Püha Ja õudne Lõhn
Robert KurvitzPüha Ja õudne Lõhn Gönderileri
Püha Ja õudne Lõhn kitaplarını, Püha Ja õudne Lõhn sözleri ve alıntılarını, Püha Ja õudne Lõhn yazarlarını, Püha Ja õudne Lõhn yorumları ve incelemelerini 1000Kitap'ta bulabilirsiniz.
Then, as the stars curve overhead in descending devastation, many will no longer be able to take the slogan “end of the world” in all its seriousness.
Sayfa 115 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu
Volunteers were sent home and, after the search parties, so went the rest. The pine forests remained quiet in autumn, the boys lumbered through them. The bloodhounds barked no more, and no border patrol boats wandered the bay. And everywhere they went, it was as if the void itself, its spirit, had been released. Everything hung still, useless: the changing cabins, the sparse half empty beach. At the tram stop, the trams rolled empty, then half empty again, the doors slamming shut and opening. The last to go were the ill-fated divers, three weeks later. And so they saw the long surrender begin all around them. What it meant they knew very well, though they never dared to say the word to each other.
Sayfa 104 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu
Hypothermia. It smells like rotting reeds; rushes and grass lie against the ground in the breeze. He is thirty-four years old. He hits the wet sand with his heels. How and why he endured, he does not know. If his joints were cramped from the cold, why didn’t he roll himself off the board into the sea? Or when the wave crashed on itself, why didn’t he stay?
Above, in the dark sky of an autumn night, masses of clouds sink into each other. Slowly. He grabs the top of his head with both hands and squeezes. The mouth, blue with cold, opens slowly, the airways shudder, and the stomach ripples in contractions. His heels dig into the sand and his fists twitch, but nothing changes. He remembers everything. A fifty-second year stands still inside his skull, a haunting, impossible museum exhibit, a replica of a lost world. The smell is ever sweeter and always the same, an irrefutable fact whose seriousness cannot be overstated: there is no going back.
Sayfa 103 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu
Sacred and Terrible Smell
What was that sacred and terrible, elusive smell in the air this time? My name is Ambrosius Saint-Miro, the locals call me “Ambrosius Pyhä-Mirä” and in Graad they call me “Svjata-Mira”. “Diduska?” they ask, their eyes wide with affection, but I answer them: “No. I am not your diduska.” I am Ambrosius Santa-Mira from Mesque, Ambrosio Hagiamira, I
Sayfa 60 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu
Even this moment, the evening city sliding past the taxi window, where the world is going wrong and time is disjointed, is a crime. It must be rectified. Solved. No peace. No truce with the furies.
Sayfa 46 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu
Futility. Futility shapes the world. History is a story of futilities, progress is a sequence of futilities. “Development!” says the futurist. “Loss,” says the rebel. “Hangover!” shouts the moralist from the back row. “Failure,” says the angry rebel. “Time is grey,” he says. The Creator’s failure is an introduction to the era. (...) Who was supposed to know? Good people from all over the world came together. Teachers, writers, and migrant workers huddle in trenches… young soldiers desert their units. What beautiful songs they sing! Brave children are history’s favourites, so it seems to them, and they wave white flags with silver horned crowns.
And they lose.
Coups are crushed. Anarchists are piled into mass graves on the Great Blue. Communists, beaten back from the isola of Graad, retreat to Samara and become a degenerate worker’s state ruled by bureaucrats.
Sayfa 34 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu
Handshakes are exchanged, and children’s pictures in wallets are shown. There is a commissar, there is no commissar.
Sayfa 8 - Unofficial English TranslationKitabı okudu