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  1. #61
    instinkt i vetembrojtjes!
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    24-05-2002
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    How was it possible that, even after two years, I had still not managed to forget her? I could not bear having to think about it anymore, analyzing all the posibilities, and trying various ways out: deciding simply to accept the situation, writing a book, practicing yaga, doing some charity work, seeing friends, seducing women, going out to supper, to the cinema ( always avoiding adaptations of books, of course, and seeking out films that had been specially written for the screen), to the theater, the ballet, to socer games. The Zahir always won, though; it was always there, making me think, "I wish she was here with me"
    Ji Vetvetja!

  2. #62
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    "Do you know what I would like to know? I'd like to know if you love me as much as I love you. But I don't have the courage to ask. Why do I have such frustrating relationships with men? I always feel like I have to be in a relationship and that means I have to be this fantastic, intelligent, sensitive, exeptional person. The effort of seduction forces me to give of my best and that helps me. Besides, it's really hard living on your own, and I don't know if that's the best option either."
    "So you want to know if I'm still capable of loving a woman, even thogh she left me without a word of explanation."
    "I read your book. I know you are."
    "You want to know whether, despite loving Esther, I'm still capable of loving you?"
    "I wouldn't dare ask that question because the awnser could ruin my life"
    "you want to know if the heart of a man or woman can contain enaugh love for more than one person?"
    "Since tha's a less direct question than the previous one, yes, I'd like an answer."
    " I think it's perfectly possible as long as one of those people doesn't turn into....."
    "...... a Zahir. Well, I'm going to fight for you anyway, because I think you're worth it. Any man capable of loving a woman as much as you loved-or love-Esther deserves all my respect and all my efforts. And to show that, I want to keep you by my side, to show how important you are in my life, I'm going to do as you ask, however absurd it might be: I'm going to find out why rail-way tracks are always 4 feet 8 1/2 inches apart."
    Ji Vetvetja!

  3. #63
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    "What's wrong with that?"
    "Everything. I can no longer feel the energy of love, what people call passion, flowing through my flesh and through my soul."
    "But something is left."
    "Left? Does every marriage have to end like this, with passion giving way to something people call 'a matyre relatinship'? I need you. I miss you. Sometimes I'm jealous. I like thinking about what to give you for supper, even though sometimes you don't even notice what you're eating. But there's a luck of joy."
    "But you can't be constantly covering wars."
    "Nor can I live constantly in the sort of peace that I find with you. It's destroing the one important thing I have: my relationship with you, even if the intensity of my love remains undimished."
    Ji Vetvetja!

  4. #64
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    We could spend the rest of our life saying that we love such a person or thing, when the truth is that we are merely suffering because, insted of accepting love's strength, we are trying to dimish it so that it fits the world in which we imagine we live.
    Ji Vetvetja!

  5. #65
    C O B sanguin Maska e whisper
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    14-11-2004
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    Toronto ( perkohesisht ne Tirane)
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    Citim Postuar mė parė nga Lule Portokalli
    We could spend the rest of our life saying that we love such a person or thing, when the truth is that we are merely suffering because, insted of accepting love's strength, we are trying to dimish it so that it fits the world in which we imagine we live.
    ( Korrigjim miqesor gabimesh: jo "dimish" , por "diminish" qe shqiperohet : "pakesoj, zvogeloj, bej me pak te rendesishme..." )

    Nuk do te jepja kete kontribut minimal shqiperues, por pikerisht kjo fjale eshte fjala me e rendesishme e ketij citimi , ndoshta me kuptimplotit nga te gjithe citimet e Zahirit qe ke sjelle ketu...
    ......dhe Udhe e Qumeshtit ne qiell
    drejt gjinjve te tu me ndjell...

  6. #66
    Unquestionable! Maska e Cupke_pe_Korce
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    I have now become exclusively preoccupied with a man who, albeit only in literary form, has entered my lonely life like a gift from heaven. It is Arthur Schopenhauer, the greatest philosopher since Kant, whose ideas, as he himself puts it, he is the first person to think through to their logical conclusion. The German professors have, very wisely, ignored him for 40 years; he was recently rediscovered, to Germany's shame, by an English critic. What charlatans all these Hegels etc. are beside him! His principal idea, the final denial of the will to live, is of terrible seriousness, but it is uniquely redeeming. Of course it did not strike me as anything new, and nobody can think such a thought if he has not already lived it. But it was this philosopher who first awakened the idea in me with such clarity.

    When I think back on the storms that have buffeted my heart and on its convulsive efforts to cling to some hope in life, against my own better judgement, indeed, now that these storms have swelled so often to the fury of a tempest, I have yet found a sedative which has finally helped me to sleep at night: it is the sincere and heartfelt yearning for death: total unconsciousness, complete annihilation, the end of all dreams -- the only ultimate redemption!

    (Letter of Wagner to Liszt. 1854)
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Cupke_pe_Korce : 18-12-2005 mė 14:13
    Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

  7. #67
    i/e regjistruar
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    Of what is significant in one's own existence one is hardly aware, and it certainly should not bother the other fellow. What does a fish know about the water in which it swims all of his life?
    The bitter and the sweet come from the outside, the hard from within, from one's own efforts. For the most part I do the thing which my own nature drives me to do. It is embarrassing to earn so much respect and love for it. Arrows of hate have been shot at me too; but they never hit me, because somehow they belonged to another world, with which I have no connection whatsoever.

    I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.

    "Out of my later years" - Albert Einstein

  8. #68
    . Maska e nausika
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    ..."I work for a publishing company. We deal with both lunatics and nonlunatics. After a while an editor can pick out the lunatics right away. If somebody brings up the Templars, he's almost always a lunatic."

    "Don't I know! Their name is legion. But not all lunatics talk about the Templars. How do you identify the others?"

    "I'll explain. By the way, what's your name?"

    "Casaubon."

    "Casaubon. Wasn't he a character in Middlemarch?"

    "I don't know. There was also a Renaissance philologist by that name, but we're not related."

    "The next round's on me. Two more, Pilade. All right, then. There are four kinds of people in this world: cretins, fools, morons, and lunatics."

    "And that covers everybody?"

    "Oh, yes, including us. Or at least me. If you take a good look, everybody fits into one of these categories. Each of us is sometimes a cretin, a fool, a moron, or a lunatic. A normal person is just a reasonable mix of these components, these four ideal types."

    "Idealtypen."

    "Very good. You know German?"

    "Enough for bibliographies."

    "When I was in school, if you knew German, you never graduated. You just spent your life knowing German. Nowadays I think that happens with Chinese."

    "My German's poor, so I'll graduate. But let's get back to your typology. What about geniuses? Einstein, for example?"

    "A genius uses one component in a dazzling way, fueling it with the others." He took a sip of his drink. "Hi there, beautiful," he said. "Made that suicide attempt yet?"

    "No," the girl answered as she walked by. "I'm in a collective now."

    "Good for you," Belbo said. He turned back to me. "Of course, there's no reason one can't have collective suicides, too."

    "Getting back to the lunatics."

    "Look, don't take me too literally. I'm not trying to put the universe in order. I 'm just saying what a lunatic is from the point of view of a publishing house. Mine is an ad-hoc definition."

    "All right. My round."

    "All right. Less ice, Pilade. Otherwise it gets into the bloodstream too fast. Now then: cretins. Cretins don't even talk; they sort of slobber and stumble. You know, the guy who presses the ice cream cone against his forehead, or enters a revolving door the wrong way."

    "That's not possible."

    "It is for a cretin. Cretins are of no interest to us: they never come to publishers' offices. So let's forget about them."

    "Let's."

    "Being a fool is more complicated. It's a form of social behavior. A fool is one who always talks outside his glass."

    "What do you mean?"

    "Like this." He pointed at the counter near his glass. "He wants to talk about what's in the glass, but somehow or other he misses. He's the guy who puts his foot in his mouth. For example, he says how's your lovely wife to someone whose wife has just left him."

    "Yes, I know a few of those."

    "Fools are in great demand, especially on social occasions. They embarrass everyone but provide material for conversation. In their positive form, they become diplomats. Talking outside the glass when someone else blunders helps to change the subject. But fools don't interest us, either. They're never creative, their talent is all second-hand, so they don't submit manuscripts to publishers. Fools don't claim that cats bark, but they talk about cats when everyone else is talking about dogs. They offend all the rules of conversation, and when they really offend, they're magnificent. It's a dying breed, the embodiment of all the bourgeois virtues. What they really need is a Verdurin salon or even a chez Guermantes. Do you students still read such things?"

    "I do."

    "Well, a fool is a Joachim Murat reviewing his officers. He sees one from Martinique covered with medals. 'Vous etes negre?' Murat asks. 'Oui, mon general!' the man answers. And Murat says: 'Bravo, bravo, continuez!' And so on. You follow me? Forgive me, but tonight I'm celebrating a historic decision in my life. I've stopped drinking. Another round? Don't answer, you'll make me feel guilty. Pilade!"

    "What about the morons?"

    "Ah. Morons never do the wrong thing. They get their reasoning wrong. Like the fellow who says all dogs are pets and all dogs bark, and cats are pets, too, and therefore cats bark. Or that all Athenians are mortal, and all the citizens of Piraeus are mortal, so all the citizens of Piraeus are Athenians."

    "Which they are."

    "Yes, but only accidentally. Morons will occasionally say something that's right, but they say it for the wrong reason."

    "You mean it's okay to say something that's wrong as long as the reason is right."

    "Of course. Why else go to the trouble of being a rational animal?"

    "All great apes evolved from lower life forms, man evolved from lower life forms, therefore man is a great ape."

    "Not bad. In such statements you suspect that something's wrong, but it takes work to show what and why. Morons are tricky. You can spot the fool right away (not to mention the cretin), but the moron reasons almost the way you do; the gap is infinitesimal. A moron is a master of paralogism. For an editor, it's bad news. It can take him an eternity to identify a moron. Plenty of morons' books are published, because they're convincing at first glance. An editor is not required to weed out the morons. If the Academy of Sciences doesn't do it, why should he?"

    "Philosophers don't either. Saint Anselm's ontological argument is moronic, for example. God must exist because I ^can conceive Him as a being perfect in all ways, including existence. The saint confuses existence in thought with existence in reality."

    "True, but Gaunilon's refutation is moronic, too. I can think of an island in the sea even if the island doesn't exist. He confuses thinking of the possible with thinking of the necessary."

    "A duel between morons."

    "Exactly. And God loves every minute of it. He chose to be unthinkable only to prove that Anselm and Gaunilon were morons. What a sublime purpose for creation, or, rather, for that act by which God willed Himself to be: to unmask cosmic mo-ronism."

    "We're surrounded by morons."

    "Everyone's a moron--save me and thee. Or, rather--I wouldn't want to offend--save thee."

    "Somehow I feel that Godel's theorem has something to do with all this."

    "I wouldn't know, I'm a cretin. Pilade!"

    "My round."

    "We'll split it. Epimenides the Cretan says all Cretans are liars. It must be true, because he's a Cretan himself and knows his countrymen well."

    "That's moronic thinking."

    "Saint Paul. Epistle to Titus. On the other hand, those who call Epimenides a liar have to think all Cretans aren't, but Cretans don't trust Cretans, therefore no Cretan calls Epimenides a liar."

    "Isn't that moronic thinking?"

    "You decide. I told you, they are hard to identify. Morons can even win the Nobel prize."

    "Hold on. Of those who don't believe God created the world in seven days, some are not fundamentalists, but of those who do believe God created the world in seven days, some are. Therefore, of those who don't believe God created the world in seven days, some are fundamentalists. How's that?"

    "My God--to use the mot juste--I wouldn't know. A moron-ism or not?"

    "It is, definitely, even if it were true. Violates one of the laws of syllogisms: universal conclusions cannot be drawn from two particulars."

    "And what if you were a moron?"

    "I'd be in excellent, venerable company."

    "You're right. And perhaps, in a logical system different from ours, our moronism is wisdom. The whole history of logic consists of attempts to define an acceptable notion of moronism. A task too immense. Every great thinker is someone else's moron."

    "Thought as the coherent expression of moronism."

    "But what is moronism to one is incoherence to another."

    "Profound. It's two o'clock, Pilade's about to close, and we still haven't got to the lunatics."

    "I'm getting there. A lunatic is easily recognized. He is a moron who doesn't know the ropes. The moron proves his thesis; he has a logic, however twisted it may be. The lunatic, on the other hand, doesn't concern himself at all with logic; he works by short circuits. For him, everything proves everything else. The lunatic is all id6e fixe, and whatever he comes across confirms his lunacy. You can tell him by the liberties he takes with common sense, by his flashes of inspiration, and by the fact that sooner or later he brings up the Templars."

    "Invariably?"

    "There are lunatics who don't bring up the Templars, but those who do are the most insidious. At first they seem normal, then all of a sudden..."He was about to order another whiskey, but changed his mind and asked for the check. "Speaking of the Templars, the other day some character left me a manuscript on the subject. A lunatic, but with a human face. The book starts reasonably enough. Would you like to see it?"

    "I'd be glad to. Maybe there's something I can use."

    "I doubt that very much. But drop in if you have a spare half hour. Number 1, Via Sincere Renato. The visit will be of more benefit to me than to you. You can tell me whether the book has any merit."

    "What makes you trust me?"

    "Who says I trust you? But if you come, I'll trust you. I trust curiosity."

    A student rushed in, face twisted in anger. "Comrades! There are fascists along the canal with chains!"

    "Let's get them," said the fellow with the Tartar mustache who had threatened me over Krupskaya. "Come on, comrades!" And they all left.

    "What do you want to do?" I asked, feeling guilty. "Should we go along?"

    "No," Belbo said. "Pilade sets these things up to clear the place out. For my first night on the wagon, I feel pretty high. Must be the cold-turkey effect. Everything I've said to you so far is false. Good night, Casaubon."

    Foucault's Pendulum-Umberto Eco

  9. #69
    . Maska e nausika
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    "What a lovely thing a rose is!….There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary

    as in religion…It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest

    assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All

    other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our

    existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an

    embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and

    so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers".

    -- Sherlock Holmes

  10. #70
    _____
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    Citim Postuar mė parė nga [xeni]
    Of what is significant in one's own existence one is hardly aware, and it certainly should not bother the other fellow. What does a fish know about the water in which it swims all of his life?
    The bitter and the sweet come from the outside, the hard from within, from one's own efforts. For the most part I do the thing which my own nature drives me to do. It is embarrassing to earn so much respect and love for it. Arrows of hate have been shot at me too; but they never hit me, because somehow they belonged to another world, with which I have no connection whatsoever.

    I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.

    "Out of my later years" - Albert Einstein
    Beautiful!
    Xeni c'fare permbledhje ka ky liber?

  11. #71
    Administratore Maska e Fiori
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    27-03-2002
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    The Successor - Ismail Kadare


    The young man bit his lip. She had tried to minimize the effect of her words by adding, in a joking tone, "Are we really so terrifying, my father and I?...."
    The despair that was written on the boy's face seemed irremediable. She had taken his hand, bent to kiss it, placed it on her breast, then between her legs. Abandoning all modesty made things easier for her. "Don't look away," she said sweetly.

    ....

    "Nothing wrong...I just wanted to say that from now on we should be prepared."
    "Prepared for what?"
    "Don't you remember Aunt Memė's final piece of advice?-'Be prepared, know your words."
    "Know what we will say.. You mean, about the night of December 13? But we've already told them everything we know!"
    "The old woman wasn't reffering to the investigators."
    "What did she mean, then?"
    "SHe meant Papa. Know what your are going to say to him when he appears before you. That's what she was talking about."
    "Are you trying to scare the living daylighs out of me?" Suzana complained.
    "There's no reason for you to be afraid. The old woman's mind works the same way as people's did two thousand years ago. For the ancients, encounters with the dead were unavoidable. It didn't matter so much where the encounter took place -- it could be in a dream, in the hereafter, or in our own conscience..."

    ....

    Then, looking like death warmed over, he explained, as if he was talking to himself, why even if the opportunity arose he would not avenge his father's spilled blood. As he'd already told her on a previous occasion, his father's blood was different from blood that had been spilled, it flowed in a different direction, belonged to a different group. Just as their mother's breasts were different. His father, his mother, his blood, her milk, were ruled by different laws.

    ....

    That's how the whole business they did not want to recall must have started. After seizing power, and after they had spawned their own offspring, they turned the other way.
    He laughed a bitter laugh.
    "They brought us into the world, but you have to realize that that gives us only provisional status. When the hour of duty sounds, they won't hesitate to trample us into the groud if the Party requires it.

  12. #72
    echo Maska e Dara
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    :)

    -"Take freely , Gregori. My life for your life. I am here for you, Gregori. I offer what you need freely"
    -"Savannah"!
    -"Feel me, my body joining with yours. I belong to you and you to me. Feel me with you. Reach for me. I will not let you go. Whereever you are, I am with you. Where yu go, I will follow. I offer my life freely to yours. You can not take what is given to yuo. You have commited no wrong in taking. There is only us. There is no me , no you. I will not leave, nor I will let the darkness to take you away from me. I claim you as my lifemate"


    Feehan, Christine, Dark Magic, July 2000, page 66.

    Librat e shkurara nga kjo shkrimatre jane ne seri. Personazhet kryesore jane Carpathians(Dark Hunters) dhe Vampire(te cilet jane Carpathians te shnderruar duke e lejuar erresiren ti zabtoje pasi nuk kane gjetur *Njeriun e jetes*)

  13. #73
    i/e regjistruar
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    Citim Postuar mė parė nga s0ni
    Beautiful!
    Xeni c'fare permbledhje ka ky liber?
    Ne ate liber perfshihen "essay" ne lidhje me shkencen dhe jeten, personalitete te shquara, besimet dhe bindjet e ndryshme (dhe mendimet e Ajnshtajnit per to). Flitet per hebrenjte, gjithashtu, dhe per probleme te tjera, qe s'i mbaj mend t'i them te gjitha. Po ia vlen te lexohet, si çdo liber i Ajnshtajnit qe s'ka te beje thjeshte me fiziken. :)

  14. #74
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    Me hape pune sot, vij ne librari per te mesuar dhe ngela me shume se dy ore duke lexuar Einstein lol...Libri qe permende ti ishte si roman i gjate dhe i rash shkurt me nje tjeter "The expanded quotable Einstein", theniet e Einstein per jeten e tij, njerezimin, politike, dhe sic the vete per probleme te tjera.
    Flm se me shtyre te lexoj, s'besoj do te kapja me dore ndonje liber per te.


    Po ju sjell citim te Einstein nga libri qe lexova.....se dija qe ishte filozof :)

    How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people.

    Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the labors of my fellow men, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received.

    A human being is part of the whole called by us universe , a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty .. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if mankind is to survive.

  15. #75
    Administratore Maska e Fiori
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    Memories Of My Melancholy Whores - Gabriel García Márquez

    The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin.

    ...

    The only unusual relationship was the one I maintained for years with the faithful Damiana. She was almost a girl, Indianlike, strong, rustic, her words few and brusque, who went barefoot so as not to disturb me while I was writing. I remember I was reading La lozana andaluza - The Haughty Andalusian Girl - in the hammock in the hallway, when I happened to see her bending over in the laundry room wearing a skirt so short it bared her succulent curves.

    ....

    I ask myself how I could give in to this perpetual vertigo that I in fact provoked and feared. I floated among erratic clouds and talked to myself in front of the mirror in the vain hope of confirming who I was. My delirium was so great that during a student demonstration complete with rocks and bottles, I had to make an enormous effort not to lead it as I held up a sign that would sanctify my truth: I am mad with love.

  16. #76
    echo Maska e Dara
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    " To be bred in a place of estimation;
    to see nothing low and sordid from one's infancy;
    to be tought to respect one's self;
    to be habituated to the sensorial inspection of the public eye;
    to llok early to public opinion;
    to stand upon such elevated ground as to be enable to take large views of the widespread and infinity diversified;
    to have leisure to read, to reflect, to converse, to be enable to draw the court nad attention of the wise and learned, wherever they are to be found;
    to be habituated in armies to comman and to obey;
    to be tought to despise danger in the pursuit of honor and duty;
    to be formed to the greatest degree of vigilance, foresight, and circumspection, in a state of things in which no fault is commited with impunity and the slightest mistakes draw on the most ruinous consenquences;
    to be led to a guarded and regulated conduct, from a sense that you are considered as an instructor of your fellow citizens in their highest concerns, and that you act as a reconcilier between God and Man;
    to be employed as an administrator of law and justice, and to be thereby among the first benefactors to mankind;
    to be professor of high science, or of liberal an ingenuous art;
    to be amongst rich traders, who from their success are presumed to ahve sharp and vigorous understandings, and to possess the virtues of diligence, order, constancy, and regularity, and to have cultivated an habitual regard to commutative justice: The are the circumastances of men that form I should call a natural aristrocracy, without which there is no nation."

    Edmund Burke, An Appeal From the New to the Old Whigs

    The rise of the educated class

  17. #77
    . Maska e nausika
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    Kodi PHP:
    A man who sets out to make himself up is taking on the Creator’s roleaccording
    to one way of seeing things
    he’s unnaturala blasphemeran
    abomination of abominations
    From another angleyou could see pathos
    in him
    heroism in his strugglein his willingness to risknot all mutants
    survive
    . Or, consider him sociopoliticallymost migrants learn, and can
    become disguises
    Our false descriptions to counter the falsehoods invented
    about us
    concealing for reasons of security our secret selves
    The Satanic Verses-Salman Rushdie
    When in Doubt, Act Stupid!

  18. #78
    Unquestionable! Maska e Cupke_pe_Korce
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    And what then? For she felt that he was still looking at her, but that his look had changed. He wanted something—wanted the thing she always found it so difficult to give him; wanted her to tell him that she loved him. And that, no, she could not do. He found talking so much easier than she did. He could say things—she never could. So naturally it was always he that said the things, and then for some reason he would mind this suddenly, and would reproach her. A heartless woman he called her; she never told him that she loved him. But it was not so—it was not so. It was only that she never could say what she felt. Was there no crumb on his coat? Nothing she could do for him? Getting up, she stood at the window with the reddish-brown stocking in her hands, partly to turn away from him, partly because she remembered how beautiful it often is—the sea at night. But she knew that he had turned his head as she turned; he was watching her. She knew that he was thinking, You are more beautiful than ever. And she felt herself very beautiful. Will you not tell me just for once that you love me? He was thinking that, for he was roused, what with Minta and his book, and its being the end of the day and their having quarrelled about going to the Lighthouse. But she could not do it; she could not say it. Then, knowing that he was watching her, instead of saying anything she turned, holding her stocking, and looked at him. And as she looked at him she began to smile, for though she had not said a word, he knew, of course he knew, that she loved him. He could not deny it. And smiling she looked out of the window and said (thinking to herself, Nothing on earth can equal this happiness)— “Yes, you were right. It’s going to be wet tomorrow. You won’t be able to go.” And she looked at him smiling. For she had triumphed again. She had not said it: yet he knew.
    - Virginia Woolf

    ps. I love this passage. I think I have posted a translation but I'm sure it's nowhere close to its original intensity. :)
    Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

  19. #79
    C O B sanguin Maska e whisper
    Anėtarėsuar
    14-11-2004
    Vendndodhja
    Toronto ( perkohesisht ne Tirane)
    Postime
    1,028
    Citim Postuar mė parė nga Cupke_pe_Korce
    ...And she looked at him smiling. For she had triumphed again. She had not said it: yet he knew.[/I]
    - Virginia Woolf

    Hmmm...great ! I really liked what you brought here Goricaqi...
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga whisper : 10-02-2006 mė 02:26
    ......dhe Udhe e Qumeshtit ne qiell
    drejt gjinjve te tu me ndjell...

  20. #80
    Unquestionable! Maska e Cupke_pe_Korce
    Anėtarėsuar
    24-06-2002
    Postime
    1,602

    Of course he knows :)

    One of the main reasons I am so fond of this passage is because it goes against the general belief that love dies with marriage - a belief which, I too, strongly disagree with. Who said women are a frail sex????

    Anyways, you won't make me eat my words if I post something else:

    "....She stopped, choking with sobs, and, overcome by emotion, flung herself face downward on the bed, sobbing in the quilt. Gabriel held her hand for a moment longer, irresolutely, and then, shy of intruding on her grief, let it fall gently and walked quietly to the window.

    She was fast asleep.

    Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept, as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange, friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful, but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.

    Perhaps she had not told him all the story....

    The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

    Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

    A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."


    From "The Dead" James Joyce

    ps. I haven't been called "goricaqi" since I used to wear ponytails. It's about time to wear them again :p
    Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

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