Quotes from Paul Auster

bold person.

those nights out in the concert halls were nothing less than a revelation about the workings of his own heart, for music was the heart, he realized, the fullest expression of the human heart, and now that he had heard what he had heard, he was beginning to hear better, and the better he heard, the more deeply he felt—sometimes so deeply that his body shook.

As the book progresses, it takes on a more and more unstable character — filled with unpredictable associations and departures, marked by increasingly rapid shifts in tone — until you reach a point where you feel the whole thing being to levitate, to rise ponderously off the ground like some gigantic weather balloon. By the last chapter, you've traveled so high up into the air, you realize that you can't come down again without falling, without being crushed.

When a man feels he has come to the end of his rope, it is perfectly natural that he should want to scream.

It was a dizzying prospect—to imagine all that freedom, to understand how little it mattered what choice he made.

Amare le parole, investire una parte di sé in quello che è scritto, credere nel potere dei libri: tutto ciò sommerge il resto, e al confronto la propria vita individuale diventa insignificante.

Amy fu il premio degli Schneiderman, il regalo di Natale nascosto sotto un mucchio di carta appallottolata che non lo trovi finché la festa non è finita e gli ospiti sono andati tutti a casa.

Tus pies descalzos en el suelo frío cuando te levantas de la cama y vas a la ventana. Tienes sesenta y cuatro años. Afuera, la atmósfera es gris, casi blanca, no se ve el sol. Te preguntas: ¿Cuántas mañanas quedan? Se ha cerrado una puerta. Otra se ha abierto. Has entrado en el invierno de tu vida.

He was not trying to buy happiness, but simply an absence of unhappiness.

A book is a mysterious object," I said, "and once it floats out into the world, anything can happen. All kinds of mischief can be caused, and there's not a damned thing you can do about it. For better or for worse, it's completely out of your control.

Rather than fill me with ecstasy or gladness, this breakthrough overpowered me with dread. I didn't know myself anymore. I was inhabited by something that wasn't me, and that thing was so terrible, so alien in its newness, I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. I let the tears come pouring out of me, and once I started, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to stop

stranded in the awkward position of being against the ones who were against, which was a lonely place to be for a person who was also against the ones who were for.

Mentir es una mala cosa. Hace que lamentes haber nacido. Y no haber nacido es una maldición. Estás condenado a vivir fuera del tiempo. Y cuando vives fuera del tiempo no hay día y noche. Ni siquiera tienes la oportunidad de morirte".

And even if there was an end, it seemed doubtful that I would ever know about it — which meant that the story would go on and on, secreting its poison inside me forever.

New York was an inexhaustible space, a labyrinth of endless steps, and no matter how far he walked, no matter how well he came to know its neighbourhoods and streets, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. Lost,

The world is governed by chance. Randomness stalks us every day of our lives.

Conoce a tu enemigo y no te acerques a él

These are the last things, she wrote. One by one they disappear and never come back. I can tell you of the ones I have seen, of the ones that are no more, but I doubt there will be time. It is all happening too fast now, and I cannot keep up.

It was the best thing that could have happened to him, it was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

Come sono felice quando penso a tutti i libri che ancora non ho letto, centinaia, migliaia di libri. Quante cose belle mi aspettano!

Si mantienes los ojos abiertos, siempre estarás perdido

He read many books, he looked at paintings, he went to the movies. In the summer he watched baseball on television in the winter he went to the opera. More than anything else, however, what he liked to do was walk. Nearly every day, rain or shine, hot or cold, he would leave his apartment to walk through the city—never really going anywhere, but simply going wherever his legs happened to take him.

Si hubiera sido capaz de sonreír, habría sonreído en aquel momento

those were the subjects that Barber dealt with as a historian, and no matter how scrupulous and profession he was in treating them, there was always a personal motive behind his work, a secret conviction that he was somehow digging into the mysteries of his own life.