The Angel of History Quotes

“Do you know the difference between an expat and an immigrant? You're an immigrant in a country you look up to, an expat in one you consider beneath you.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“I was always alone, Doc, solitary whether I wished to be or not, ever since I could remember I wished to be lost in another, thought that somehow I could disappear into that heart of yours, take walks within your veins, wander through the bones of you. You had friends, Satan said, you loved and were loved, you must not forget that, at least not that. But did I allow anyone in, I asked Satan, and he said, Did you, does anyone?”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“Forgetting is as integral to memory as death is to life.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“What happened to all those leading men of the great bacchanalia? They either died of AIDS or accepted roles as supporting actors in the middlebrow drama series of hetero culture-you know, if they're to kiss, we must have sunsets in the background. Once they were proud to explore every crevice of life in the margins, now their ambition is just to get along. Color me unimpressed.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“Perfect name, the waiting room, waiting, waiting we were waiting, wait with me, Doc, wait and hope was the motto of Edmond Dantès, the Count of Monte Cristo, and did you know that the Spanish word for waiting and hoping is the same, so why couldn't we call this the hoping room, or would that be too depressing, why introduce our desires into the mix, who wants to be reminded of his longing?”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“You’ve been gone for decades, you hid deep in my lakes, why now, why infect my dreams now? What flood is this?”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“I told her I was not sure I could bear living with memories, she said, Look up at the stars, look, they are not there, what you see is the memory of what once was, once upon a time.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“On Lou's lips a trace of pinot and out of them poured tales of acts of viciousness worthy of the great Lucifer himself, stories told through the night, the tortures, the beatings, the broken bones, every school has its Tigellinus, but his had more than one and each with followers, all-American boys who delighted in discovering how much pain a soul could withstand, two suicide attempts and all his parents and school could do was try to make Lou change his behavior, his behavior, his behavior, his, his, his, to modify his being just a bit. It gets better, Doc, fucking gets better, no one dared suggest that maybe the family and the school should change, or heaven forbid, that it was the all-Americans who should be modifying their beings, no, the homo should grin and bear it dumbly...”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“Satan said, You are a temp in life.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“son camarade de table a ajouté qu'il avait essayé de regarder le plus possible de films sur le sida. C'est une bonne chose qu'il ne m'ait pas dit qu'il avait regardé Philadelphia, je l'aurais poignardé avec son couteau à beurre.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“I lie on my side, head sunk in the pillow, waiting for first light, for the lift of the curtain, waiting for you, how your right hand used to entwine with my left in a slow dance, how our bodies fit in bed, yet you didn’t show up.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“Adrenaline rushed through my veins, anarchic, atavistic, delicious, a sheen of sweat on my palms, tingles on my forearms, rage in my voice.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“I was living, I thought I was content, I was told I was happy. I did a marvelous impression of a man not crushed by dread. Once I felt your warm breath on my neck, I was no longer invisible, you saw me, you always saw me. Me cogitas, ergo sum.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“...and Satan said, This is not possession, if it were, you would do what I tell you and not refuse my counsel, for I am no creature of mere light, I am of fire born, fire of fire, the blood in the veins of the world is lit up by my flame, I am life's primal force, you are the child at the end of the diving board afraid to jump into the pool...”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“You never believed in God, Doc, did you? You said if God created man in His image, why couldn't man invent a God that was more anthropomorphic, less gratuitously remote, who, like his enemy, Satan, resembled us?”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“You looked inhuman when you were dying, Doc, your eyes glistened like dimming stars, you were wasting away and life was leaving you piecemeal, your soul no longer fit your body, you hated it and I hated it and I couldn't recognize you and I couldn't see you and I was frightened and I never knew what to do, I looked for the man I love in you and I searched for who I used to be around you and I couldn't find either.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“...I wondered at times whether I would wake up and this would be just a bad dream, a nightmare that I could wish away, I had the same fantasy when you were sick, Doc, that I would one day wake up and you all would be healthy and alive.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“my two primary sleep aids, Behemoth and a YouTube recording of a vacuum cleaner, the Hoover WindTunnel. I don’t know why I find the sound comforting, Doc, when I was a child in Cairo, my afternoon naps coincided with the rhythmic beating of carpets outside the bedroom, I was used to sleeping to that sound, but no one beat carpets anymore, a shame, though lo and behold, I found that not only did a vacuum cleaner remove dirt more effectively, it summoned Hypnos just as well as a beating, and there were twelve-hour-long recordings of all kinds of household machines online, welcome to America, now go to sleep. Maybe”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History

“The howl, Doc, not the silence of the lambs, the howl stays with me, I hear it, I scream, I raise my arms to the sky, I try, Doc, I try to defend myself, to protect my soul. Auntie Badeea used to say that jackals have howled at the innocent moon for aeons because they mourn the fact that they are not eternal, that when Death with his pale eyes comes for them they will be no more, unlike us who climb up Jacob's ladder to Heaven in God's embrace or fall to Satan's fiery Hell. I don't think so, Doc, I disagree. Jackals howl because we don't. The howl has been traveling for thousands of years, from the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve tasted the fruit and Satan triumphed and his son, Death, was born, when loss became our intimate, across deserts and seas the howl moves, loaded with dust and grime and brine, searching for souls to remind them to grieve, but we pay little attention, always avoiding, always moving forward, our souls filled with termite holes that the howl passes through, only whistling. Lost we are, so the jackals and coyotes, the wolves red and gray, howl for us, howl at the baby-faced moon.”
― Rabih Alameddine, The Angel of History