The Tartar Steppe Quotes

“It was at this period that Drogo realised how far apart men are whatever their affection for each other, that if you suffer the pain is yours and yours alone, no one else can take upon himself the least part of it; that if you suffer it does not mean that others feel pain even though their love is great: hence the loneliness of life.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“What a terrible mistake, thought Drogo, perhaps everything is like that — we think there are beings like ourselves around us and instead there is nothing but ice and stones speaking a strange language; we are on the point of greeting a friend but our arm falls inert, the smile dies away because we are completely alone.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Difficile è credere in una cosa quando si è soli, e non se ne può parlare con alcuno. Proprio in quel tempo Drogo si accorse come gli uomini, per quanto possano volersi bene, rimangano sempre lontani; che se uno soffre, il dolore è completamente suo, nessun altro può prenderne su di sé una minima parte; che se uno soffre, gli altri per questo non sentono male, anche se l'amore è grande, e questo provoca la solitudine della vita.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Everything goes by — men, the seasons, the clouds, and there is no use clinging to the stones, no use fighting it out on some rock in midstream; the tired fingers open, the arms fall back inertly and you are still dragged into the river, the river which seems to flow so slowly yet never stops.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Twenty-two months are a long time and a lot of things can happen in them- there is time for new families to be formed, for babies to be born and even begin to talk, for a great house to rise where once there was only a field, for a beautiful woman to grow old and no one desire her any more, for an illness- for a long illness- to ripen (yet men live on heedlessly), to consume the body slowly, to recede for short periods as if cured, to take hold again more deeply and drain away the last hopes; there is time for a man to die and be buried, for his son to be able to laugh again and in the evening take the girls down the avenues and past the cemetery gates without a thought. But it seemed as if Drogo’s existence had come to a halt. The same day, the same things, had repeated themselves hundreds of times without taking a step forward. The river of time flowed over the Fort, crumbled the walls, swept down dust and fragments of stone, wore away the stairs and the chain, but over Drogo it passed in vain- it had not yet succeeded in catching him, bearing him with it as it flowed.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“...كل شيء يفر، الرجال، الفصول، الغيوم، ولم يعد مجدياً التشبث بالصخور،...”
― دينو بوتزاتي, صحراء التتار

“Because it may be fine to die in the open, with one’s body still young and healthy amidst the triumphant echoes of the bugles; but it is a sadder fate to die of wounds in a hospital ward after long sufferings, and it is more melancholy still to meet one’s end in one’s bed at home in the midst of fond laments, dim lights and medicine bottles. But nothing is more difficult than to die in some strange, indifferent spot, in the characterless bed of an inn, to die there old and worn and leave no one behind in the world.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Nel sogno c'è sempre qualcosa di assurdo e confuso, non ci si libera mai della vaga sensazione ch'è tutto falso, che un bel momento ci si dovrà svegliare.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Il tempo intanto correva, il suo battito silenzioso scandisce sempre più precipitoso la vita, non ci si può fermare neanche un attimo, neppure per un'occhiata indietro. "Ferma, ferma!" si vorrebbe gridare, ma si capisce ch'è inutile. Tutto quanto fugge via, gli uomini, le stagioni, le nubi; e non serve aggrapparsi alle pietre, resistere in cima a qualche scoglio, le dita stanche si aprono, le braccia si afflosciano inerti, si è trascinati ancora nel fiume, che pare lento ma non si ferma mai.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“But at a certain point we turn round, almost instinctively,
and see that a gate has been bolted behind us, barring our way back (...)
Then we understand that time is passing and that one day or another the road must come to an end.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Fino allora egli era avanzato per la spensierata età della prima giovinezza, una strada che da bambini sembra infinita, dove gli anni scorrono lenti e con passo lieve, così che nessuno nota la loro partenza. Si cammina placidamente, guardandosi con curiosità attorno, non c'è proprio bisogno di affrettarsi, nessuno preme dietro e nessuno ci aspetta, anche i compagni procedono senza pensieri, fermandosi spesso a scherzare. Dalle case, sulle porte, la gente grande saluta benigna, e fa cenno indicando l'orizzonte con sorrisi di intesa; così il cuore comincia a battere per eroici e teneri desideri, si assapora la vigilia delle cose meravigliose che si attendono più avanti; ancora non si vedono, no, ma è certo, assolutamente certo che un giorno ci arriveremo. Ancora molto? No, basta attraversare quel fiume laggiù in fondo, oltrepassare quelle verdi colline. O non si è per caso già arrivati? Non sono forse questi alberi, questi prati, questa bianca casa quello che cercavamo? Per qualche istante si ha l'impressione di sì e ci si vorrebbe fermare. Poi si sente dire che il meglio è più avanti e si riprende senza affanno la strada. Così continua il cammino in un'attesa fiduciosa e le giornate sono lunghe e tranquille, il sole risplende alto nel cielo e sembra non abbia mai voglia di calare al tramonto. Ma a un certo punto, quasi istintivamente, ci si volta indietro e si vede che un cancello è stato sprangato alle spalle nostre, chiudendo la via del ritorno. Allora si sente che qualcosa è cambiato, il sole non sembra più immobile ma si sposta rapidamente, ahimè, non si fa in tempo a fissarlo che già precipita verso il confine dell'orizzonte, ci si accorge che le nubi non ristagnano più nei golfi azzurri del cielo ma fuggono accavallandosi l'una all'altra, tanto è il loro affanno; si capisce che il tempo passa e che la strada un giorno dovrà pur finire. Chiudono a un certo punto alla nostre spalle un pesante cancello, lo rinserrano con velocità fulminea e non si fa in tempo a tornare.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“أيةُ هفوةٍ حزينة كانت تلك؟ فكر دروغو، ربما الأمر هكذا، إنّنا نفكر أنه تحيط بنا مخلوقات شبيهةٌ بنا، على العكس ليس ثمة سوى الجليد والأحجار التي تتكلم لغةً غريبةً، ما نكاد نرفع أيدينا، لنسلّم على صديق حتى تهوي، وتنطفئ الابتسامة على الأفواه، لأننا ننتبه إلى أننا وحيدون بشكلٍ كامل”
― دينو بوتراتزي, صحراء التتار

“Così una pagina lentamente si volta, si distende dalla parte opposta, aggiungendosi alle altre già finite, per ora è solamente uno strato sottile, quelle che rimangono da leggere sono in confronto un mucchio inesauribile. Ma è pur sempre un'altra pagina consumata, signor tenente, una porzione di vita.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“What if he were an ordinary man who has been rightfully allotted no more than a mediocre destiny?”
― Dino Buzzati, Il deserto dei Tartari

“The page is slowly turned, falls over to join the others, the ones already finished. It is still only a thin layer. Those still to be read are inexhaustible in comparison. But it is always another page finished, a portion of your life.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“I no longer aspire to a career. A post with no worries is all I need.”
― Dino Buzzati, Il deserto dei Tartari

“كانت تنهشهما الحيرة في هذه الليلة اللانهائية، وهما دروغو وترونك مستندان الى الحاجز وقد سمّرا أعينهما نحو العمق، هناك حيث يبدأ سهل التتار، على حين بدت البقعة الغامضة ثابتة في مكانها كأنها تغفو مضطجعة، ثم رويداً رويداً أخذ يتملك دروغو شعور أن هذا مجرد لا شيء. إنه مجرد جلمود يشبه راهبة، وأن عينيه مخدوعتان، إنه مجرد تعب، وهمٌ أخرق. ها هي ذي ظلال مرارة كثيفة تلامسه. بالضبط كما يحدث عندما تمرّ بنا ساعات القدر دون أن تمسنا، ومن ثم يضيع صخبها بعيداً عنّا، على حين نبقى نحن وحيدين، تائهين في لجة بعض الأوراق اليابسة، نجتر حسرة تلك الفرصة الضائعة”
― دينو بوتراتزي, صحراء التتار

“She looked at him with what remained of her love.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Stronghold

“I've learned how to be content," said the major, as he realized what Giovanni was thinking. "Year after year I've learned how to desire less and less.”
― Dino Buzzati, Il deserto dei Tartari

“Twenty-two months had passed without bringing anything fresh and he had stayed there waiting, as if life could not but be specially lenient with him.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“And yet the winds of time were blowing; heedless of mankind they blew to and fro in the world preying upon beauty; and no one could escape them, not even children so newly born as to be still unnamed.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Выходит, пел не солдат, не человек, способный чувствовать холод, наказание, любовь; пели враждебные ему горы. Какая обидная ошибка, подумал Дрого, может, и в жизни все вот так: мы считаем, что вокруг нас люди, такие же, как мы, но вместо них только холод, только камни, с их непонятным языком. Хочешь пожать руку друга, но твоя протянутая рука безвольно опускается и улыбка гаснет: оказывается, рядом – никого и ты так одинок.”
― Dino Buzzati, Il deserto dei Tartari

“They had reached the top of a hill. Drogo turned back to look at the city against the light. Plumes of smoke were rising from roofs. He saw his own house in the distance. He identified the window of his room. It was probably open; the women were tidying up. They would strip the bed, put things away in the closet, then bolt the shutters. For months and months no one would enter, except for the patient dust and on sunny days faint streaks of light. There, shut up in darkness, would lie the little world of his boyhood. His mother would preserve it so that on his return he would find everything the same, enabling him to remain a boy in that room, even after his long absence. She was no doubt deluding herself; she believed she could preserve intact a happiness that had vanished forever, holding back the flight of time, so that when doors and windows were reopened at her son's return, things would revert to the way they were before.”
― Dino Buzzati, Il deserto dei Tartari

“Ma una decisione bisognava pur prenderla, e ciò gli dispiaceva. Egli avrebbe preferito continuare l'attesa, rimanere assolutamente immobile, quasi a provocare il destino affinché si scatenasse davvero.”
― Dino Buzzati, Il deserto dei Tartari

“Drogo s’aperçut à quel point les hommes restent toujours séparés l'un de l'autre, malgré l'affection qu'ils peuvent se porter ; il s'aperçut que, si quelqu'un souffre, sa douleur lui appartient en propre, nul ne peut l'en décharger si légèrement que ce soit ; il s'aperçut que, si quelqu'un souffre, autrui ne souffre pas pour cela, même si son amour est grand, et c'est cela qui fait la solitude de la vie.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Changed?” replied Drogo. “No, absolutely not.” “You’re just saying that because you don’t find me as attractive as before. Tell the truth!” Was it really Maria speaking? Wasn’t she teasing him? Drogo listened to her words, hardly believing what she said. From one moment to the next he hoped she would drop that elegant smile, that sweet manner, and burst out laughing. “Of course! I find you most unattractive,” Giovanni would have replied in the good old days as he slid an arm around her waist, and she would have pressed against him. But now? It would’ve been absurd, a joke in poor taste. “I don’t think that at all,” said Drogo. “You’re exactly the same, I swear.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Stronghold

“Only his step awoke her – not that it was loud, for Giovanni went on tiptoe. There was no special reason for it, except that he was her son.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“That’s silly, it always happens at the last moment – it’s so tiresome packing,’ said Drogo purposely, as if he had not understood her undertone of feeling.

It needed a word, a simple phrase to tell her that he was sorry she was leaving. But Drogo did not want to ask for anything – at that moment he was really not capable of it, he would have felt he was lying. So he said nothing and gave a vague smile.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe

“Ilude-se com uma gloriosa desforra a longo prazo, acredita possuir ainda uma imensidão de tempo disponível,”
― Dino Buzzati, O deserto dos tártaros

“For months and months no one would enter except the patient dust and, on sunny days, thin streaks of light. There it was, shut up in the dark, the little world of his childhood. His mother would keep it like that so that on his return he could find himself again there, still be a boy within its walls even after his long absence – but of course she was wrong in thinking that she could keep intact a state of happiness which was gone for ever or hold back the flight of time, wrong in imagining that when her son came back and the doors and windows were reopened everything would be as before.”
― Dino Buzzati, The Tartar Steppe