László Krasznahorkai Quotes

Cele doua ceasuri arata, concomitent, doua forme diferite de timp, desi pe ambele destul de inexact. Al nostru intarzie peste masura, iar cel de acolo de afara... nu masoara timpul, ci eternitatea aservirii, iar cu treaba asta avem de-a face cat are de-a face creanga cu ploaia: suntem neputinciosi.

all seemed very suspect to them how no one seemed to be in control, they weren’t used to this and never would have thought it possible: no hands holding the reins, but of course, someone is holding them, they reassured themselves, absurd to think otherwise, after all this was the Bundesrepublik Deutschland,

Culture, then, only truly becomes culture when it is embodied in someone.

There is an intense relationship between proximate objects, a much weaker one between objects further away, and as for the really distant ones there is none at all, and that is the nature of God.

În liniștea ce cuprinse dintr-o dată totul, în muțenia profundă în care până și stropii de ploaie plesneau fără zgomot când atingeau pământul, ei crezând că au asurzit, întrucât de simțit simțeau, dar de auzit nu puteau să audă deloc nici vâjâitul vântului, nici acea adiere ciudată, călduță care acum îi atinse ușor, totuși, lui i se păru c-ar auzi cum zbârnâitul necontenit și râsul răsunător de adineauri sunt brusc înlocuite de un chelălăit și răsună sforăituri sinistre, văzând chiar că pornesc după el, astfel că-și acoperi ochii cu brațul și izbucni în plâns. „Vezi asta?” șopti încremenit Irimias, strângând atât de puternic brațul lui Petrina, încât i s-au albit degetele. În jurul trupului se înteți vântul, iar în liniștea deplină cadavrul de un alb orbitor începu să se ridice incert... apoi, când ajunse la înălțimea vârfurilor stejarilor se clătină pe neașteptate, prăbușindu-se convulsiv, ca să ajungă, în final, din nou pe pământ, în mijlocul poieniței. Văzând ce se întâmplă, vocile lipsite de trup de adineauri au început să se certe furios, asemenea unui cor nemulțumit, care iar se vedea nevoit să-și asume un eșec, fără să fi avut vreo vină. Petrina gâfâi. „Tu ai crezut asta?” „Mă strădui să cred”, spuse Irimias, cu fața lividă. „Oare de când tot încearcă? Copila-i moartă de două zile.” „Petrina, poate-i prima dată în viața mea când simt că mi-e frică.” „Cumetre...pot să te întreb ceva?” „Tu ce crezi...?” „Ce cred...?” „Tu ce crezi...ăăă...există și iad...?” Irimias înghiți în sec. „Cine știe. Poate.

"egyszerűen csak arról van szó, magyarázta később a hét gyereknek, hogy egy napon ,"eltört nála a mécses", mert most ha visszagondol, az ő története valójában nem is azzal a bizonyos folyóparttal indult, hanem jóval korábban, jóval a folyóparti események előtt, amikor egyszer elfogta egy addig ismeretlen, egy addig teljességgel ismeretlen mélységű és az ő egész lényét alapjaiban megrázó elkeseredés, hirtelen, egyik napról a másikra egyszer csak azon vette észre magát, hogy nagyon, hogy halálosan el van keseredve, amiként akkoriban fogalmazott, "a világ állapota" miatt, és ez nem valami gyorsan érkező és gyorsan múló hangulat következtében állt nála elő, hanem hát, ez egy olyan iszonyú éles bevillanás volt, mondta, ami örökre beég, tudniillik bevillant neki, hogy a világban, ha volt is, már nincsen semmiféle nemes, nem akarja eltúlozni, de tényleg, komolyan, hogy őkörülötte talán nem is volt, mindenesetre soha többé nem is lesz se szép, se jó"

Isi marturisi ca viata lui fara consistenta, care numara 52 de ani, care alunecase pe langa evenimente, e tot atat de neinsemnata in lupta indarjita a marilor destine, a marilor cariere, pe cat de imperceptibil e fumul unei tigari in in vagonul unui tren aflat in flacari.

[...] he would see that birth and death were only two tremendous moments in an eternal waking, and his face would glow with amazement as he understood this; he would feel - gently he grasped the copper handle of the door - the warmth of the mountains, woods, rivers and valleys, would discover the hidden depths of human existence, would finally understand that the unbreakable ties that bound him to the world were not imprisoning chains and condemnation but a kind of clinging to an indestructible sense that he had a home; and he would discover the enormous joys of mutuality which embraced and animated everything: rain, wind, sun and snow, the flight of a bird, the taste of fruit, the scent of grass; and he would suspect that his anxieties and bitterness were merely cumbersome ballast required by the live roots of his past and the rising airship of his certain future, and, then - he started opening the door - he would finally know that our every moment is passed in a procession across dawns and day's-ends of the orbiting earth, across successive waves of winter and summer, threading the planets and the stars. Suitcase in hand, he stepped into the room and stood there blinking in the half-light.

It would be better for you to turn around and go into the thick grasses, there where one of those strange grassy islets in the riverbed will completely cover you, it would be better if you do this for once and for all, because if you come back tomorrow, or after tomorrow, there will be no one at all to understand, no one to look, not even a single one among all your natural enemies that will be able to see who you really are; it would be better for you to go away this very evening when twilight begins to fall, it would be better for you to retreat with the others, if night begins to descend, and you should not come back if tomorrow, or after tomorrow, dawn breaks, because for you it will be much better for there to be no tomorrow and no day after tomorrow; so hide away now in the grass, sink down, fall onto your side, let your eyes slowly close, and die, for there is no point in the sublimity that you bear, die at midnight in the grass, sink down and fall, and let it be like that — breathe your last.

The unchained workers of decay were waiting in a dormant state for the necessary conditions to be established, as soon enough they would be, when they might recommence their interrupted struggle, that predetermined, merciless assault in the course of which they would dismantle whatever had been alive once and once only, reducing it into tiny insignificant pieces under the eternally silent cover of death.

Halics’s whole body felt as though it had lost definition and, as for his coat, it had lost whatever resistance to water it once had nor could it protect him from the roaring cataract of fate, or, as he tended to say, “the rain of death in the heart,” a rain that beat, day and night, against both his withered heart and defenseless organs.

But nothing could assuage the unconscious fury of our new and tragic understanding, our sense of having been cheated, our fear, for, however we looked for it, we could not find a fit object for our disgust and despair, and so we attacked everything in our way with an equal and infinite passion…

"Everything's in ruins, everything's been degraded, but I could say that they've ruined and degraded everything, because this is not some kind of cataclysm coming about with so-called "innocent" human aid, on the contrary, it's about man's own judgment over his own self, which of course god has a big hand in, or, dare I say, takes part in, and whatever he takes part in is the most ghastly creation that you can imagine, because, you see, the world has been debased, so it doesn't matter what I say because everything has been debased that they've acquired and since they've acquired everything in a sneaky, underhanded fight, they've debased everything, because whatever they touch, and they touch everything, they've debased; this is the way it was until the final victory, until the triumphant end; acquire, debase, debase, acquire; or I can put it differently if you'd like, to touch, debase and thereby acquire, or touch, acquire and thereby debase; it's been going on like this for centuries, on, on and on; this and only this, sometimes on the sly, sometimes rudely, sometimes gently, sometimes brutally, but it has been going on and on; yet only in one way; like a rat attacks from ambush; because for this perfect victory it was also essential that the other side, that is, everything's that's excellent, great in some way and noble, should not engage in any kind of fight, there shouldn't be any kind of struggle, just the sudden disappearance of one side meaning the disappearing of the excellent, the great, the noble, so that by now the winners who have won by attacking from ambush rule the earth and there isn't a single tiny nook where one can hide something from them because everything they can lay their hands on is theirs, even things that they can't reach but they do reach are also theirs; the heavens are already theirs and theirs are all our dreams; theirs is the moment, nature, infinite silence; even immortality is theirs, you understand?; everything, everything is lost

By now the window of the bar is visible, glowing ahead of them, but there is no sound, not a single word to be heard, as if the place were deserted, not a soul … but now, someone is playing the harmonica … Irimias scrapes the mud off his lead-heavy shoes, clears his throat, cautiously opens the door, and the rain begins again, while to the east, swift as memory, the sky brightens, scarlet and pale blue and leans against the undulating horizon, to be followed by the sun, like a beggar daily panting up to this spot on the temple steps, full of heartbreak and misery, ready to establish the world of shadows, to separate the trees from one another, to raise, out of the freezing, confusing homogeneity of night in which they seem to have been trapped like flies in a web, a clearly defined earth and sky with distinct animals and men, the darkness still in flight at the edge of things, somewhere on the far side on the western horizon, where its countless terrors vanish one by one like a desperate, confused, defeated army.

Orele treceau greu, noroc ca era de mult stricat ceasul, nu se auzea ticaitul monoton care sa le aminteasca de trecerea anevoioasa a timpului.