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" "Orele treceau greu, noroc ca era de mult stricat ceasul, nu se auzea ticaitul monoton care sa le aminteasca de trecerea anevoioasa a timpului.
László Krasznahorkai (; born 5 January 1954) is a Hungarian novelist and screenwriter known for difficult and demanding novels, often labeled postmodern, with dystopian and melancholic themes. Several of his works, including his novels Satantango (, 1985) and The Melancholy of Resistance (, 1989), have been turned into feature films by Hungarian film director Béla Tarr.
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The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, in the working of tired muscles; in the silence, in its human subjects, in the undulating surface of the metaled road; in the hair moving to a different beat than do the dissolving fibers of the body; growth and decay on their divergent paths; all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing clatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair; though behind things other things appear as if by mischief, and once beyond the power of the eye they no longer hang together. So with the door left open as if forever, with the lock that will never open.
Han arruinado la Tierra, dijo tras más o menos un minuto, al tiempo que su mirada volvía a cobrar vida, es decir, regresaba a sus ojos el color de charco espeso que los caracterizaba.
Sin embargo, daba igual lo que dijera, comentó, porque arruinaron todo cuanto consiguieron, y puesto que lo consiguieron todo en una lucha tan agotadora como abyecta, lo arruinaron también todo, porque ellos arruinaban cuanto tocaban, y no dejaron nada sin tocar: hasta la victoria total, conseguir y arruinar, arruinar y conseguir, de esta manera transcurrió la cosa hasta el final victorioso, para ellos ruidosamente victorioso, o para ser exacto: tocar y, por tanto, arruinar y, de este modo, conseguir, o tocar, conseguir y de este modo arruinar, así transcurrió la cosa durante siglos y siglos, ora de forma encubierta, ora sin tapujos ni ambages, ora de manera discreta, ora a lo bruto, pero funcionaba, funcionó durante cientos y cientos de años, siempre de la misma manera, siguiendo el ejemplo de las ratas que atacan a traición, porque, para el triunfo completo y definitivo había que lograr, lógicamente, que el rival, esto es, todo lo noble, excelso y magnífico, de entrada no presentara batalla por motivos internos, no participara en la lucha que provocaría su mera presencia empeñada en buscar un universo humano más equilibrado, para lo cual convenía que no hubiera ningún tipo de lucha, sólo la repentina desaparición de uno de los contrincantes, concretamente, la desaparición permanente de los nobles, excelsos y magníficos de cualquier lucha, de la existencia en general, es más, en el peor de los casos, no lo sabemos, dijo Korin, su aniquilación completa y definitiva, todo por un motivo secreto que salvo ellos mismos nadie comprendía, de suerte que nadie entendía por qué ocurrió, cómo pudo suceder que al día de hoy esos triunfadores que vencieron dando zarpazos a traición dominen la Tierra, que no exista un hueco para ocultar nada ante ellos, porque todo les pertenece, dijo Korin al rit
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[...] 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.