra manera o bien no se permitiría o bien lo haría sintiéndose culpable de gastar en algo superfluo. Realmente a mí me ha ocurrido durante un periodo de mi vida en el que lo que ganaba jugando lo gastaba con una alegría superior a lo que ganaba trabajando y ahora que estoy en confinamiento por el Covid-19 guardo unos grandes recuerdos de esos lujos superfluos pero deliciosos.
Voy a seguir leyendo el segundo tomo, pues consigo mayor placer en la lectura que en la escritura.
En el principio del segundo tomo, 1762-63, se cuentan una serie de aventuras a cuál más exagerada y degenerada. Puede que sea la evolución del vicio de un hombre que ya ha pasado su primera juventud y cada vez necesita placeres más bizarros para excitarse.
Es interesante la relación que tiene con un criado al que llama 'mi español, Le Duc'. Lo acaba despidiendo en París pero dice que se arrepiente, pues aunque era un granuja, le era fiel en el fondo. Me gustaría saber si hay algo sobre la vida de Le Duc.
Sigo la reseña al acabar el segundo tomo. Por cierto gran desilusión al ver que las memorias acaban de forma abrupta en 1774 cuando Casanova tiene 50 años y recibe el permiso para volver a Venecia.
En esta segunda parte se percibe la lenta decadencia física. También creo percibir una mayor perversión en algunas de las aventuras sexuales del autor.
Me ha llamado la atención al leer las notas y el propio texto que Casanova repasa muchas veces entre 1789 y 1792 las memorias, cambiando continuamente las referencias temporales a medida que pasa el tiempo. Parece como si quisiera que estuvieran actualizadas en todo momento, si por ejemplo ha escrito 'fulanito ha muerto hace 1 año', después corrige el 1, por 2 ó 3 según el momento de la corrección. También puede ser que fuera un reflejo de los problemas mentales que sufrió al final de su vida, y las memorias se transformaran en una especie de obsesión para él. En este caso no es extraño que se ahorrara el periodo de su vida entre los 50 años hasta su muerte. Hubiera sido un relato triste en comparación con la alegría y energía que desprende su vida durante su juventud.
En definitiva, una gran obra que consigue divertir y hacer reflexionar sobre el paso del tiempo. Me siento incapaz de hacer una reseña más pormenorizada pues la magnitud de la obra es inmensa.
March 4, 2012
From the begining if you are not ready to spend a lot of time reading an interesting story or if you get easily bored don't even try to begin to read this book.
It's a huge book, very interesting, where you can discover a big part of the world traditions.
Everyday Cassanova keeps our attention with a new story full of suspense.
Many difficult situations where he escapes from, but through what metods, we've never thought of. That's why the book is unique and sometimes the story brings us easily from sadness to happiness back and forth.
Cassanova has been considered one of the greatest lovers ever and this fact makes more interesting the story.
He did a great thing to share with us his beautiful stories and we have to be thankful to him because of this.
I personally admire the way he lives though he has a lot of money being considered a rich guy, he never forgets about the poor people, he helps those in need, he brings good fortune to the unhappy families.
I could write here one hundred pages about him and will never be enough but I wish that you to discover the way the our Cassanova is.
Cu cat citesc mai mult cu atata mi-e scarba mai tare de batranetzi cand vad ca e de tot cacatul. Si inca Cassanova putem zice ca si-a trait din plin viata....dar noi ce-am facut? am dormit trei sferturi din viata? sau am facut dragoste cu 2-3 femei? ori am vazut Burdujeniul si atata? Parca mi-e mila de el, a trait 73 de ani si spre sfarsit totzi radeau de el ca era deja de moda veche. Daca la inceput intorcea capul tuturor femeilor acuma trebuie sa se roage ptr o nimica toata de bani la totzi si mai mult ma doare cand majoritatea care au mai ramas in viata ii intoarce spatele.Imi aduc aminte cand cu orice ocazie ajuta pe toata lumea in nevoi, le marita pe fetele sarace cu bogatzi, le ajuta pe fetele sarace care traiau uitate de lume si in rusine in manastiri sa nasca si sa-si recastige reputatia si stima faca ca nimeni sa stie ce s-a intamplat, ii ajuta pe totzi care erau in nevoie de bani, functii sau alte trebuinte. Odata ce citesti cartea petreci fiecare clipa care nu e lipsita de vreo aventura pe care numai Marele Cassanova o poate rezolva cum nimeni altul decat el stie, spre final vezi cat de nejusta este viata. Si daca el nu a facut bine cine altul?.........
It's a huge book, very interesting, where you can discover a big part of the world traditions.
Everyday Cassanova keeps our attention with a new story full of suspense.
Many difficult situations where he escapes from, but through what metods, we've never thought of. That's why the book is unique and sometimes the story brings us easily from sadness to happiness back and forth.
Cassanova has been considered one of the greatest lovers ever and this fact makes more interesting the story.
He did a great thing to share with us his beautiful stories and we have to be thankful to him because of this.
I personally admire the way he lives though he has a lot of money being considered a rich guy, he never forgets about the poor people, he helps those in need, he brings good fortune to the unhappy families.
I could write here one hundred pages about him and will never be enough but I wish that you to discover the way the our Cassanova is.
Cu cat citesc mai mult cu atata mi-e scarba mai tare de batranetzi cand vad ca e de tot cacatul. Si inca Cassanova putem zice ca si-a trait din plin viata....dar noi ce-am facut? am dormit trei sferturi din viata? sau am facut dragoste cu 2-3 femei? ori am vazut Burdujeniul si atata? Parca mi-e mila de el, a trait 73 de ani si spre sfarsit totzi radeau de el ca era deja de moda veche. Daca la inceput intorcea capul tuturor femeilor acuma trebuie sa se roage ptr o nimica toata de bani la totzi si mai mult ma doare cand majoritatea care au mai ramas in viata ii intoarce spatele.Imi aduc aminte cand cu orice ocazie ajuta pe toata lumea in nevoi, le marita pe fetele sarace cu bogatzi, le ajuta pe fetele sarace care traiau uitate de lume si in rusine in manastiri sa nasca si sa-si recastige reputatia si stima faca ca nimeni sa stie ce s-a intamplat, ii ajuta pe totzi care erau in nevoie de bani, functii sau alte trebuinte. Odata ce citesti cartea petreci fiecare clipa care nu e lipsita de vreo aventura pe care numai Marele Cassanova o poate rezolva cum nimeni altul decat el stie, spre final vezi cat de nejusta este viata. Si daca el nu a facut bine cine altul?.........
September 1, 2021
Leí ambos tomos cuando tenía 18 años, quede maravillado, volví a leerlo con 24 y quedé aún más impresionado viendo matices que antes no veía, ahora con 28 me dispongo a leerlo por una tercera vez. Nunca se ha escrito mejor reflejo del siglo XVIII, de lo más vulgar a lo más sofisticado, una persona extremadamente inteligente, con prácticamente todas las grandes cualidades reunidas en una persona, una vida que sin duda es irrepetible y creo que la mejor película de ficción ni se le acerca además de la gran sabiduría que hay en sus líneas aplicable en miles de situaciones diarias a Ia de hoy. Casanova fue mucho más que un vulgar mujeriego que es como la cultura popular pretende hacer creer que fue, nada más lejos de la realidad estuvo con las mujeres de la alta sociedad más inalcanzables de sus época y desempeño muchísimas profesiones, se fugó de la cárcel de Venecia y fue agente secreto además de que se recorrió Europa entera varias veces.
April 7, 2021
Don Juan didn’t love women. What he loved was domination. He belonged to a class of declawed nobility rendered useless after the death of chivalric codes, and the body of a woman represented the only kind of conquest he had left—a conquest over other men, or the system they stood for, in his mind! For him, the seduction of a woman was triangular—and at the top of the triangle was always a dude.
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Casanova, on the other hand, loved being close to women and craved their company all the time. Their bodies gave him immense pleasure to look at, to touch, to mingle with. He relished the power of a woman coming to life under his hand. He didn’t need to be seen out and about with a beauty on his arm. Private enjoyment with her was all he lived for.
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Casanova, on the other hand, loved being close to women and craved their company all the time. Their bodies gave him immense pleasure to look at, to touch, to mingle with. He relished the power of a woman coming to life under his hand. He didn’t need to be seen out and about with a beauty on his arm. Private enjoyment with her was all he lived for.
May 21, 2018
Undoubtedly, one of the greatest of autobiographies. Took me a few months to finish this 1500-pages, 2 kg book, which also served as a workout for my biceps. Casanova's autobiography is one of the finest books that I've read so far.
My only regret is I should've chosen the 3700-pages unabridged edition of his autobiography rather than this 1500-pages one. But I can understand, there is no chance I would've dared to touch the unabridged edition, as even the thought is threatening.
But if there is one thing I wish now, it is to read the unabridged edition of his autobiography. Signor Casanova, you are a legend!
My only regret is I should've chosen the 3700-pages unabridged edition of his autobiography rather than this 1500-pages one. But I can understand, there is no chance I would've dared to touch the unabridged edition, as even the thought is threatening.
But if there is one thing I wish now, it is to read the unabridged edition of his autobiography. Signor Casanova, you are a legend!
September 9, 2022
I have read this book all the way through. It's the longest book that I've ever read, and I stuck with it, because I firmly believe that you can't accurately say whether a book is good or bad until the end. Because you never know. Sometimes, the ending impacts the overall story so much that it can completely flip your impression of it. Sadly, that didn't happen here.
"Norms and mores change,
But still, imagine telling
On yourself THIS MUCH."
"Norms and mores change,
But still, imagine telling
On yourself THIS MUCH."
March 18, 2020
Until I read this book, I had no clue that Casanova was an actual man and not just an imaginary character ! Woah! This man’s life was so colorful and yet so fragile. The book shows rightfully the colorful past of Europe. If for nothing, do listen for Benedict Cumberbatch’s voice #hailsherlock . Exuberant, flimsy and funny in parts, this book has oh so many shades of grey ☠️
June 29, 2020
The only thing this guy is more full of than himself is shit. On multiple occasions virginal sisters invited him into their bed for a threesome before he reached age 25? Give me a break. Listening to it read by Benedict Cumberbatch was the only thing that made it bearable. Ugh. I will now try not to retch when someone is described as a "Cassanova".
July 27, 2013
A very good read, despite the frustration at the incomplete ending and missing portions of the original manuscript.
November 3, 2019
Bitte erst liken, wenn ich meine Rezi gepostet habe und ich werde frühestens am Dienstag 5.11. dazu kommen.
February 5, 2020
This man thought a boy was a girl, so he smashed just to make sure...wtf
AND HE WAS RIGHT
AND HE WAS RIGHT
May 14, 2021
Diaries of a dude who thought he was amazing in bed. Such a bore. Thank God there was no tinder in 1700’s.
June 15, 2025
Memoirs of Casanova by Giacomo Casanova http://realini.blogspot.com/2019/06/c...
8 out of 10
In the new age of Woke, Cancel Culture, Casanova must be a no go, anathema, and the subject dropped like a hot potato, only this a free space and furthermore, there is no audience to talk about, so we are not spreading misinformation, vile sexism, because there is nobody to read these lines…and that is the way it must be
The usual spoiler alert, warning, disclaimer might not be justified here, now, for if you are a decent reader, then you are not interested in the Memoirs of Casanova, never mind what some obscure fellow named Realini has to say about it – it is after all evident, that was a really bad ruffian, sexist and selfish
His name has come to represent the philanderer, the one that does not stay in one relationship for more than the time it takes to have sex, ergo the word ‘relationship’ is not appropriate, he may have missed the significance, but we could also take a more tolerant view and say he suffered from priapism and other ailments
We could see this eternal quest for the bed and one, or more women to jump with in there as a mental illness, going back, as the cliché would have it, to childhood, where poor, little Giacomo has missed on paternal affection, and then looked for it in perpetuity, trying to have love through sex, and multiple partners
I actually identify with the man, and have been through a pathetic, long, long line of partners, in my case, because I have started (Way too) late and thus would continuously try to compensate and get more of the ‘forbidden fruit – a doctor told me, prompted by my father, that ‘you fuck or you do not, the time of the penis passes’
One other indulgent view might even celebrate Casanova as one of the first liberals, maybe ultra, or progressive, whatever we could call him – The Economist, in the Johnson column, has looked at the way the significance of words change, how what was acceptable, politically correct some time ago, is now a no-no
We could also do no better than read The King’s English http://realini.blogspot.com/2023/07/t... by Magister Ludi Kingsley Amis, who looked at how words are misused, and change meaning – one example is infamous, which comes from infamy, but had started to be badly used as ‘famous’
After all, Casanova has entered the ‘menage a trois’, maybe even before this was a thing, and he must be praised for it – I just realized that I am probably talking nonsense, and have the fabulous luck to be without a public, thus nobody will cry out ‘cancel him, vile beast’, I have had a complaint some days ago
It regarded the absence of a spoiler alert – and there is one above now – and I would push this as proof of my modesty, why use a spoiler alert, when you have nobody to alert, it is superfluous, pompous and futile, but hey, given that there is a ‘reader’, I comply, even if he is now off to greener pastures
There may be another reason for this frantic urge to have sex, and that could be a broken heart, which again, was my case – spoiler on top of warning, I am really off now, writing about my worries, forget Casanova…psychology studies have demonstrated that if we write about our grievances, failures, it helps
At the start of the nineties, I meet a nice woman (I will make it short, though I am tempted to talk about the dog, how she in fact started talking with him, etc.) and then offer her a ride in my Audi, which was some twenty years old, but the equivalent of a helicopter then, when all you had on the roads were a few lousy jalopies, Dacias
So she takes the ride, we talk for a while, and then she says she is…Miss Romania, and then I laugh a little and retort that I am Casanova – I am mirthful now, I said something else, maybe the Maharajah of Beluchistan or something, but if I am supposed to talk about Casanova, at least I should use him as a prop here…
Only she meant it, and she was, which shocked yours truly, who entered this phase of denial, then acceptance of this incredible luck, or god damn miserable misfortune, depending on how we see it, after a few days confessing my love – Thomas Mann http://realini.blogspot.com/2021/09/t... has a lot to object to that - which may or may not have been deep and radiant…
From fall to spring, it could have been a paradisiacal eight months, maybe less, or more – Einstein said ‘When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, it seems like two minutes; when you sit on a hot stove for two minutes, it seems like two hours…That's relativity’- but once she told me to get lost, if not in these words, I have fallen into depression, seen a shrink, thought I would die, and then…presto, Casanova resurrected.
Talked to almost every skirt I saw, asked if we have a future together (if a brief one) got rejected in 90% of the cases, but then even with this failure rate, 10% of tens of thousands of small talks would still put you in the Casanova domain…yes, this could be a mea culpa, it was wrong – however, I must insist that I talked, and talked, and then when it was mutual, we stopped talking and got to ‘business’- only it was an effort to find affection, and I ended up here, alone, with just two macaws for company, and pouring my misgivings on this page…
Now for a question, and invitation – maybe you have a good idea on how we could make more than a million dollars with this http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/02/u... – as it is, this is a unique technique, which we could promote, sell, open the Oscars show with or something and then make lots of money together, if you have the how, I have the product, I just do not know how to get the befits from it, other than the exercise per se
As for my role in the Revolution that killed Ceausescu, a smaller Mao, there it is http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/03/r...
Some favorite quotes-
From To The Heritage:
‘Fiction is infinitely preferable to real life...As long as you avoid the books of Kafka or Beckett, the everlasting plot of fiction has fewer futile experiences than the careless plot of reality...Fiction's people are fuller, deeper, cleverer, more moving than those in real life…Its actions are more intricate, illuminating, noble, profound…There are many more dramas, climaxes, romantic fulfillment, twists, turns, gratified resolutions…Unlike reality, all of this you can experience without leaving the house or even getting out of bed…What's more, books are a form of intelligent human greatness, as stories are a higher order of sense…As random life is to destiny, so stories are to great authors, who provided us with some of the highest pleasures and the most wonderful mystifications we can find…Few stories are greater than Anna Karenina, that wise epic by an often foolish author…’
‚parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus’
“From Monty Python - The Meaning of Life...Well, it's nothing very special...Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.”
8 out of 10
In the new age of Woke, Cancel Culture, Casanova must be a no go, anathema, and the subject dropped like a hot potato, only this a free space and furthermore, there is no audience to talk about, so we are not spreading misinformation, vile sexism, because there is nobody to read these lines…and that is the way it must be
The usual spoiler alert, warning, disclaimer might not be justified here, now, for if you are a decent reader, then you are not interested in the Memoirs of Casanova, never mind what some obscure fellow named Realini has to say about it – it is after all evident, that was a really bad ruffian, sexist and selfish
His name has come to represent the philanderer, the one that does not stay in one relationship for more than the time it takes to have sex, ergo the word ‘relationship’ is not appropriate, he may have missed the significance, but we could also take a more tolerant view and say he suffered from priapism and other ailments
We could see this eternal quest for the bed and one, or more women to jump with in there as a mental illness, going back, as the cliché would have it, to childhood, where poor, little Giacomo has missed on paternal affection, and then looked for it in perpetuity, trying to have love through sex, and multiple partners
I actually identify with the man, and have been through a pathetic, long, long line of partners, in my case, because I have started (Way too) late and thus would continuously try to compensate and get more of the ‘forbidden fruit – a doctor told me, prompted by my father, that ‘you fuck or you do not, the time of the penis passes’
One other indulgent view might even celebrate Casanova as one of the first liberals, maybe ultra, or progressive, whatever we could call him – The Economist, in the Johnson column, has looked at the way the significance of words change, how what was acceptable, politically correct some time ago, is now a no-no
We could also do no better than read The King’s English http://realini.blogspot.com/2023/07/t... by Magister Ludi Kingsley Amis, who looked at how words are misused, and change meaning – one example is infamous, which comes from infamy, but had started to be badly used as ‘famous’
After all, Casanova has entered the ‘menage a trois’, maybe even before this was a thing, and he must be praised for it – I just realized that I am probably talking nonsense, and have the fabulous luck to be without a public, thus nobody will cry out ‘cancel him, vile beast’, I have had a complaint some days ago
It regarded the absence of a spoiler alert – and there is one above now – and I would push this as proof of my modesty, why use a spoiler alert, when you have nobody to alert, it is superfluous, pompous and futile, but hey, given that there is a ‘reader’, I comply, even if he is now off to greener pastures
There may be another reason for this frantic urge to have sex, and that could be a broken heart, which again, was my case – spoiler on top of warning, I am really off now, writing about my worries, forget Casanova…psychology studies have demonstrated that if we write about our grievances, failures, it helps
At the start of the nineties, I meet a nice woman (I will make it short, though I am tempted to talk about the dog, how she in fact started talking with him, etc.) and then offer her a ride in my Audi, which was some twenty years old, but the equivalent of a helicopter then, when all you had on the roads were a few lousy jalopies, Dacias
So she takes the ride, we talk for a while, and then she says she is…Miss Romania, and then I laugh a little and retort that I am Casanova – I am mirthful now, I said something else, maybe the Maharajah of Beluchistan or something, but if I am supposed to talk about Casanova, at least I should use him as a prop here…
Only she meant it, and she was, which shocked yours truly, who entered this phase of denial, then acceptance of this incredible luck, or god damn miserable misfortune, depending on how we see it, after a few days confessing my love – Thomas Mann http://realini.blogspot.com/2021/09/t... has a lot to object to that - which may or may not have been deep and radiant…
From fall to spring, it could have been a paradisiacal eight months, maybe less, or more – Einstein said ‘When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, it seems like two minutes; when you sit on a hot stove for two minutes, it seems like two hours…That's relativity’- but once she told me to get lost, if not in these words, I have fallen into depression, seen a shrink, thought I would die, and then…presto, Casanova resurrected.
Talked to almost every skirt I saw, asked if we have a future together (if a brief one) got rejected in 90% of the cases, but then even with this failure rate, 10% of tens of thousands of small talks would still put you in the Casanova domain…yes, this could be a mea culpa, it was wrong – however, I must insist that I talked, and talked, and then when it was mutual, we stopped talking and got to ‘business’- only it was an effort to find affection, and I ended up here, alone, with just two macaws for company, and pouring my misgivings on this page…
Now for a question, and invitation – maybe you have a good idea on how we could make more than a million dollars with this http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/02/u... – as it is, this is a unique technique, which we could promote, sell, open the Oscars show with or something and then make lots of money together, if you have the how, I have the product, I just do not know how to get the befits from it, other than the exercise per se
As for my role in the Revolution that killed Ceausescu, a smaller Mao, there it is http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/03/r...
Some favorite quotes-
From To The Heritage:
‘Fiction is infinitely preferable to real life...As long as you avoid the books of Kafka or Beckett, the everlasting plot of fiction has fewer futile experiences than the careless plot of reality...Fiction's people are fuller, deeper, cleverer, more moving than those in real life…Its actions are more intricate, illuminating, noble, profound…There are many more dramas, climaxes, romantic fulfillment, twists, turns, gratified resolutions…Unlike reality, all of this you can experience without leaving the house or even getting out of bed…What's more, books are a form of intelligent human greatness, as stories are a higher order of sense…As random life is to destiny, so stories are to great authors, who provided us with some of the highest pleasures and the most wonderful mystifications we can find…Few stories are greater than Anna Karenina, that wise epic by an often foolish author…’
‚parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus’
“From Monty Python - The Meaning of Life...Well, it's nothing very special...Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.”
February 5, 2017
Glücklich, wer sich Genüsse zu verschaffen weiß, ohne anderen zu schaden!
Der Mensch ist frei. Aber er ist nicht mehr frei, wenn er nicht mehr an seine Freiheit glaubt. je mehr Macht er dem Schicksal bemisst, desto mehr beraubt er sich selber jener Macht, der Gott ihm verlieh, indem er ihn mit Vernunft begabte.
Wer stark genug ist , seine Handlung so lange aufzuschieben, bis er wieder ruhig geworden ist, der ist wahrhaft weise. Aber solche Menschen sind selten.
In der physischen wie in der moralischen Welt das Gute stets aus dem Bösen und Böse stets aus dem Guten entsteht.
Es kommt nur darauf an, Mut zu haben; Den Kraft ohne Selbstvertrauen führt zu nichts.
Wenn du nichts getan hast, was wert ist, aufgeschrieben zu werden, so schreibe wenigstens etwas, was wert ist, gelesen zu werden.
Wer eine Beleidigung vergisst, vergibt sie darum noch nicht, denn um vergeben zu können, muss man heroisches Gefühl, ein edles Herz, einen großmütigen Sinn haben; Das Vergessen dagegen beruht auf Gedechtnisschwäche oder auf sanftmütiger Nachlässigkeit, der eine friedfertige Seele sich so gerne hingibt; oft auch auf einem Bedürfnis nach Ruhe und Frieden. Denn der Hass tötet mit der Zeit den Unglücklichen, der ihn groß werden lässt.
Das leben - mag es glücklich, mag es unglücklich sein - ist das einzige Gut, das der Mensch besitzt, und wer das Leben nicht liebt, der ist das Lebens nicht würdig.
Der Tod ist ein Ungeheuer, das den aufmerksamen Zuschauer aus dem großen Welttheater hinausjagt, bevor das Stück, das ihn unendlich interessiert, zu Ende gespielt ist.
Überzeugung gewinnt man nicht durch Wahrscheinlichkeit, sondern durch Augenschein.
Die Rhetorik verwendet die Geheimnisse der Natur gerade so, wie die Maler, die ihr nur nachahmen wollen. Grade das allerschönste, was sie geben ist nicht echt.
Ich wäre Arzt geworden, hätte also einen Beruf ergriffen, wo man mit Scharlatanerie noch mehr ausrichten kann als im Advokatenstande.
Das Rechtswesen richtet viele Familien zugrunde und verhilft nur wenigen zu dem ihrigen; und durch die Ärzte kommen viel mehr Menschen um, als mit ihrer Hilfe gesund werden.
Man verlangt von einer große Frau, dass sie einen kleinen Fuß habe.
Wahre Liebe macht immer zurückhaltend; man fürchtet es könne wie Übertreibung aussehen, wenn man alle Gefühle ausspricht, die eine edle Leidenschaft eingeflößt hat; der bescheidenere Liebhaber sagt oft zu wenig, aus Furcht, er könnte zu viel sagen.
Die Liebe ist ein großer Dichter: ihr Stoff ist unerschöpfbar; aber wenn sie das Ziel, auf sie es abgesehen hat, niemals herankommen sieht, wird sie müde und verstummt.
Ohne Zweifel war das ein Lächerlichkeit, aber in welchem Alter hört der Mensch auf, lächerlich zu sein?
Die Wahrheit ist ein Talisman von unfehlbarem Zauber, vorausgesetzt, dass man sie nich an Schelme vergeudet.
Glückliche Jugend! ich denke an dich mit Bedauern, weil du mir oft Neues botest. Darum verabscheue ich das Alter, das mir nur immer Bekanntes bringt.
Liebe nur eine mehr oder weniger lebhafte Neugier ist, wozu noch der von der Natur in uns gelegte Trieb hinzukommt, für die Erhaltung der Art zu sorgen.
Die Frau ist wie ein Buch, das immer, mag es gut oder schlecht sein, zunächst durch das Titelblatt gefallen muss. Wenn dieses nicht interessant ist, so erweckt es keine Lust zum Lesen.
Das einzige Vorgefühl, wozu der Mensch einiges Vertrauen haben darf, ist das, welches ihm Böses weissagt, denn dieses geht aus dem Verstande hervor. Das Gefühl, das uns Glück voraussagt, kommt aus dem Herzen, und das Herz glaubt an das närrische Glück, weil es selber närrisch ist.
Im Dunkeln sind alle Weiber gleich.
Die Weltgeschichte ist voll von Kleinigkeiten, die genau so viel Wichtigkeit haben, und die Welt ist voll von Leuten, die noch immer viel auf so etwas geben, trotz der vorgeblichen Geist durch die Wissenschaft empfängt.
Wenn ein Mensch verliebt ist, genügt ein Nichts, um ihn in Verzweiflung zu stürzen oder auf dem Gipfel der Freude zu erheben.
Rom ist die einzige Stadt, wo jemand, der aus dem Nichts hervorgeht, es zum Höchsten bringen kann.
Nichts ist so unwiderstehlich wie Tränen aus schönen Augen, wenn ein schönes, anständiges und unglückliches Weib sie vergießt.
Die Menschen begnügen sich im Allgemeinen niemals mit dem Guten; sie wollen das Bessere, oder richtiger gesagt, das Reichlichere.
Es lebt in den Menschen ein Trieb, immer über das Ziel hinauszutreiben, das er bereits erreicht hat.
Die dem Vergnügen gewidmete Zeit ist nie verloren. Verloren ist nur die langweilig verbrachte.
Will man jemanden zum Weinen bringen, muss man selber weinen; will man aber lachen machen, dann muss man ernsthaft bleiben.
Was ist ein Kuß? Ist er nicht der glühende Wunsch, einen Teil des Geliebten Wesens in sich einzusaugen?
Was ist die Liebe? Ich habe viel antiken Wortschwall über diesen Gegenstand gelesen; ich hab auch das meiste von dem meiste gelesen, was die modernen darüber sagen; aber was man auch darüber gesagt haben mag, was ich selber darüber gesagt habe, als ich jung war, und jetzt, wo ich es nicht mehr bin: nichts wird mich zu dem Geständnis bringen, dass die Liebe eine Kleinigkeit oder ein eitles Ding sei. Sie ist eine Art Wahnsinn, auf den sie Philosophie gar keinen Einfluss hat; sie ist eine Krankheit, der der Mensch in jedem Lebensalter unterworfen ist, und die unheilbar ist, wenn sie ihn im Alter befällt. Liebe! Unerklärbares Wesen, unerklärbares Gefühl! Gott der Natur! Süße Bitternis! Grausame Bitternis! Liebe!Reizendes Ungeheuer, das man nicht beschreiben kann! Inmitten von tausenden Leiden, die du über das Leben ausbreitest, säest du so viele Wonnen aus, dass ohne dich Sein und Nichtsein ein und dasselbe wären.
Ein Liebender ist verloren, wenn er nicht das Glück an der Stirnlocke zu packen weiß.
Nicht nur in den Augen eines Liebenden, sondern in den Augen jedes Mannes, der sie in diesem Zustande sieht, ist eine schöne Frau in dem Augenblick, wo sie sich den Armen des Schlummers entwindet, tausendmal entzückender als in jenem Augenblick, wo sie ihre Toilette beendet hat.
Die Liebe ist ein Kind, das man mit Tändeleien hochwichtigen muss; eine zu kräftige Nahrung muss ihr den Tod bringen.
Ich kenne die Liebe besser als Sie. Sie verlangt eine gehaltvolle Nahrung, und wenn diese hartnäckig ihr verweigert wird, verdorrt sie.
Man muss niemals mehr auf seiner Hut sein, als wenn man an halb dumme Leute Fragen stellt.
Die Zurückhaltung wird Dummheit, wenn wir erkannt haben, dass der Angebetete Gegenstand unsere Gefühle teilt.
Wenn man bedauert, hasst man nicht mehr, aber nur große und edelmütige Seelen sind solchen Vergebens fähig.
Wenn man fremde Sprachen lernt, ist das letzte, was man begreift, ihr Geist; und dieser Geist ist immer am wesentlichsten bei scherzhaften Bemerkungen.
Die Liebe ist eine Feindin der Scham, obgleich sie oft Dunkelheit und Geheimnis sucht; aber wann die Liebe sich schämen muss, fühlt sie sich erniedrigt und verliert sofort drei Viertel ihrer Würde und einen großen Teil ihres Reizes.
Für einen Mann, der leibt, ist der geringste Wunsch des geliebten Wesens allerhöchster Befehl.
Der Mensch ist frei. Aber er ist nicht mehr frei, wenn er nicht mehr an seine Freiheit glaubt. je mehr Macht er dem Schicksal bemisst, desto mehr beraubt er sich selber jener Macht, der Gott ihm verlieh, indem er ihn mit Vernunft begabte.
Wer stark genug ist , seine Handlung so lange aufzuschieben, bis er wieder ruhig geworden ist, der ist wahrhaft weise. Aber solche Menschen sind selten.
In der physischen wie in der moralischen Welt das Gute stets aus dem Bösen und Böse stets aus dem Guten entsteht.
Es kommt nur darauf an, Mut zu haben; Den Kraft ohne Selbstvertrauen führt zu nichts.
Wenn du nichts getan hast, was wert ist, aufgeschrieben zu werden, so schreibe wenigstens etwas, was wert ist, gelesen zu werden.
Wer eine Beleidigung vergisst, vergibt sie darum noch nicht, denn um vergeben zu können, muss man heroisches Gefühl, ein edles Herz, einen großmütigen Sinn haben; Das Vergessen dagegen beruht auf Gedechtnisschwäche oder auf sanftmütiger Nachlässigkeit, der eine friedfertige Seele sich so gerne hingibt; oft auch auf einem Bedürfnis nach Ruhe und Frieden. Denn der Hass tötet mit der Zeit den Unglücklichen, der ihn groß werden lässt.
Das leben - mag es glücklich, mag es unglücklich sein - ist das einzige Gut, das der Mensch besitzt, und wer das Leben nicht liebt, der ist das Lebens nicht würdig.
Der Tod ist ein Ungeheuer, das den aufmerksamen Zuschauer aus dem großen Welttheater hinausjagt, bevor das Stück, das ihn unendlich interessiert, zu Ende gespielt ist.
Überzeugung gewinnt man nicht durch Wahrscheinlichkeit, sondern durch Augenschein.
Die Rhetorik verwendet die Geheimnisse der Natur gerade so, wie die Maler, die ihr nur nachahmen wollen. Grade das allerschönste, was sie geben ist nicht echt.
Ich wäre Arzt geworden, hätte also einen Beruf ergriffen, wo man mit Scharlatanerie noch mehr ausrichten kann als im Advokatenstande.
Das Rechtswesen richtet viele Familien zugrunde und verhilft nur wenigen zu dem ihrigen; und durch die Ärzte kommen viel mehr Menschen um, als mit ihrer Hilfe gesund werden.
Man verlangt von einer große Frau, dass sie einen kleinen Fuß habe.
Wahre Liebe macht immer zurückhaltend; man fürchtet es könne wie Übertreibung aussehen, wenn man alle Gefühle ausspricht, die eine edle Leidenschaft eingeflößt hat; der bescheidenere Liebhaber sagt oft zu wenig, aus Furcht, er könnte zu viel sagen.
Die Liebe ist ein großer Dichter: ihr Stoff ist unerschöpfbar; aber wenn sie das Ziel, auf sie es abgesehen hat, niemals herankommen sieht, wird sie müde und verstummt.
Ohne Zweifel war das ein Lächerlichkeit, aber in welchem Alter hört der Mensch auf, lächerlich zu sein?
Die Wahrheit ist ein Talisman von unfehlbarem Zauber, vorausgesetzt, dass man sie nich an Schelme vergeudet.
Glückliche Jugend! ich denke an dich mit Bedauern, weil du mir oft Neues botest. Darum verabscheue ich das Alter, das mir nur immer Bekanntes bringt.
Liebe nur eine mehr oder weniger lebhafte Neugier ist, wozu noch der von der Natur in uns gelegte Trieb hinzukommt, für die Erhaltung der Art zu sorgen.
Die Frau ist wie ein Buch, das immer, mag es gut oder schlecht sein, zunächst durch das Titelblatt gefallen muss. Wenn dieses nicht interessant ist, so erweckt es keine Lust zum Lesen.
Das einzige Vorgefühl, wozu der Mensch einiges Vertrauen haben darf, ist das, welches ihm Böses weissagt, denn dieses geht aus dem Verstande hervor. Das Gefühl, das uns Glück voraussagt, kommt aus dem Herzen, und das Herz glaubt an das närrische Glück, weil es selber närrisch ist.
Im Dunkeln sind alle Weiber gleich.
Die Weltgeschichte ist voll von Kleinigkeiten, die genau so viel Wichtigkeit haben, und die Welt ist voll von Leuten, die noch immer viel auf so etwas geben, trotz der vorgeblichen Geist durch die Wissenschaft empfängt.
Wenn ein Mensch verliebt ist, genügt ein Nichts, um ihn in Verzweiflung zu stürzen oder auf dem Gipfel der Freude zu erheben.
Rom ist die einzige Stadt, wo jemand, der aus dem Nichts hervorgeht, es zum Höchsten bringen kann.
Nichts ist so unwiderstehlich wie Tränen aus schönen Augen, wenn ein schönes, anständiges und unglückliches Weib sie vergießt.
Die Menschen begnügen sich im Allgemeinen niemals mit dem Guten; sie wollen das Bessere, oder richtiger gesagt, das Reichlichere.
Es lebt in den Menschen ein Trieb, immer über das Ziel hinauszutreiben, das er bereits erreicht hat.
Die dem Vergnügen gewidmete Zeit ist nie verloren. Verloren ist nur die langweilig verbrachte.
Will man jemanden zum Weinen bringen, muss man selber weinen; will man aber lachen machen, dann muss man ernsthaft bleiben.
Was ist ein Kuß? Ist er nicht der glühende Wunsch, einen Teil des Geliebten Wesens in sich einzusaugen?
Was ist die Liebe? Ich habe viel antiken Wortschwall über diesen Gegenstand gelesen; ich hab auch das meiste von dem meiste gelesen, was die modernen darüber sagen; aber was man auch darüber gesagt haben mag, was ich selber darüber gesagt habe, als ich jung war, und jetzt, wo ich es nicht mehr bin: nichts wird mich zu dem Geständnis bringen, dass die Liebe eine Kleinigkeit oder ein eitles Ding sei. Sie ist eine Art Wahnsinn, auf den sie Philosophie gar keinen Einfluss hat; sie ist eine Krankheit, der der Mensch in jedem Lebensalter unterworfen ist, und die unheilbar ist, wenn sie ihn im Alter befällt. Liebe! Unerklärbares Wesen, unerklärbares Gefühl! Gott der Natur! Süße Bitternis! Grausame Bitternis! Liebe!Reizendes Ungeheuer, das man nicht beschreiben kann! Inmitten von tausenden Leiden, die du über das Leben ausbreitest, säest du so viele Wonnen aus, dass ohne dich Sein und Nichtsein ein und dasselbe wären.
Ein Liebender ist verloren, wenn er nicht das Glück an der Stirnlocke zu packen weiß.
Nicht nur in den Augen eines Liebenden, sondern in den Augen jedes Mannes, der sie in diesem Zustande sieht, ist eine schöne Frau in dem Augenblick, wo sie sich den Armen des Schlummers entwindet, tausendmal entzückender als in jenem Augenblick, wo sie ihre Toilette beendet hat.
Die Liebe ist ein Kind, das man mit Tändeleien hochwichtigen muss; eine zu kräftige Nahrung muss ihr den Tod bringen.
Ich kenne die Liebe besser als Sie. Sie verlangt eine gehaltvolle Nahrung, und wenn diese hartnäckig ihr verweigert wird, verdorrt sie.
Man muss niemals mehr auf seiner Hut sein, als wenn man an halb dumme Leute Fragen stellt.
Die Zurückhaltung wird Dummheit, wenn wir erkannt haben, dass der Angebetete Gegenstand unsere Gefühle teilt.
Wenn man bedauert, hasst man nicht mehr, aber nur große und edelmütige Seelen sind solchen Vergebens fähig.
Wenn man fremde Sprachen lernt, ist das letzte, was man begreift, ihr Geist; und dieser Geist ist immer am wesentlichsten bei scherzhaften Bemerkungen.
Die Liebe ist eine Feindin der Scham, obgleich sie oft Dunkelheit und Geheimnis sucht; aber wann die Liebe sich schämen muss, fühlt sie sich erniedrigt und verliert sofort drei Viertel ihrer Würde und einen großen Teil ihres Reizes.
Für einen Mann, der leibt, ist der geringste Wunsch des geliebten Wesens allerhöchster Befehl.
July 18, 2023
How does review the life of Casanova de Seingalt? It's interesting to read of a man's life in such depth. It's clear he meant it when he discusses amorous pleasures he'll always remember 😉.
One's first 'surprise' is that Casanova has a way with words, so that the autobiography is a sheer delight to read. Oh, some may view him as a con artist, yet he will pride himself in his 'foxmanship' 😏😎.
This one finds Casanova to be highly relatable, perhaps because we're both hardcore romantics: he'll do anything within his power for his loves (aside from marrying, egads, that's an impossibility for him!). Even when there are decades of quietude, reunion almost invariably rekindles fiery passions to worship at the citadel of love (unless she's turned ugly like a painted horror) 🙏.
There were a few women Casanova seemed especially happy with (who tended to be both supremely beautiful and highly educated readers) -- probably he should have married one 😜. Alas, if that had been a wise possibility, maybe we wouldn't have the pleasure of reading his tales.
The windows into 18th-century Europe are interesting: at least among the elites of society, lesbianism seems to be a widely accepted intrigue women will obviously simply enjoy. (*ok, to be precise, bisexuality among women.) The value of virginity often to be silently made a mockery of, rightly so. Villages where sexual freedom and orgies are commonplace -- why not? Even if they're not for Casanova. Duels to the death to protect one's honor? Sure. All the masked balls and operas are also interesting.
It's impressive from how many regions and countries he'd been banished 😈.
I wonder why Casavona's story is not more well-read by the MSSS (Men's Social and Sexual Skills) and PUA (Pick-Up Artist) communities. A lack of romanticism among these communities? Or the difficulty of translating an endearing biography into practicable skills? Or perhaps it's simply too long? I'd certainly recommend its perusal.
The book contains a fair number of admissions of his own errors (which he can find difficult not to repeat).
I was also impressed at how rigorously he stuck to strict diets to recover from STDs as promptly as possible!
It seems Casanova only made love with 100-200 girls, which some consider not so many. He had a dislike for orgies and preferred the girls to be passionately into it with him, eschewing them if they were merely passively doing it in gratitude or purely for money. So clearly he's infamous for the type of girls he seduced than simply for the count. The line between prostitution and a man in love granting any favors he can to a woman seemed very thin in this era. There was definitely a lot of overly assertive behavior that would not be condoned in modern Western society: such as placing a girl's hand on one's dick and masturbating oneself if she doesn't object or pull it away.
When discussing love-making with a girl from a non-monastic convent, Casanova says: "I have an infinite trust in the infinite mercy of God."
On the topic of whether it would not have been better to abstain from falling in love for a few beautiful months only to lament at her departure: "There are sorrows so sweet they are almost joys."
He's perhaps a bit of a hedonic utilitarian: "A philosopher is one who refuses no pleasures that do not beget greater sorrows."
"I have always thought that there is no merit in being faithful to the one you love."
. . . 🤓
One's first 'surprise' is that Casanova has a way with words, so that the autobiography is a sheer delight to read. Oh, some may view him as a con artist, yet he will pride himself in his 'foxmanship' 😏😎.
This one finds Casanova to be highly relatable, perhaps because we're both hardcore romantics: he'll do anything within his power for his loves (aside from marrying, egads, that's an impossibility for him!). Even when there are decades of quietude, reunion almost invariably rekindles fiery passions to worship at the citadel of love (unless she's turned ugly like a painted horror) 🙏.
There were a few women Casanova seemed especially happy with (who tended to be both supremely beautiful and highly educated readers) -- probably he should have married one 😜. Alas, if that had been a wise possibility, maybe we wouldn't have the pleasure of reading his tales.
The windows into 18th-century Europe are interesting: at least among the elites of society, lesbianism seems to be a widely accepted intrigue women will obviously simply enjoy. (*ok, to be precise, bisexuality among women.) The value of virginity often to be silently made a mockery of, rightly so. Villages where sexual freedom and orgies are commonplace -- why not? Even if they're not for Casanova. Duels to the death to protect one's honor? Sure. All the masked balls and operas are also interesting.
It's impressive from how many regions and countries he'd been banished 😈.
I wonder why Casavona's story is not more well-read by the MSSS (Men's Social and Sexual Skills) and PUA (Pick-Up Artist) communities. A lack of romanticism among these communities? Or the difficulty of translating an endearing biography into practicable skills? Or perhaps it's simply too long? I'd certainly recommend its perusal.
The book contains a fair number of admissions of his own errors (which he can find difficult not to repeat).
I was also impressed at how rigorously he stuck to strict diets to recover from STDs as promptly as possible!
It seems Casanova only made love with 100-200 girls, which some consider not so many. He had a dislike for orgies and preferred the girls to be passionately into it with him, eschewing them if they were merely passively doing it in gratitude or purely for money. So clearly he's infamous for the type of girls he seduced than simply for the count. The line between prostitution and a man in love granting any favors he can to a woman seemed very thin in this era. There was definitely a lot of overly assertive behavior that would not be condoned in modern Western society: such as placing a girl's hand on one's dick and masturbating oneself if she doesn't object or pull it away.
When discussing love-making with a girl from a non-monastic convent, Casanova says: "I have an infinite trust in the infinite mercy of God."
On the topic of whether it would not have been better to abstain from falling in love for a few beautiful months only to lament at her departure: "There are sorrows so sweet they are almost joys."
He's perhaps a bit of a hedonic utilitarian: "A philosopher is one who refuses no pleasures that do not beget greater sorrows."
"I have always thought that there is no merit in being faithful to the one you love."
. . . 🤓
September 3, 2025
Thing wot I have read details:
Yes, I have read this. No, I have not read the version of it – illustrated, the mind boggles – that Goodreads thinks I have. What I have read is nearly 3,000 pages long, cuts off mid-story, and may or may not be, when it comes to it, entirely complete. It slots neatly into the War and Peace is for Lightweights category. It’s a long-term commitment (words that were not in Casanova’s vocabulary).
But is it worth it? Is it not just the Catalogue Aria without the music?
Depends.
What we have is action and adventure and smut, and vanity and brilliance and smut, and wit and intrigue and duelling and philosophy and, yes, smut. Casanova was very busy boy: he met everyone, and slept with most of the pretty ones. He was a gambler, a charlatan, a rogue, a relentless networker and an indefatigable seducer.
Above all, though, he was a showman: Casanova’s dramatic instincts were sharp, his sense of structure keen, and he knew in his bones what made a good story. He doesn’t just recount his life, he spins it, frames it, narrativises and performs it. He was a child of the theatre, after all. And it’s the theatre that makes his memoirs so compulsively readable: the charm, the staged vulnerability, the contrasts and the little set-pieces. You can’t trust him an inch, but you don’t need to. He’s not honest; he’s amusing. And yes, he knows how to persuade and seduce; and yes, he does these things almost constantly, and often in morally dubious ways. I wouldn’t trust him an inch, but I trust him to entertain.
I trust him to entertain. This is a man who made an unfinished picaresque* of his life story – possibly even lived one. I don’t believe it’s all true, I don’t believe it’s the whole truth where it is true, but it’s fun. And Giacomo Casanova is one of the greatest fictional characters who ever lived.
Just don’t take him as a role-model.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Picaresque? It’s a particular narrative form. Got a protagonist seemingly made of rubber, bouncing merrily from one dubious adventure to the next? That’s picaresque. Think Tom Jones, Candide, Cugel’s Saga, Moll Flanders, anything with Rincewind in it.
But you knew that.
Yes, I have read this. No, I have not read the version of it – illustrated, the mind boggles – that Goodreads thinks I have. What I have read is nearly 3,000 pages long, cuts off mid-story, and may or may not be, when it comes to it, entirely complete. It slots neatly into the War and Peace is for Lightweights category. It’s a long-term commitment (words that were not in Casanova’s vocabulary).
But is it worth it? Is it not just the Catalogue Aria without the music?
Depends.
What we have is action and adventure and smut, and vanity and brilliance and smut, and wit and intrigue and duelling and philosophy and, yes, smut. Casanova was very busy boy: he met everyone, and slept with most of the pretty ones. He was a gambler, a charlatan, a rogue, a relentless networker and an indefatigable seducer.
Above all, though, he was a showman: Casanova’s dramatic instincts were sharp, his sense of structure keen, and he knew in his bones what made a good story. He doesn’t just recount his life, he spins it, frames it, narrativises and performs it. He was a child of the theatre, after all. And it’s the theatre that makes his memoirs so compulsively readable: the charm, the staged vulnerability, the contrasts and the little set-pieces. You can’t trust him an inch, but you don’t need to. He’s not honest; he’s amusing. And yes, he knows how to persuade and seduce; and yes, he does these things almost constantly, and often in morally dubious ways. I wouldn’t trust him an inch, but I trust him to entertain.
I trust him to entertain. This is a man who made an unfinished picaresque* of his life story – possibly even lived one. I don’t believe it’s all true, I don’t believe it’s the whole truth where it is true, but it’s fun. And Giacomo Casanova is one of the greatest fictional characters who ever lived.
Just don’t take him as a role-model.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Picaresque? It’s a particular narrative form. Got a protagonist seemingly made of rubber, bouncing merrily from one dubious adventure to the next? That’s picaresque. Think Tom Jones, Candide, Cugel’s Saga, Moll Flanders, anything with Rincewind in it.
But you knew that.
March 15, 2023
What an epic read!!! Possibly one of the best books ever written. Every page is an adventure. No surprise that this is the definitive statement of life in the 18th century. Reward yourself and make the effort to spend a good number of months soaking up this classic memoir. I was a little sad when i got to the last paragraph, after many months it was a bit like saying so long to an old friend. I have read where people complain about the size of the font and the size of the book.....Glasses will help you out there, just think of the size of the book if the font were made larger. Take a deep breath and jump in, you will not be disappointed.
July 20, 2024
The preface / foreward are quite boring, but I guess worth reading to get a better historic perspective.
But when I started reading the actual memoirs, I literally could not stop. They are more captivating than any book or movie I have experienced in a long time. The author is brilliant, with a very sharp mind, a fun spirit, and deep thoughts. It was like I was reading a story of the old friend.
I like history, and this book gave me tons of hints to reconstruct small details of the 18th century's life in Europe
But when I started reading the actual memoirs, I literally could not stop. They are more captivating than any book or movie I have experienced in a long time. The author is brilliant, with a very sharp mind, a fun spirit, and deep thoughts. It was like I was reading a story of the old friend.
I like history, and this book gave me tons of hints to reconstruct small details of the 18th century's life in Europe
March 10, 2014
Well it took a long time to finish (over 1000 pages) but was worth it. A fascinating account of life in 18th century Europe, chock-full of swindling and seduction. I kept forgetting it was an actual account of someone's life as it is so full of extraordinary events. This is the edited down version, the original is twice the length and he never finished it!
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