MihaElla > Recent Status Updates

-Bine, atunci ce mai inseamna acest cuvant, atat de necesar la urma urmei in viata noastra de zi cu zi, ma refer la cuvantul “dispret”? Daca intoarcem si rasucim intr-un asemenea hal cuvintele, mai ales cele de care ne servim zilnic precum cutitul sau furculita, ce mai ramane din limbajul nostru, din mult-laudata noastra sinceritate?!

Ce poti sa faci ca sa scapi de cineva care-ti bantuie noptile, visele si ideile? Ii daruiesti ceva de care, ha, ha, vrei sa scapi, nu-i asa?
[...] Ea insa...l-a simtit, marele animal, mirosul, putoarea lui inconfundabila, si...a tresarit! In felul ei. Dumneata, ha, ha, ai tresarit in felul dumitale, sarcastic si meschin. [...] False incercari de a explica iute, ceva ce nu poate, nu trebuie sa fie elucidat, cel putin

Bah,fiddlesticks,oamenii,cel putin cei din mediul asta in care ne invartim noi,nu au nici un fel de calitati.Sau,daca le au,le ascund foarte bine.Poate ca e o mostenire de pe vremea dictaturii,cand romanul,tot romanul,cum se spune,a inteles iute ca nu e recomandabil sa iesi in nici un fel in evidenta. Dictatura,orice dictatura,dar mai ales cea pe care am trait-o noi,a egalitatii sociale,are oroare de elite,de varfuri

Tu, draga mea, tu esti in fond o calugarita desi nu porti haina aceea cam prea zgomotoasa, eleganta ca orice bate in negru, dar...prea tradatoare, prea "latratoare" pentru firea ta nobila, discreta, tematoare. Tematoare de uriasa si concentrica trivialitate din jur, lumea, iubita mea, musteste de trivialitate, este legea ei si justificarea ei, poate chiar menirea, vitalitatea ei. Noi nu suntem aici s-o judecam...

Vine o varsta a omului, a barbatului, cand acesta vrea “s-o ia de la inceput”,middle life crisis o numesc unii psihologi. Dar in cazul meu nu a fost o criza; chit ca-i pui termenului un semn pozitiv; la mine era un vis vechi, jurnalistica, dar mi l-am reprimat lucid inca din tinerete, stiind ca sub comunisti nu putea fi vorba de o reala profesiune de jurnalistica, ci doar de o propaganda pura,adeseori si murdara

-Si...il intreba odata cineva, o femeie, nu ti-a ramas nimica, chiar nimica din aceasta...incredere in oameni?

-Ba da, scumpa mea...ai sa razi, increderea in femei!
A, sa nu crezi ca sunt un romantic sau postromantic, cum vrei s-o iei! Nu, eu cred in instinctul femeii, nu in ingenuitatea ei, cred mai mult decat in propriul meu instinct, parol!

Dumneata ai multe calitati, dar...ai una in plus: il admiri prea tare pe mentorul dumitale, idolul femeilor din judet! Fanatismul nu se potriveste in nici un fel cu ratiunea dumitale clara, sigura.

Credeti?! De ce...fanatic? N-am fost in viata mea. A, mi-ar placea o doza de fanatism, cum spuneti; indiferent pentru ce sau pentru cine.

Pentru orice, pentru oricine ?!

Da. Dar nu pentru o femeie. Nu sunt un idealist.

O iubea pe fugacea femeie si, ca un batran intelept, cum se si categorisea, era perfect multumit cu ceea ce avea, cu propriul sau sentiment.
"Sa nu-i suparam pe zei!", spunea el cu seriozitate, desi prin zei il intelegea pe unicul zeu al partinilor si stramosilor sai, descoperit si venerat de Abraham.

Cat timp nu inteleg chiar totul, spunea el, raman in viata! [...] Cum poate un cuvant, acelasi cuvant, sa desemneze doua lucruri deodata, o fapta si contrariul ei, un gand si inamicul sau?!

Zambetul sau era unul dintre acele semne ce indica imposibilitatea comunicarii prin cuvant, excluderea cuvantului si, in acelasi timp, o invitatie la complicitate. Era si trist acel zambet, deoarece barbatul din fata sa era un om extrem de slab, dar nu atat prin firea sa, intuia preotul, ci printr-o anume situatie de existenta care-l tinea prizonier. Astfel de capcane ale vietii sunt uneori mai puternice..

-What does “the strict present” mean?
-ha-ha, this moment when you take care of my future!
- of…your destiny!
-fiddlesticks! The word "destiny" is a literary invention…
-… for me, he designates a gross reality first!
-congratulations… in this case! But beware, this word can make you sour! Don't you think you are dragging a cannonball on your foot?! ... Aren't you afraid of…ridicule?!

Cand ai dreptate, ca sa zic asa, in viata asta nenorocita, stiti ce se intampla? Te umfli in pene ca un cocos de cartier jerpelit si-ti pierzi automat simtul, flerul realitatii; de care profita imediatamente cel ce “n-are dreptate” si te rade, iti ia prajitura din fata, pe care nici n-ai apucat s-o lingi macar...ai? Ce ziceti?!...

Cand indraznesti, pana si greseala - fie din prea multa siguranta de sine, fie dintr-o excesiva insufletire - e frumoasa, pentru ca e vie...

Daca limbajul lui mut nu-i poate invata viata, si-a zis el, atunci sa-i invete livada si padurea. Culoarea merilor sa-i aminteasca lui Anntche de tandrete si emotie, lemnul tare al stejarilor si al artarilor - de taria sufleteasca, rasina vascoasa- de fidelitate, fanul usor- de simplitate si smerenie, pamantul- de suplete, iar schimbarea anotimpurilor- de celelalte legi ale vietii

-Basme de ce nu mi-ai scris, Bach?
Bach a lasat ochii in jos. Intr-adevar, povesti nu scrisese-probabil ca erau singura parte a vietii in Gnadental pe care n-o descrisese. Era prea chinuitor orice gand la Klara, de pe buzele careia obisnuia sa asculte basme.
-Intre altele, ele sunt cheia spre inima de copil. De aceea si este de copil, pentru ca nu poate inceta sa creada in basme.

Frumusetea ei, pana atunci firava si severa, se umpluse deodata de o forta deosebita: ochii priveau mai intunecat si mai expresiv, buzele ii devenisera mai pline si mai stralucitoare, eterna ei paloare s-a transformat in rumeneala, intr-un roz dens, provocator. Acum nimeni n-ar mai fi luat-o din spate drept o adolescenta – fiecare miscare trada o femeie.

Cand orele s-au incheiat, dupa ce l-a condus si pe ultimul elev si a incuiat usa scolii dupa el, Bach a vrut sa se duca in sfarsit la el, dar in loc de asta, fara sa stie de ce, s-a asezat intr-o banca- din primul rand, "al magarilor"- si a stat asa, stergandu-si din toate puterile de genunchi palmele umede, pana cand usa locuintei lui s-a deschis: a venit Klara la el.
[...]

A inteles ca astazi plansese,rasese in hohote,se temuse,fusese sincer ca niciodata in viata lui.Si nici macar o data nu se balbaise
A inteles ca voia sa vada chipul Klarei
-La revedere,Fraulein Grimm,a spus el doar,indreptandu-se spre usa
Genunchii si coatele lui erau vinete,pometii zgariati ii ardeau-dar,ciudat, devenise indiferent la durere.Obosise,obosise cumplit,insuportabil
Si in urma lui,staruitor
-O sa veniti?

I do not know whether there be nothingness, or existence without space and time; perhaps some midplanetary wind carries the spiritual monad from star to star to implant it in an ever-renewing existence. I do not know whether there be immense restlessness, or a peace so perfect as only Omnipotence and Love can bestow on us...I do not know...Together we shall sink into nothingness, or together begin a new life

One must love a woman more than life, consider her as the crown of life, if he does not leave her under circumstances like these. I am perfectly aware that mere physical repugnance would have driven me from any other woman;& since I remain here the thought occurs to me again that my love must be an aberration of the nerves, which could not exist were I a normally healthy specimen of mankind..

I have now a small part of her physical being. I got it by cunning. I the man of the world, the sceptic, I who enter into myself and analyze every thought, have come to practise little tricks and devices, like Goethe's Siebel. But I say to myself, "At the worst I am only sentimental and ridiculous."

Nobody feels more than I that the words, "The spell thou hast cast upon me lasts forever," are not a mere poetic fancy, but bitter reality. Besides love and desire, I have for her an immense liking, the tenderness of affection, and am drawn to her with the irresistible force of the magnet to iron. And it cannot be otherwise, for she is still the same Aniela, and is not changed in the least.

He who has never been in a position similar to mine cannot understand it. I knew that from love's entanglements spring various sufferings, but I did not appreciate those sufferings. I did not believe they were so real and so difficult to bear. Only now I understand the difference between "knowing" and "believing," and the meaning of the French thinker's words: "We know we must die, but we do not believe it.”

Today Kromitzki pointed out to me an Englishman accompanied by a very beautiful woman,& told me their story.The beauty is a Roumanian by birth & married a Wallachian bankrupt Boyar,from whom the Englishman simply bought her at Ostend.I have heard of similar transactions at least a dozen times.Kromitzki even mentioned the sum the Englishman had given for her.The story made a strange impression upon me

The poets erroneously represent woman as an enigma, a living Sphinx. Man is a hundred times more of an enigma and a Sphinx. A healthy woman that is not hysterical may be either good or bad, strong or weak, but she has more spiritual simplicity than man. Forever and all times the Ten Commandments are enough for her, whether she live according to their tenets, or through human frailty set them aside.

They have no child; besides, a child does not teach a woman to love her husband; it only teaches her to take him into account; it makes her safer,—that is to say, it strengthens the union of hands, not of hearts. Aniela besides does not belong to that kind of women to whom love comes suddenly, as a revelation after marriage; women like that pine more after their husbands, or more readily take a lover.

In that ocean of trouble, evil, foolishness, uncertainties, and doubts we call life, there is one thing worth living for, as certain and as strong as—nay, stronger than—death; and that is love. Beyond it there is nothingness.

I repeat, it is a mistake to represent love with bandaged eyes. Love does not suppress reason, as it does not suppress the breathing, or the beating of the heart,—it only subjugates it. Reason thereupon becomes the first adviser, the implement of war,—in other words, it plays the part of an Agrippa to a Caesar Augustus.

“Tell me, cousin, who was that mythological person that could not resist the Siren?"

"Nobody resisted, ma cousine, except Ulysses; and he only because he was tied to the mast."

"And why have you not taken these precautions?"

"Sometimes even that is of no use. You know that love sunders the strongest ties.”

[...] if the principle that the will ends where love steps in might be open to doubt, there is no doubt whatever that where dogma begins reasoning ceases. Women agree with logic as long as it does not bring them into danger. At the approach of danger they shelter themselves behind the fortifications of simple faith and catechismal truth, which strong feeling might force to surrender, but reasoning, never.