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Irvin D. Yalom

Irvin D. Yalom Books

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A Way of Being

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“The freedom of an unscheduled afternoon brought confusion rather than joy. Julius had always been focused. When he was not seeing patients, other important projects and activities-writing, teaching, tennis, research-clamored for his attention. But today nothing seemed important. He suspected that nothing had ever been important, that his mind had arbitrarily imbued projects with importance and then cunningly covered its traces. Today he saw through the ruse of a lifetime. Today there was nothing important to do, and he ambled aimlessly down Union Street.”

“Try this thought experiment. Stare directly at the sun; take an unblinkered view at your place in existence; attempt to live without the protective railings many religions offer—that is, some form of continuation, immortality, or reincarnation, all of which deny death’s finality.”

“Aynayı bıraktı. Kırk iki yıl kalmıştı! Kırk iki yıl daha nasıl dayanacaktı? Kırk iki yıl daha yılların geçmesini bekleyecekti. Kırk iki yıl daha yaşlanan gözlerine bakacaktı. Zaman hapishanesinden kaçmanın bir yolu yok muydu? Ah, keşke tekrar en baştan başlayabilseydi! Ama nasıl? Nereden? Kiminle? Bertha ile olmazdı. O özgürdü istediği zaman onun hapishanesine girip çıkar ya da uçup gidebilirdi. Üstelik onunla asla “biz” olunamazdı; “bizim” yaşamımız, “bizim” yeni yaşamımız mümkün olamazdı.”

“Do I in any way profit from this misery?” Nietzsche finally responded. “I have reflected on that very question for many years. Perhaps I do profit. In two ways. You suggest that the attacks are caused by stress, but sometimes the opposite is true—that the attacks dissipate stress. My work is stressful. It requires me to face the dark side of existence, and the migraine attack, awful as it is, may be a cleansing convulsion that permits me to continue.”

“Mind thinks in images but, to communicate with another, must transform image into thought and then thought into language. That march, from image to thought to language, is treacherous. Casualties occur: the rich, fleecy texture of image, its extraordinary plasticity and flexibility, its private nostalgic emotional hues - all are lost when image is crammed into language.”

“He had never encountered a patient who did not secretly enjoy a microscopic examination of his life. And the greater the power of magnification, the more the patient enjoyed it. The joy of being observed ran so deep that Breuer believed the real pain of old age, bereavement, outliving one’s friends, was the absence of scrutiny—the horror of living an unobserved life.”

“I must assume that knowing is better than not know, venturing better than not venturing; and that magic and illusion, however rich, however alluring, ultimately weaken the human spirit. I take with deep seriousness Thomas Hardy's words, 'If a way to the Better there be, it exacts a full look at the Worst.”

“Siamo creature in ricerca perenne di significati, che devono venire a patti con il fatto di essere scagliate in un universo che, intrinsecamente, è privo di significato.”

“-De aur? Chiar? Zau, Paula, ce poate fi de aur in privinta mortii? -Irv, m-a mustrat Paula, asta e o intrebare gresita! Incearca sa intelegi ca de aur nu e moartea, ci trairea deplina a vietii fata in fata cu moartea. Gandeste-te cat de intense si de pretioase sunt ultimele experiente: ultima primavara, ultimul zbor al pufului de papadie, ultima scuturare a florilor de wisteria. Perioada de aur este, spunea Paula, si vremea marii eliberari – o vreme in care ai libertatea sa zici nu tuturor obligatiilor banale, sa te dedici cu totul lucrurilor de care iti pasa cel mai tare – prezenta prietenilor, anotimpurile care se schimba, unduirea marii.”

“I think my quarry is illusion. I war against magic. I believe that, though illusion often cheers and comforts, it ultimately and invariably weakens and constricts the spirit. But there is timing and judgment. Never take away anything if you have nothing better to offer. Beware of stripping a patient who can’t bear the chill of reality. And don’t exhaust yourself by jousting with religious magic: you’re no match for it. The thirst for religion is too strong, its roots too deep, its cultural reinforcement too powerful.”

“Translation error is compounded by bias error. We distort others by forcing into them our preferred ideas and gestalts, a process Proust beautifully describes: We pack the physical outline of the creature we see with all the ideas we already formed about him, and in the complete picture of him which we compose in our minds, these ideas have certainly the principal place. In the end they come to fill out so completely the curve of his cheeks, to follow so exactly the line of his nose, they blend so harmoniously in the sound of his voice that these seem to be no more than a transparent envelope, so that each time we see the face or hear the voice it is our own ideas of him which we recognize and to which we listen.”

“I always imagined that you might write something about me. I wanted to leave an imprint on your life. I don’t want to be “just another patient”. I wanted to be “special”. I want to be something, anything. I feel like nothing, no one. If I left an imprint on your life, maybe I would be someone, someone you wouldn’t forget. I’d exist then. (Marge’s letter to Yalom)”

“Decisions are difficult for many reasons, some reaching down into the very socket of being. John Gardner, in his novel Grendel, tells of a wise man who sums up his meditation on life’s mysteries in two simple but terrible postulates: “Things fade: alternatives exclude.” Of the first postulate, death, I have already spoken. The second, “alternatives exclude,” is an important key to understanding why decision is difficult. Decision invariably involves renunciation: for every yes there must be a no, each decision eliminating or killing other options (the root of the word decide means “slay,” as in homicide or suicide). Thus, Thelma clung to the infinitesimal chance that she might once again revive her relationship with her lover, renunciation of that possibility signifying diminishment and death.”

“Spinoza was the supreme rationalist. He saw an endless stream of causality in the world. For him there is no such entity as will or will power. Nothing happens capriciously. Everything is caused by something prior, and the more we devote ourselves to the understanding of this causative network, the more free we become." ... "I'm sure he would have said that you are subject to passions that are driven by inadequate ideas rather than by the ideas that flow from a true quest for understanding the nature of reality." ... "He states explicitly that a passion ceases to be a passion as soon as we form a more clear and distinct idea of it--that is, the causative nexus underlying the passion." p.269”

“In romanul „Grednel”, John Gardner vorbeste despre un om intelept care isi sintetizeaza meditatiile asupra misterelor vietii in doua postulate simple ”Lucrurile pier incet, alternativele exclud”. [...] Cel de-al doilea, „alternativele exclud”, este o cheie importanta pentru a intelege de ce nu e usor sa iei decizii. Decizia presupune invariabil o renuntare: pentru fiecare da trebuie sa existe un nu, fiecare decizie eliminand sau distrugand alte optiuni (radacina cuvantului „decide” inseamna „ucidere”, ca in omucidere sau sinucidere).”

“Nestes dez contos sobre psicoterapia há poucas discussões explícitas acerca do significado da vida. A busca de significado, muito semelhante à busca de prazer, deve ser conduzida indiretamente. O significado resulta da atividade significativa: quanto mais o procurarmos deliberadamente, menos provável será seu encontro; as perguntas racionais que alguém pode fazer a respeito do significado sempre excederão as respostas. Na terapia, assim como na vida, a presença de significado é um subproduto do vínculo e do comprometimento, e é nesse sentido que os terapeutas devem dirigir seus esforços - não que o vínculo ofereça uma resposta racional às perguntas sobre significados, mas porque faz com que essas perguntas não tenham importância.”

“Cada item de sua casa abrigava memórias das quais ela era então a única detentora. Ela me contou que todos os instrumentos seriam distribuídos a estrangeiros que jamais saberiam suas histórias ou os apreciariam como ela. E, um dia,sua própria morte apagaria, por fim, todas as ricas memórias incrustadas na espineta, no violoncelo, nas flautas, nos flautins e em muitos outros instrumentos. Seu passado sucumbiria juntamente com ela. (...) Agora ela sabia realmente que também era transitória, apenas de passagem pela casa, assim como todos os moradores anteriores. E a casa também era transitória e iria desaparecer algum dia para dar lugar a outra no mesmo terreno. O processo de abrir mão de seus bens e de se mudar foi uma experiência reveladora para Alice, que sempre havia se abrigado na ilusão confortável e acalentadora de uma vida ricamente mobiliada e atapetada. Agora ela aprendia que o luxo das posses materiais a havia protegido da esterilidade da existência.”

“Philip dobló, caminó junto al puerto de embarcaciones deportivas; luego atravesó Chrissy Field hasta llegar a la bahía y bordeó la orilla del Pacífico, donde las olas serenas que rompían en la playa y el atemporal aroma salino del mar lo serenaron.Tiritó y se abotonó la chaqueta. En la menguante luz del día, el viento frío del Pacífico atravesaba el Golden Gate y pasaba por su lado a toda velocidad, así como las horas de su vida eternamente pasarían, raudas, sin proporcionarle calor ni placer. El viento presagiaba la escarcha de interminables días futuros, días glaciales en los que se levantaría de la cama sin esperanza de que el porvenir le deparara un hogar, amor, contacto de piel, alegría. La mansión de pensamiento puro que había erigido era helada. Qué extraño que no lo hubiera notado antes. Siguió adelante, pero con la tenue certidumbre de que su casa, su vida entera, se había construido sobre cimientos endebles y falsos”