The Loser
Thomas BernhardEn Beğenilen The Loser Gönderileri
En Beğenilen The Loser kitaplarını, en beğenilen The Loser sözleri ve alıntılarını, en beğenilen The Loser yazarlarını, en beğenilen The Loser yorumları ve incelemelerini 1000Kitap'ta bulabilirsiniz.
because we are wretched, vile creatures.
every person is a unique and autonomous person and actually, considered independently, the greatest artwork of all time.
but of course, the world consists only of absurd ideas.
he could never come to terms with being born into a world that repulsed him in every detail from the very beginning.
to exist means nothing other than we despair.
all my tendencies are deadly ones, he once said to me, everything in me has a deadly tendency to it, it's in my genes, as Wertheimer said, I thought. He always read books obsessed with suicide, disease, and death, I thought while standing in the inn, books that described human misery, the hopeless, meaningless, senseless world in which everything is always devastating and deadly. That's why he especially loved Dostoevsky and all his disciples, russian literature in general because it is deadly literature, but also the depressing french philosophers.
from early childhood, he had experienced the wish to die, to commit suicide, as they say, but never was concentrated. He could never come to terms with being born into a world that repulsed him in every detail from the very beginning. He grew older and thought that his wish to die would suddenly no longer be there, but this wish grew more intense from year to year, without ever becoming intense and concentrated. My constant curiosity got in the way of my suicide, so he said, I thought. We never forgive our fathers for having sired us, nor our mothers for having brought us into the world, he said, nor our sisters for continuing to be witnesses to our unhappiness. To exist means nothing other than despair, he said. When I go to bed I have no otherwise than to die, never to wake up, but then I wake up again and the awful process repeats itself, finally repeats itself for fifty years, he said. To think that for fifty years we don't wish for anything other than to be dead and are still alive and can't change it because we are thoroughly inconsistent, so he said. Because we are wretched, vile creatures. No musical ability! he cried out, no life ability!
we never forgive our fathers for having sired us, nor our mothers for having brought us into the world, he said, nor our sisters for continuing to be witnesses to our unhappiness.
New York is the only city in the world where a thinking person can breathe freely the minute he sets foot in it.
Sayfa 17Kitabı okudu