Tanja Stevanovic > Tanja's Quotes

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  • #1
    Julio Cortázar
    “You look at me, you look at me closely, each time closer and then we play cyclops, we look at each other closer each time and our eyes grow, they grow closer, they overlap and the cyclops look at each other, breathing confusion, their mouths find each other and fight warmly, biting with their lips, resting their tongues lightly on their teeth, playing in their caverns where the heavy air comes and goes with the scent of an old perfume and silence. Then my hands want to hide in your hair, slowly stroke the depth of your hair while we kiss with mouths full of flowers or fish, of living movements, of dark fragrance. And if we bite each other, the pain is sweet, and if we drown in a short and terrible surge of breath, that instant death is beauty. And there is a single saliva and a single flavour of ripe fruit, and I can feel you shiver against me like a moon on the water.”
    Julio Cortazar

  • #2
    Julio Cortázar
    “Sada ću misliti na tebe, draga, samo na tebe, cele noći. Misliću samo na tebe, to je jedini način da osetim samog sebe, ako te držim u svom središtu kao drvo, ako se malo - pomalo odvojim od stabla koje me drži i vodi, ako oprezno lebdim oko tebe, opipavajući vazduh svakim listom (zelenim, zelenim, ja i ti, sočno stablo i zeleno lišće: zeleno, zeleno) ne udaljavajući se od tebe, ne dopuštajući da bilo ko drugi prodre između mene i tebe, učini da ne mislim na tebe, ma i na trenutak me liši saznanja da ova noć kruži ka svitanju i da će tamo, s druge strane, tamo gde živiš i spavaš, biti ponovo noć kad zajedno stignemo i uđemo u tvoju kuću, popnemo se uza stepenice na tremu, upalimo svetla, pomilujemo tvog psa, popijemo kafu, dugo se gledamo pre nego što te ja zagrlim (da te držim u svom središtu kao drvo) i povedem te ka stepeništu (ali nema nikakve staklene kugle) i počnemo da se penjemo, penjemo, vrata su zatvorena, ali imam ključ u džepu...

    Ko će znati kako je moglo da se završi nešto što nije čak ni počelo, što je krenulo iz sredine i nestalo bez jasnih obrisa, raspršivši se na ivici druge magle.

    ... to odsustvo koje se sada stani u mojoj kući samca, dotiče moj jastuk svojom zlatnom meduzom, primorava me da pišem ovo što pišem u besmislenoj nadi da postoji bajalica, slatki golem od reči.

    ... tu ima nekih rupa i bičeva, neka voda teče niz lice i zaslepljuje i grize, neki zvuk kao tutnjava iz dubina, trenutak bez vremena, nepodnošljivo lep.

    ... za mene je bila kao topola od bronze i sna...

    ... to je pre odgovor na smrt i na ništavilo, stavljanje stvari i vremena na određeno mesto, uvođenje vremena i prolaza, protivljenje vremenu punom rupa i tamnih mesta.

    Ti koji me čitaš, nije li se i tebi desilo nešto što počinje kao san i vraća se u mnogim snovima ali to nije to, nije samo san? Nešto što jeste tu, ali gde, i kako; nešto što prolazi kroz snove, razume se, puki san ali posle takođe tu, na drugi način jer je meko i puno rupa, ali tu dok pereš zube, u dnu lavaboa ga i dalje vidiš kad ispljuneš pastu za zube ili stavljaš lice pod hladnu vodu, već istanjeno ali još zalepljeno za pidžamu, u korenu jezika dok podgrevaš kafu, tu ali gde, kako, zalepljeno za jutro, sa svojom tišinom u koju već ulaze zvuci dana, vesti na radiju koje smo pustili jer smo budni i jer smo ustali i svet i dalje ide svojim putem.

    ... kako je to moguće, šta je to bilo, šta smo to bili u snu koji je međutim nešto drugo, svako malo se vraća i tu je, ali gde je to tu?

    ... ta trideset i jedna godina nije ono što je važno, mnogo je gori ovaj prelazak iz sna u reči, rupa između onoga što je i dalje ovde ali se sve više predaje jasnoj ošztici stvari s ove strane, tom nožu od reči koje i dalje i dalje ispisujem i koje više nisu to što je i dalje tu, ali gde, kako.

    Ovde je nešto trebalo da bude rečeno bez reči, samo slušajući neki neodređen šum.

    ... postoji neka slika nečega priteranog uza zid, nečega opkoljenog: duboka istina, okružena lažima nepopravljivog konformizma.

    Probuditi se, probuditi se na svaki način, ali Valentina je osećala da bi samo nešto što bi ličilo na bič moglo da je razbudi.”
    Julio Cortazar

  • #3
    Fernando Pessoa
    “All I’ve ever done is dream. That, and only that, has been the meaning of my existence. The only thing I’ve ever really cared about is my inner life. My greatest griefs faded to nothing the moment I opened the window onto my inner self and lost myself in watching.
    I never tried to be anything other than a dreamer. I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.”
    Fernando Pessoa
    tags: dream

  • #4
    Fernando Pessoa
    “There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful.”
    Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

  • #5
    “He who becomes the slave of habit,
    who follows the same routes every day,
    who never changes pace,
    who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
    who does not speak and does not experience,
    dies slowly.

    He or she who shuns passion,
    who prefers black on white,
    dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,
    that turn a yawn into a smile,
    that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
    dies slowly.

    He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,
    who is unhappy at work,
    who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
    to thus follow a dream,
    those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,
    die slowly.

    He who does not travel, who does not read,
    who does not listen to music,
    who does not find grace in himself,
    she who does not find grace in herself,
    dies slowly.

    He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,
    who does not allow himself to be helped,
    who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,
    dies slowly.

    He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know,
    die slowly.

    Let's try and avoid death in small doses,
    reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.

    Only a burning patience will lead
    to the attainment of a splendid happiness.”
    Martha Medeiros

  • #6
    Kobayashi Issa
    “What a strange thing!
    to be alive
    beneath cherry blossoms.”
    Kobayashi Issa, Poems

  • #7
    Pablo Neruda
    “You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.”
    Pablo Neruda

  • #8
    Pablo Neruda
    “And that's why i have to go back
    to so many places
    there to find myself
    and constantly examine myself
    with no witness but the moon
    and then whistle with joy,
    ambling over rocks and clods of earth,
    with no task but to live,
    with no family but the road.”
    Pablo Neruda

  • #9
    Rumi
    “At night, I open the window
    and ask the moon to come
    and press its face against mine.
    Breathe into me.
    Close the language-door
    and open the love-window.
    The moon won't use the door,
    only the window.”
    Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi, A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings
    tags: rumi

  • #10
    Haruki Murakami
    “We're both looking at the same moon, in the same world. We're connected to reality by the same line. All I have to do is quietly draw it towards me.”
    Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

  • #11
    Anaïs Nin
    “We are going to the moon that is not very far. Man has so much farther to go within himself.”
    Anaïs Nin
    tags: man, moon

  • #12
    Fernando Pessoa
    “To be great, be whole;
    Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you.
    Be whole in everything. Put all you are
    Into the smallest thing you do.
    So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendor
    Because it blooms up above.”
    Fernando Pessoa, Poems of Fernando Pessoa

  • #13
    Federico García Lorca
    “The night above. We two. Full moon.
    I started to weep, you laughed.
    Your scorn was a god, my laments
    moments and doves in a chain.
    The night below. We two. Crystal of pain.
    You wept over great distances.
    My ache was a clutch of agonies
    over your sickly heart of sand.
    Dawn married us on the bed,
    our mouths to the frozen spout
    of unstaunched blood.
    The sun came through the shuttered balcony
    and the coral of life opened its branches
    over my shrouded heart.

    - Night of Sleepless Love
    Federico García-Lorca

  • #14
    Sylvia Plath
    “I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.”
    Sylvia Plath, Ariel

  • #15
    Sylvia Plath
    “I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted
    To lie with my hands turned up
    and be utterly empty.
    How free it is, you have no idea how free -
    The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
    And it asks for nothing. ~ Tulips (1961)”
    Sylvia Plath, Plath: Poems

  • #16
    Vladimir Nabokov
    “Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
    Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet.
    Age: five thousand three hundred days.
    Profession: none, or "starlet"

    Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?
    Why are you hiding, darling?
    (I Talk in a daze, I walk in a maze
    I cannot get out, said the starling).

    Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?
    What make is the magic carpet?
    Is a Cream Cougar the present craze?
    And where are you parked, my car pet?

    Who is your hero, Dolores Haze?
    Still one of those blue-capped star-men?
    Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays,
    And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!

    Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts!
    Are you still dancin', darlin'?
    (Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts,
    And I, in my corner, snarlin').

    Happy, happy is gnarled McFate
    Touring the States with a child wife,
    Plowing his Molly in every State
    Among the protected wild life.

    My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair,
    And never closed when I kissed her.
    Know an old perfume called Soliel Vert?
    Are you from Paris, mister?

    L'autre soir un air froid d'opera m'alita;
    Son fele -- bien fol est qui s'y fie!
    Il neige, le decor s'ecroule, Lolita!
    Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?

    Dying, dying, Lolita Haze,
    Of hate and remorse, I'm dying.
    And again my hairy fist I raise,
    And again I hear you crying.

    Officer, officer, there they go--
    In the rain, where that lighted store is!
    And her socks are white, and I love her so,
    And her name is Haze, Dolores.

    Officer, officer, there they are--
    Dolores Haze and her lover!
    Whip out your gun and follow that car.
    Now tumble out and take cover.

    Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
    Her dream-gray gaze never flinches.
    Ninety pounds is all she weighs
    With a height of sixty inches.

    My car is limping, Dolores Haze,
    And the last long lap is the hardest,
    And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,
    And the rest is rust and stardust.”
    Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

  • #17
    Umberto Eco
    “I was in a maze. No matter which way I turned, it was the wrong way.”
    Umberto Eco, The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana

  • #18
    Roman Payne
    “We made love outdoors—without a roof, I like most, without stove, my favorite place, assuming the weather be fair and balmy, and the earth beneath be clean. Our souls intertwined and dripping with dew, and our love for each other was seen. Our love for the world was new.”
    Roman Payne

  • #19
    Anaïs Nin
    “And silence. She liked the silence most of all. The silence in which the body, senses, the instincts, are more alert, more powerful, more sensitized, live a more richly perfumed and intoxication life, instead of transmuting into thoughts, words, into exquisite abstractions, mathematics of emotion in place of violent impact, the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight.”
    Anaïs Nin

  • #20
    Anaïs Nin
    “I write emotional algebra.”
    Anais Nin

  • #21
    Leonard Cohen
    “I don't remember
    lighting this cigarette
    and I don't remember
    if I'm here alone
    or waiting for someone.”
    Leonard Cohen, Book of Longing

  • #22
    Anaïs Nin
    “He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.”
    Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus

  • #23
    William Shakespeare
    “Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”
    William Shakespeare, Macbeth

  • #24
    John Fante
    “You are nobody, and I might have been somebody, and the road to each of us is love.”
    John Fante, Ask the Dust

  • #25
    Gustave Flaubert
    “I will cover you with love when next I see you, with caresses, with ecstasy. I want to gorge you with all the joys of the flesh, so that you faint and die. I want you to be amazed by me, and to confess to yourself that you had never even dreamed of such transports... When you are old, I want you to recall those few hours, I want your dry bones to quiver with joy when you think of them.”
    Gustave Flaubert

  • #26
    Søren Kierkegaard
    “I shall be your poet! I do not want to be a poet for others; make your appearance, and I shall be your poet. I shall eat my own poem, and that will be my food. Or do you find me unworthy? Just as a temple dancer dances to the honor of the god Gudutl, so I have consecrated myself to your service; light, thinly clad, limber, unarmed, I renounce everything. I own nothing; I desire to own nothing; I love nothing; I have nothing to lose-but have I not thereby become more worthy of you, you who long ago must have been tired of depriving people of what they love, tired of their craven sniveling and craven pleading. Surprise me-I am ready”
    Soren Kierkegaard

  • #27
    George Eliot
    “She hates everything that is not what she longs for.”
    George Eliot, Adam Bede

  • #28
    Vladimir Nabokov
    “Most of the dandelions had changed from suns into moons.”
    Vladimir Nabokov

  • #29
    “DECISION NOT TO COMMIT SUICIDE

    I can no longer ignore the silver death
    of dandelions: more beautiful
    than any dying I could do.

    Brown alive and into summer
    we are (you and I) here-there.
    It is the same sun.
    Death is far small silver in the huge air.”
    Grace Butcher

  • #30
    Virginia Woolf
    “She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.”
    Virginia Woolf, The Waves



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