Nel fisico era cresciuto, dimagrito, le tempie ormai cominciavano a ingrigirsi, ma per il bambino di allora, o per l’uomo di oggi, tutte le cose che … - László Krasznahorkai

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Nel fisico era cresciuto, dimagrito, le tempie ormai cominciavano a ingrigirsi, ma per il bambino di allora, o per l’uomo di oggi, tutte le cose che servono su questa terra non significavano nulla, così come non aveva ancora imparato a conciliare il corso immutabile dell’universo di cui lui stesso era parte (una parte molto effimera) con la nozione filosofica del tempo che passa: in pratica non sapeva bene cosa fosse il futuro. Assisteva agli eventi umani che scorrevano lenti intorno a lui senza mostrare passioni o coinvolgimento personale, le sue effettive difficoltà intellettive erano sempre venate da una malinconica tristezza, perché nonostante gli sforzi, non riusciva a capire, e di conseguenza a vivere, come i cari amici che conosceva: il suo cervello, preda di un meravigliato stupore, era scollegato dalle normali faccende terrene (con terribile vergogna della madre, e massimo divertimento della gente locale), sembrava vivere nell’invulnerabilità di un istante eterno, come in una bolla di sapone che non sarebbe mai scoppiata.

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About László Krasznahorkai

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.

Biography information from Wikipedia

Also Known As

Native Name: Krasznahorkai László
Alternative Names: Laszlo Krasznahorkai
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The only streetlights burning were those at the top of the stairs and the light they gave fell in dingy cones that shuddered in the intermittent gusts of winds assailing them because the other neon lights positioned in the thirty or so meters between them had all been broken, leaving them squatting in darkness, yet as aware of each other, of their precise positions, as of the enormous mass of dark sky above the smashed neon, the sky which might have glimpsed the reflection of its own enormous dark mass as it trembled with stars in the vista of railway yards spreading below it, had there been some relationship between the trembling stars and the twinkling dull red lights of semaphores sprinkled among the rails, but there wasn't, there was no common denominator, no interdependence between them, the only order and relationship existing within the discrete worlds of above and below, and indeed of anywhere, for the field of stars and the forest of signals stared as blankly at each other as does each and every form of being, blind in darkness and blind in radiance, as blind on earth as it is in heaven, if only so that a long moribund symmetry among this vastness might appear in the lost glance of some higher being, at the center of which, naturally, there would be a minuscule blind spot: as with Korin . . . the footbridge . . . the seven kids.

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Se gandi iar la cotet si la porci, intrucat simti ca la fel cum cei care nu banuiesc ca din providenta ce pluteste deasupra zilelor noastre o sa ramana doar lumina de pe cutitul cu care se injunghie porcul, tot asa nici noi nu banuim nimic, si nici n-o sa aflam vreodata ceva despre acest infricosator adio.

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