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Ha?t has been compacting trash for thirty-five years. Every evening, he rescues books from the jaws of his hydraulic press, carries them home, and fills his house with them. Ha?t may be an idiot, as his boss calls him, but he is an idiot with a difference-the ability to quote the Talmud, Hegel, and Lao-Tzu.… (més)
La història d'un treballador de feina rutinària i les seves divagacions amb els seus companys de feina: els llibres, la cervesa, la brutícia i els ratolins....aquí una que descobreix de Kant: "Quan la lluentor tremolosa d'una nit d'estiu és plena d'estels, titil.liants i la lluna es troba en el seu apogeu, em submergeixo en un estat d'alta sensibilitat, amarada de tendresa amistosa i de menyspreu envers el món i l'eternitat." ( )
Informació del coneixement compartit en anglès.Modifica-la per localitzar-la a la teva llengua.
Only the sun has a right to its spots. - Goethe
Dedicatòria
Primeres paraules
Informació del coneixement compartit en anglès.Modifica-la per localitzar-la a la teva llengua.
For thirty-five years now I've been in wastepaper, and it's my love story.
Citacions
Informació del coneixement compartit en anglès.Modifica-la per localitzar-la a la teva llengua.
How much more beautiful it must have been in the days when the only place a thought could make its mark was the human brain and anybody wanting to squelch ideas had to compact human heads, but even that wouldn't have helped, because real thoughts come from outside and travel with us like the noodle soup we take to work; in other words, inquisitors burn books in vain. If a book has anything to say, it burns with a quiet laugh, because any book worth its salt points up and out of itself. …. When my eye lands on a real book and looks past the printed word, what it sees is disembodied thoughts flying through the air, gliding on air, living off air, returning to air, because in the end everything is air, just as the host is and is not the blood of Christ.
I can be by myself because I'm never lonely, I'm simply alone, living in my heavily populated solitude, a harum-scarum of infinity and eternity, and Infinity and Eternity seem to take a liking to the likes of me.
Not until we're totally crushed do we show what we are made of.
For thirty-five years now I've been in waste paper, and it's my love story. For thirty-five years I've been compacting wastepaper and books, smearing myself with letters until I've come to look like my encyclopaedias... I am a jug filled with water both magic and plain; I only have to lean over and a stream of beautiful thoughts flows out of me.
Because when I read, I don't really read; I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or I sip it like a liqeur until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol, infusing brain and heart and coursing on through the veins to the root of each blood vessel.
from the Talmud "For we are like olives, only when we are crushed do we yield what is best in us"
I was always amazed at hegel and what he taught me, namely, that the only thing on earth worthy of fear is a situation that is petrified, congealed or dying and the only thing worthy of joy is a situation where not only the individual but also society as a whole wages a constant battle for self-justification.
He took their picture every day, posing them carefully and stepping back to frame the picture, while they flashed him the brightest of smiles, but he never had film in the camera and the Gypsy girls never saw a single shot of themselves, and still had their picture taken every day and looked forward to the results like Christians to heaven.
Perhaps he was the one who last year at the Holesovice slaughterhouse, put a knife to my neck, shoved me into a corner, took out a slip of paper, and read me a poem celebrating the beauties of the countryside at Ricany, then apologized, saying hre hadn't found any other way of getting people to listen to his verse.
Darreres paraules
Informació del coneixement compartit en anglès.Modifica-la per localitzar-la a la teva llengua.
Ha?t has been compacting trash for thirty-five years. Every evening, he rescues books from the jaws of his hydraulic press, carries them home, and fills his house with them. Ha?t may be an idiot, as his boss calls him, but he is an idiot with a difference-the ability to quote the Talmud, Hegel, and Lao-Tzu.
"Quan la lluentor tremolosa d'una nit d'estiu és plena d'estels, titil.liants i la lluna es troba en el seu apogeu, em submergeixo en un estat d'alta sensibilitat, amarada de tendresa amistosa i de menyspreu envers el món i l'eternitat." ( )