Doina Ruști > Doina's Quotes

“The freedom is a tear digging into the flesh. (Doina Ruști -Manuscrisul fanariot)”
― doina ruști

“The love is happiness to be only a rotting cloth in the wound of a stranger. (Doina Ruști -Manuscrisul fanariot)”
― Doina Ruști

“Trecutul e ca un câine care îţi rupe fără întrerupere turul, în timp ce pre­zentul este o potaie care te păcăleşte s-­o ţii în braţe, făcându-­te să uiţi viitorul - un ogar din rasa afgană. (Doina Ruști - Mâța Vinerii)”
― doina ruști

“Omul hăituit capătă o încredere oarbă în destin, răspândită și transformată, cu timpul, într-un un adevărat corpus de superstiții cu caracter geografic.”
― Doina Ruști

“Str. Lipscani este tapetată integral cu chemări, de unde și credința bucureștenilor că cine trece pe-acolo nu se mai întoarce niciodată acasă.”
― Doina Rusti, Manuscrisul fanariot

“She did not seem beautiful to me, especially in the beginning, but even for a long time after that, and then not until later did I come to realise that she was a jewel dropped into the murky waters of a pond, completely out of place in the Gorgani slum, where she seemed to have fallen from the skies, just like the flying Hasan Çelebi, whose name was given to a bridge. “ (Doina Ruști - Homeric)”
― Doina Ruști

“And I understood that not only was I fated to see them again, searching for each other with the same looks which clearly showed that love’s fiery sphere had started to grow between them, but there was also something else, meant only for me.  Without wanting to, I had entered the realm of shadows, where you cannot be seen.  They were the only ones that could be seen, while I, until then at the centre of the story, was now drifting through the treacherous fog of strange desires, like a poor fly blown about in the wind.” (Homeric)”
― Doina Ruști

“But there is a time that descends upon the world when you least expect it, something like the mouth of a wolf which breathes over forests and sometimes upon the head of a person of some importance, blowing out their dreams, erasing the paths which, until then, promised a sure future - and Mușa had left the house exactly during such a time. It was summer, and from behind the butcher’s the unsettling smell of crushed meat and bones was rising.  She skirted the mound which still stands high even today in the middle of the slum and proceeded on to the market.  And what a sight unfolded before her! The sky was sighing sleepily, and from under it one could hear the jingling of beads that evoked an earlier time. Mușa took lazy steps, dragging her slippers, enjoying the feeling of stepping over tiny stones that she could feel through new soles, listening to the vulgar happiness of glass and the cossetted whispers of round pearls. She rummaged through the bracelets and rings, she perused the amber jewelry, and in the end she stopped in front of a shop selling dessert accessories: silver teaspoons, coffee cups and crystal glasses, jam plates made of fragrant wood and particularly low tables, painstakingly inlaid or painted with women half-hidden in veils. Everything lost its allure however after glimpsed the the merchant selling them, a dark-skinned man, in whose eyes smoldered desires without hope – perfidious shoots, like sprigs of hemlock.  Without taking his eyes off her, the merchant offered her a silver ibric, and in its reflections, bleached by the summer sun, swam the tiny fish of temptation.
(Homeric)”
― Doina Rusti

“Nu ştiu de ce, iubirile care încep iarna sunt mai intense şi de cele mai multe ori se termină prost. Mai ales iubirile de Crăciun par făcute dintr‐o suferinţă bătrână.”
― Doina Rusti, Homeric

“One burning July morning, Preduică the teacher came out of his house, his mind under siege with thoughts. He was passing gravely along the side of the road, dressed as if he were going to school even though it was the middle of the school holidays. It was impossible not to notice him, in his white suit, like a messenger, with his bald spot crowned by grey hair.”
― Doina Ruști, Lizoanca la 11 ani

“His death hit me hard, and I was never able to let him go. Even though I’d seen him dead and buried, the truth was that he had never really left me. I grew up measuring myself against him, counting the years, thinking: one day I’ll be as old as Tavică was.”
― Doina Ruști