Quotes from Meša Selimovi?

Sincerity is the certitude that we speak the truth (and who can be certain of that?), but there are many kinds of honesty, and they do not always agree with one another.

Friendship is not chosen, he said, it happens, who knows why, like love. And I haven't bestowed anything on you, but on myself; I respect men who remain magnanimous even in their misfortune.

It became clear to me how men die. I saw that it is not so hard. Or easy. It is nothing. One just starts living less and less, being less and less, thinking, feeling and knowing less and less. The rich flow of life dries up, and only a thin thread of uncertain consciousness remains, more and more meager, more and more insignificant. And then nothing happens, there is not anything, there is nothing. And nothing matters—it is all the same.

Do you know what I was thinking while you spoke? That some people can say whatever they want, and whether you agree or not, it doesn't upset you. Others throw themselves into a single word, and suddenly everything glows red-hot and no one can keep calm. We sense that something important is happening. That's no longer conversation.

Do kraja života upoznava?u ljude, a nikad ih upoznati ne?u, uvijek ?e me zbunjivati neobjasnjivoš?u postupka.

Iz njega je izlazilo znanje kao rijeka, kao potop, zatrpavala su te imena, zbivanja, strah te hvatao od gužve što je u tom ?ovjeku živjela kao da sad postoji, kao da to nisu aveti i sjenke ve? živi ljudi koji neprestano djeluju, u nekoj strašnoj vje?nosti postojanja.

Šta bi prvo savjetovao ?ovjeku kome želiš dobro? - Da se svojim mišljenjem ne izdvaja me?u ljudima s kojima živi. (...) Drugi moj savjet ?ovjeku kome želim dobro bio bi: ne govori uvijek ono što misliš.

Niko nikome ne može natovariti toliko muke na vrat koliko ?ovjek sam sebi.

noc donosi ono sto hoce, i covjek ne moze nista da izmjeni. Moze samo da se osveti, i to je ljudsko, ako moze. Nije uvijek pametno, nije nikad pametno, ali i to biva.

Uko?ila mi se ruka kojom držim pero, svije?a tiho kašljuca i prska sitnim varnicama brane?i se od smrti, a ja gledam u duge redove slova, u nišane misli, i ne znam jesam li ih ubio ili oživio.

He examined everything freely, I hesitated in front of many things. He destroyed but did not build, saying what was not, but not what was. And denial is convincing; it sets neither boundaries nor goals for itself. It strives toward nothing; it defends nothing. It is harder to defend something than to attack it, because everything that is made reality constantly wears down, constantly deviates from the initial idea.

Bismilahir-rehmanir-rahim I call to witness the ink, the quill, and the script, which flows from the quill; I call to witness the faltering shadows of the sinking evening, the night and all she enlivens; I call to witness the moon when she waxes, and the sunrise when it dawns. I call to witness the Resurrection Day and the soul that accuses itself; I call to witness time, the beginning and end of all things - to witness that every man always suffers loss.

Maloprije sam bio siguran da sam joj potreban i da ?e to re?i ne štede?i ponos. Mislio sam da sam nadmo?niji. A sad sam želio da ?ujem bilo šta o sebi, lijepo ili ružno, povoljno ili nepovoljno, ali sam to želio s bijesom, gotovo s mržnjom, osje?aju?i da mi se izmakla, da nisam za nju neophodnost.

But there could be no new beginning, nor would one be important. We are not aware when new beginnings arrive; we only discover them later when they have already engulfed us, when everything merely continues. Then we believe that everything could have been different, but it could not have, and so we rush into springtime, so as not to think about nonexistent beginnings or unpleasant continuations.

Sve ce proci. Ali, kakva je to utjeha? Proci ce i radost, proci ce i ljubav, proci ce i zivot. Zar je nada u tome da sve prodje?

The earth is uninhabitable, like the moon, and we only delude ourselves thinking that it's our true home, since we have no other place to go. The earth is good for those who are irrational or invulnerable.

Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is he only thing in this world that does not hurt.

I was mistaken. Not because he would have hidden anything from me, but because he was a deep and shadowy well, whose bottom could not be seen easily. And not because he in particular was like that, but because people are like that in general, unfathomable as soon as we get to know them better.

It was autumn, the time for traveling, he had gotten used to it, as storks do. The swallows had already flown south; soon wild geese would begin honking high above, flying their courses, and he would look into the sky at their formations and imagine the strange pleasures of his wanderings. He was kept from one love by another.

I love words; it doesn't matter which, it doesn't matter about what. (I am writing down, at random, things that he said one night, while the kasaba slept in the darkness.) Conversation is a link between people, maybe the only one. That's what an old soldier taught me, we were captured together, thrown into a prison together, chained together and bound to the same iron ring on the wall.

Led je pucao i kršio se u meni, ostaju?i zgomilan. Sam sebi sam najve?a prepreka, izgleda: htio sam da pišem o drugima, a mislio sam o sebi neriješenom.

Za svakoga imamo razumijevanja osim za svoje najbliže, smatramo da nam njihova vjernost prirodno pripada, kao vlastita koža.

i ljeto se ohladilo, a mi smo se krili mrakom, ne žele?i da iko sazna koliko smo postali potrebni jedno drugome. A svi su znali. Sve više sam s njom, i kad sam sam.

Moja molitva i moja pokora, moj život i moja smrt, sve to pripada Bogu, stvoritelju svijeta. Ali moja žalost pripada meni.