Инспирирана од темата за тоа кој што моментално чита морав да ја отворам темава. Не знам како е кај вас,но јас стандард имам навика читајќи книга без разлика од кој жанр да ја преобликувам во боенка. Подвлекувам со маркери,фломастери она што ми оставило голем впечаток. Кратки мисли,реченици,длабоки делчиња кој некако ми оставиле големо значење.И кога и да ја прелистам пак книгата,ми паѓаат во очи оние обоени делови. Темава ја отварам со цел да споделиме некој ваши омилени делови,цитати и исечоци. Некоја реченица можеби кај некој може да предизвика поттик за читање на област која не му делувала никогаш интересена или пак воопшто потик кон читањето.Можеби сега е шансата. Јас ќе започнам со книга што ја читам периодов. ,,Тоа што на умот му изгледа како срамота,за срцето е само убавина” ,,Само тебе,и уште една ,,подла” во која се вљубив,па тука и пропаднав.Но да се вљубиш не значи да сакаш.Човек може да се вљуби и мразејќи.” ,,Кој стапнал на најниското скалило,бездруго ќе се искачи и на највисокото” -Браќата Карамазови Фјодор Достојевски
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.— William Shakespeare, Macbeth
"I felt dull and empty with no appetite for further anger. Yet, despite this emotional blackness, from time to time a sob or cry would escape my lips - a little sound of desolation." - "Piranesi", Suzanne Clarke.
"Stoner" - John Williams: "The past gathered out of the darkness where it stayed, and the dead raised themselves to live before him; and the past and the dead flowed into the present among the alive, so that he had for an intense instant a vision of denseness into which he was compacted and from which he could not escape, and had no wish to escape." "Sometimes, immersed in his books, there would come to him the awareness of all that he did not know, of all that he had not read: and the serenity for which he labored was shattered as he realized the little time he had in life to read so much, to learn what he had to know." "So it was himself that he was attempting to define as he worked on his study. As he sanded the old boards for his bookcases, and saw the surface roughnesses disappear, the gray weathering flake away to the essential wood and finally to a rich purity of grain and texture - as he repaired his furniture and arranged it in the room, it was himself that he was slowly shaping, it was himself that he was putting into a kind of order, it was himself that he was making possible." "Their lives had been expended in cheerless labor, their will broken, their intelligences numbed. Now they were in th earth to which they had given their lives; and slowly, year by year, the earth would take them. Slowly the damp and rot would infest the pine boxes which held their bodies, and slowly it would touch their flesh, and finally it would consume the last vestiges of their substances. And they would become a meaningless part of that stubborn earth to which they had long ago given themselves." "For an instant he felt himself go out of the body that set motionless before the window; and as he felt himself slip away, everything - the flat whiteness, the trees, the tall columns, the night, the far stars - seemed incredibly tiny and far away, as if they were dwindling to a nothingness." (омилен) "During that year, and especially in the winter months, he found himself returning more and more frequently to such a state of unreality; at will, he seemed able to remove his consciousness from the body that contained it, and he observed himself as if he were an oddly familiar stranger doing the oddly familiar things that he had to do. It was a dissociation that he had never felt before; he knew that he ought to be troubled by it, but he was numb, and he could not see nothing before him that he wished to enjoy and little behind him he cared to remember." "And the sense of his loss, that he had for so long dammed within him, flooded out, engulfed him, and he let himself be carried outward, beyond the control of his will; he did not wish to save himself."
"Madonna in a Fur Coat" - Sabahattin Ali: "When misfortune visits those who once walked alongside us, we do tend to feel relief, almost as if we believe we have ourselves been spared, and as we come to convince ourselves that they are suffering in our stead, we feel for these wretched creatures. We feel merciful." "...too timid ever to dare to explore his soul, let alone express it." "But she did so simply to give the genuine person inside her a chance to breathe now and then. Her false self, patiently nurtured over many years, was strong enough to keep her true identity suppressed." "Ever since boyhood, I'd feared wasting any happiness that came my way; I'd always wanted to save some of it later. This had caused me to miss many opportunities. Even so, I'd always been reluctant to wish for more, lest I frighten away my good fortune." "For the first time since childhood, I drifted off to sleep without meditating on the meaningless of existence and despairing of the day just passed, which had been no more than a repetition of the one before, and had led nowhere." "But most would come into this world and leave it without even knowing what they had missed. A soul only came forward when it found its twin, when it felt no need to rely on mere words to explain itself... It was only then that we truly began to live - live with our soul." "I had so much to say to her... enough to fill a lifetime. All my life, I'd been silent. Whenever I'd been tempted to speak, I'd quickly changed my mind. 'Why bother?' I'd say to myself. 'What difference will it make if you speak?'" "This was how life should be lived: attuned to nature, its every flutter and sway, while time moves inexorably forward. Rejoicing in every moment, finding a lifetime in each and every one, in the knowledge that these moments were revealing themselves to me as to no other. Never forgetting that there existed another with whom I could share all my thoughts." "And how I savoured that silence, even as i ate myself up, racking my brain for something to say. But my beautiful thoughts had deserted me. The more I searched for them, the more my mind emptied out, until it was nothing more than a throbbing, piteous piece of meat." "What right did she have to treat me like that? I could have carried on as I was, shunning human company and leading a mediocre existence, but at no point having to face how very empty my life was: I'd have dragged on through life, convinced that my strange temperament allowed me no more, and never would I have known what it meant to lead a happy life." "That night I came to understand how it was possible to be more attached to another person that to life itself. And that night I also came to understand how hollow life would be without her. As hollow as a walnut shell, tossed by the winds." "No desires plagued me. I thought of neither the future nor the past; I lived only in the present. My soul was like a glassy, windless sea." "The logic in out minds had always been at odds with the logic of life itself. A woman is gazing out of a train window when a fleck of coal dust lands in her eyes; without giving the matter a moment's thought, she rubs it in. A gesture as slight as this can end in a beautiful eye losing its power to see. Or a brick comes loose in the wind and crashes down on the head of an illustrious man. And that good would it do, to ask which is more important - an eye or a fleck of coal, a brick or a brain? We have no choice but to accept such accidents for what they are, along with all the others that life thrusts upon us." "The more I grew in my own eyes, the smaller I was in his."
"Small Things Like These" - Claire Keegan: "Before long, he caught a hold of himself and concluded that nothing ever did happen again; to each was given days and chances which wouldn't come back around. And wasn't it sweet to be where you were and let it remind you of the past for once, despite the upset, instead of always looking on into the mechanics of the days and the trouble ahead, which might never come."
"Beartown" - Fredrick Backman: "career woman." Peter's friends call her that, some in admiration and some with distaste, but no one calls Peter a "career man." It strikes a nerve because Kira recognizes the insinuation: you have a "job" so you can provide for your family whereas a "career is selfish. You have one of those for vour own sake." "One of the plainest truths about both towns and individuals is that they usually don't turn into what we tell them to be, but what they are told they are. The teacher has always been told she's too young for this. Too attractive. That they won't respect her. Those boys have been told that they're bears, winners, immortal. Hockey wants them that way. Needs them that way. Their coach teaches them to go hard into close combat on the ice. No one stops to think about how to switch that attitude off when they leave the locker room. It's easier to pin the blame on her: She's too young. Too attractive. Too easily offended. Too difficult to respect." "The only thing the sport gives us are moments. But what the hell is life. Peter, apart from moments?" "Being a parent makes you feel like a blanket that's always too small. No matter how hard you try to cover everyone, there's always someone who's freezing." "Anxiety can act as internal gravity, shrinking the soul." "parents always think their own expertise increases automatically as their child gets better at something." "She was frightened she would forget him if she went out into the world, that she might go to the supermarket and come home to find that his laughter was no longer there. Then suddenly one morning, eleven years had passed and everyone but her boys thinks she's lost her mind now. She became a time traveller trapped inside her own machine. People sometimes say that sorrow is mental but longing is physical. One is a wound, the other an amputated limb, a withered petal compared to a snapped stem. Anything that grows closely enough to what it loves will eventuallv share the same roots. We Can talk about loss, we treat it and give it time, but can biology still forces us to live according to certain rules: plants that are split down the middle don't heal, they die." "While he was growing up everyone kept telling him he was going to turn professional, and he believed them so intensely that when he didn't make it, he took it to mean that everyone else had let him down, as if somehow it wasn't his own fault. He wakes up in the mornings with the feeling that someone has stolen a better life from him, an unbearable phantom pain between what he should have been and what he actually became. Bitterness can be corrosive; it can rewrite your memories as if it were scrubbing a crime scene clean, until in the end you only remember what suits you of its causes." "She will remember the way he touched her body as if it didn't belong to her. As if it were a thing he had earned, as if her head and the rest were two separate objects, independent of each other. No one will ask her about that. They'll just ask how much resistance she put up. If she was "clear" enough." "For the perpetrator, rape lasts just a matter of minutes. For the victim, it never stops." "Socia relationships, trying to make friends, be accepted, always starving and sandpapering herself smaller--it makes her feel claustrophobic." "Ignore everything else, just concentrate on the things you can change." "No one talks about "the rape," they all talk about "the allegation." Or "the lie." It starts with "nothing happened," moves on to "and if anything did happen, it was voluntary,' escalates to "and if it wasn't voluntary, she only has herself to blame; what did she think was going to happen if she got drunk and went into his room with him?" It starts with "she wanted it" and ends with "she deserved it."
