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“He’s retired, he’s just turned sixty, you know. And on the actual day of his retirement it turned out he wasn’t a radiologist at heart at all, he didn’t want to spend another day of his life on medicine. He’d always wanted to be a beekeeper, and now bees are the only thing he’ll take an interest in. How do these things happen, do you think? If you’re really a beekeeper, how is it that you waste the best years of your life doing something else?”
― Cancer Ward: A Novel
― Cancer Ward: A Novel

“A lame creature, a cripple like myself, has no right to love. How should I, broken, shattered being that I am, be anything but a burden to you, when to myself I am an object of disgust, of loathing. A creature such as I, I know, has no right to love, and certainly no right to be loved. It is for such a creature to creep away into a corner and die and cease to make other people's lives a burden with her presence.”
― Beware of Pity
― Beware of Pity

“ploaia de vara ploua pe viata mea si pe mine viata mea care-mi scapa ma urmareste si va sfarsi in ziua inceputului ei clipa draga a prezentului te zaresc in perdeaua de ceata ce se retrage spre locul unde nu voi mai fi nevoit sa calc aceste lungi praguri miscatoare si voi trai doar in durata unei usi ce se inchide si se deschide.”
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“The bright side of the planet moves toward darkness
And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour,
And for me, now as then, it is too much.
There is too much world.”
― The Separate Notebooks
And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour,
And for me, now as then, it is too much.
There is too much world.”
― The Separate Notebooks

“Viaţa face din fiecare dintre noi o zdreanţă; anii ne învechesc visurile şi mădularele; contactul cu oamenii ucide prospeţimea şi râvna nătângă după "ideal"; dragostea devine un joc sterp şi un obiect de ştiinţă; instinctele se năclăiesc; inima - o pompă care scârţâie; mâhnirile se-nchid în sine din oboseala prea multelor şi sigurelor verificări; durerea nu mai e curioasă de sine şi astfel nu mai fecundează duhul; încheieturile nu mai leagă organele osândite la anatomie; totul este o alandala jalnică, în care năucirea noastră singură mai pare a păstra o urmă de logică şi de cuviinţă, când universul e o zdreanţă, iar speranţa noastră petecul ei inefectiv şi invizibil.”
― Razne
― Razne
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