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Quote by Rove Monteux

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Living in a Bunker: A diary of the life in a bunker

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Rove Monteux

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“هذا الشر الذي لا يصد عن اللهو. يقاتل ويقتل ويحظى بكل الاحترام. يقسو ويستبد هازئًا بالعواقب وله ضحكة تجلجل فتملأ الآفاق. له لذة في العبث بالضعفاء ويسمر في المآثم ويغني فوق شواهد القبور. الموت يدنو مني وهو لايزال يضحك ساخرًا. القتيل في التراب والقاتل ضائع وفي كوخي بكاء على الإثنين. ضحكة الطفولة في الحديقة استحالت مع الأيام عبوسة غارقة في الدمع. وفي الداخل بقية جسدي يتوجع. لماذا هذا العناء كله وأين صفو الأحلام أين؟”

DespairInjusticePoeticPessimist
Book:أولاد حارتنا
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“The moments of contemplating that animal fear, when the criminal sees that all is lost, but still struggles, still means to struggle, the moments when every instinct of self-preservation rises up in him at once and he looks at you with questioning and suffering eyes, studies you, your face, your thoughts, uncertain on which side you will strike, and his distracted mind frames thousands of plans in an instant, but he is still afraid to speak, afraid of giving himself away! This purgatory of the spirit, this animal thirst for self-preservation, these humiliating moments of the human soul, are awful, and sometimes arouse horror and compassion for the criminal even in the lawyer.”

CrimeDespair
Author:Fyodor Dostoevsky
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“[T]he luminous and shocking beauty of the everyday is something I try to remain alert to, if only as an antidote to the chronic cynicism and disenchantment that seems to surround everything, these days. It tells me that, despite how debased or corrupt we are told humanity is and how degraded the world has become, it just keeps on being beautiful. It can’t help it.”

HappinessGriefWonderBeautyDespairCorruptionAweDisenchantment
Book:Faith, Hope and Carnage
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“I returned slowly through the mists of winter. Time lay more thickly about me than the mists. I was so unused to moving through time that I felt like a man walking under water. Time exerted great pressure on my blood vessels and my eardrums, so that I suffered from terrible headaches, weakness and nausea. Time clogged the hooves of my mare until she lay down beneath me and died. Nebulous Time was now time past; I crawled like a worm on its belly through the clinging mud of common time and the bare trees showed only the dreary shapes of an eternal November of the heart, for now all changes would henceforth be, as they had been before, absolutely predictable. And so I identified at last the flavour of my daily bread; it was and would be that of regret.”

RegretDespair
Book:The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman
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