Quotes from Marguerite Duras

Ellas esperan. Se visten para nada. Se contemplan. En la penumbra de esas quintas que se contemplan para más tarde, creen vivir una novela, ya tienen amplios roperos llenos de vestidos con los que no saben qué hacer, coleccionados con el tiempo, la larga sucesión de días de espera.

I want to belong to myself, to own something, not necessarily something very wonderful, but something which is mine, a place of my own, maybe only one room, but mine. Why sometimes I even find myself dreaming of a gas stove.

I showed him the sea. It's a great luxury, being able to see it from the balcony. When cities are bombed there are always ruins and corpses left. But you can drop an atomic bomb in the sea and ten minutes later it's back as it was before. You can't change the shape of water.

I think that if I had played piano professionally, I would never have written books.

He can only express his feelings through parody.

Sono sempre emozionanti, le somiglianze fra donne che non si assomigliano.

Some birds are shrieking at the tops of their voices, crazy birds.

Perhaps you'll escape. Day and night, this obsession. It's not that you have to achieve anything, it's that you have to get away from where you are.

One of the pleasures of loving the Chinese man is to write him down. She may be loving him to have something to write. She has a story to tell because of having loved him. I listen to war veterans say that when they were dumb kids, they went to the Vietnam War (which the Vietnamese call the American War) to find something to write about.

She opens her eyes, says: Stop lying. She says she hopes she'll never know anything, anything in the world, the way you do. She says: I don't want to know anything the way you do, with that death-derived certainty, that hopeless monotony, the same every day of your life, every night, and that deadly routine of lovelessness.

Anna sonunda dönüp bana bakt?. -Ya öyküyü baÅŸtan sona ben uydurduysam, dedi. -Tümünü mü? -Evet tümünü. Aram?zdaki ÅŸeyler kaç?n?lmaz hale geliyordu. Bana sanki bunu söylemiÅŸ gibi oldu. -Bu pek bir ÅŸeyi deÄŸiÅŸtirmez, dedim...

What could Maria call the time that opened ahead of her? The certainty of her hope? This rejuvenated air she was breathing? This incandescence, this bursting of a love at last without object?

He spoke with a knowledge that's almost completely forgotten, and of which almost nothing completely verifiable can survive. He offered opinions rather than information. He spoke about Balzac as he might have done about himself, as if he himself had once tried to be Balzac. He had a sublime courtesy even in knowledge, a way at once profound and clear of handling knowledge without ever making it seem an obligation or a burden. He was sincere.

Ses yeux sont veloutés comme seuls les yeux sombres le sont, or les siens sont d'eau morte et de vase mêlées, rien n'y passe en ce moment qu'une douceur ensommeillée.

Very early in my life it was too late. It was already too late when I was eighteen. Between eighteen and twenty five my face took off in a new direction. I grew old at eighteen. I don't know if it's the same for everyone, I've never asked...

Ne bildiÄŸinizi bilmeden bildiÄŸinizi san?rs?n?z, o bilginin sonuna varamazs?n?z, dünyadaki mutsuzluÄŸun tek ba??n?za sureti olduÄŸunuzu san?rs?n?z, imtiyazl? bir al?nyaz?s?n?n sureti. Kendinizi olmakta olan bu ÅŸeyin hakimi san?rs?n?z, böyle bir ÅŸeyin var olduÄŸunu san?rs?n?z

You wouldn't have known her, you'd have seen her everywhere at once, in a hotel, in a street, in a train, in a bar, in a book, in a film, in yourself, your inmost self, when your sex grew erect in the night, seeking somewhere to put itself, somewhere to shed its load of tears.

Drink accomplished what God did not. It also served to kill me; to kill. I acquired that drinker's face before I drank.

Gözlerini açar, art?k yalan söylemeyin der. Dünyadaki hiçbir ÅŸeyi, hiçbir zaman sizin bildiÄŸiniz ÅŸekliyle bilmeyeceÄŸini umduÄŸunu söyler. Hiçbir ÅŸeyi sizin bildiÄŸiniz ÅŸekliyle bilmek istemem der, ölümün yol açt??? kesinlikle, hatat?n?z?n her gününde her gecesinde birbirine benzeyen o umars?z tekdüzelikle, sevme yoksunluÄŸunun o ölümcül iÅŸleyiÅŸiyle.

Y.A.: Et après la mort, qu'est-ce qui reste? M.D.: Rien. Que les vivents qui se sourient, qui se souviennent.

Y.A.: Ça sert à quoi, écrire? M.D.: C'est à la fois se taire et parler. écrire. Ça veut dore aussi chanter quelquefois. Y.A.: Danser? M.D.: Ça compte aussi. C'est un état de l'individu, danser. J'ai beaucoup aimé danser. Y.A.: Pourquoi? M.D.: Je ne sais pas encore.

On aurait dit qu'il aimait cette douleur, qu'il l'aimait comme il m'avait aimée, très fort, jusqu'à mourir peut-être, et que maintenant il l'a préférait à moi. 

Devant une certaine fenêtre du premier étage, dit-il, il y a un hêtre qui est parmi les plus beaux arbres du parc. — Ma chambre. C'est une grande chambre. Sa bouche à lui fut humide d'avoir bu et elle eut à son tour, dans la douce lumière, une implacable précision. — Une chambre calme, dit-on, la meilleure.

eux ils entendaient leur jeunesse frapper à leurs portes comme un oiseau enfermé.[...] C'était l'hymne de l'avenir, des départs, du terme de l'impatience. Ce qu'ils attendaient c'était de rejoindre cet air né du vertige des villes pour lequel il était fait, où il se chantait, des villes croulantes, fabuleuses, pleines d'amour.