Spanish-born Canadian Author of Novel "Life of Pi"
Spanish-born Canadian Author of Novel "Life of Pi"
We were, literally and figuratively, in the same boat.
When you have suffered a lot in life, each extra pain may be so insignificant and unsustainable
You bring joy and pain in equal measure- come aboard if your destination is oblivion. It should be our next stop. We can sit together. You can have the window seat, if you want. But it's a sad view.
We?re all busy. Meditating monks in their cells are busy. That?s adult life, filled to the ceiling with things that need doing. (It seems only children and the elderly aren?t plagued by lack of time?and notice how they enjoy their books, how their lives fill their eyes.) But every person has a space next to where they sleep, whether a patch of pavement or a fine bedside table. In that space, at night, a book can glow. And in those moments of docile wakefulness, when we begin to let go of the day, then is the perfect time to pick up a book and be someone else, somewhere else, for a few minutes, a few pages, before we fall asleep.
When your own life is threatened, your sense of empathy is blunted by a terrible, selfish hunger for survival.
You bring joy and pain in equal measure. Joy because you are with me, but pain because it won.t be for long.
What a shock when a person's heart has to be something done with that! Who loses a brother who loses someone with whom he could grow old together, someone to give him a sister, nieces and nephews, people populate the tree of life and give it new branches are. The father losing is losing, which gives the direction of the life, those to which you go when you're in distress, which carries a and receives, as a strain carries the branches of a tree. And when you lose the mother, that's when you lose the sun in the sky.
When you've suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling.
You can get used to anything - haven't I already said that? Isn't that what all survivors say?
What a terrible disease that must be if it could kill God in a man.
When you've suffered a lot in life, each additional pain is as tolerable as insignificant.
You have to make changes if you want to be a survivor. Many become a consumer, you get your happiness where they can. Up to the point they were at the bottom of Hell, and with it Tjlh Mtkacva and smile above your face, feeling that you are more fortunate people on the face of the simple. Why? Because there is a thick small dead at your feet.
What a terrible thing it is to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. Where we can, we must give things a meaningful shape. For example - I wonder - could you tell my jumbled story in exactly one hundred chapters, not one more, not one less? I'll tell you, that's one thing I have about my nickname, the way the number runs on forever. It's important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse. That bungled goodbye hurts me to this day. I wish so much that I'd had one last look at him in the lifeboat, that I'd provoked him a little, so that I was on his mind. I wish I had said to him then - yes, I know, to a tiger, but still - I wish I had said, Richard Parker, it's over. We have survived. Can you believe it? I owe you more gratitude than I can express I couldn't have done it without you. I would like to say it formally: Richard Parker, thank you. Thank you for saving my life. And now go where you must. You have known the confined freedom of a zoo most of your life; now you will know the free confinement of a jungle. I wish you all the best with it. Watch out for Man. He is not your friend. But I hope you will remember me as a friend. I will never forget you , that is certain. You will always be with me, in my heart. What is that hiss? Ah, our boat has touched sand. So farewell, Richard Parker, farewell. God be with you.
While Christians kneel before a white man! They are flunkies of a foreign god. They are nightmare of all nonwhite people.
You may be astonished that in such a short period of time I could go from weeping over the muffled killing of a flying fish to gleefully bludgeoning to death a dorado. I could explain it by arguing that profiting from a pitiful flying fish?s navigational mistake made me shy and sorrowful, while the excitement of actively capturing a great dorado made me sanguinary and self-assured. But in point of fact the explanation lies elsewhere. It is simple and brutal: a person can get used to anything, even to killing.
What a thing to acknowledge in your heart! To lose a brother is to lose someone with whom you can share the experience of growing old, who is supposed to bring you a sister-in-law and nieces and nephews, creatures to people the tree of your life and give it new branches. To lose your father is to lose the one whose guidance and help you seek, who supports you like a tree trunk supports its branches. To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you. It is like losing-I?m sorry, I would rather not go on.
Why can we throw a question further than we can pull in an answer?
You may not believe in life, but I don't believe in death. ... The reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity--it's envy. Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud.
What don?t we realize is that we are a strange and forbidding species to wild animals. We fill them with fear. They avoid us as much as possible. It took centuries to still the fear in some pliable animals ? domestication it?s called ? but most cannot get over their fear, and I doubt they ever will. When wild animals fight us, it is out of sheer desperation. They fight when they feel they have no other way out.
Why can't reason give greater answers? Why can we throw a question further than we can pull in an answer? Why such a vast net if there's so little fish to catch?
You might have noticed that I have been sending you used books. I have done this not to save money, but to make a point which is that a used book, unlike a used car, hasn't lost any of its initial value. A good story rolls of the lot into the hands of its new reader as smoothly as the day it was written. And there's another reason for these used paperbacks that never cost much even when new; I like the idea of holding a book that someone else has held, of eyes running over lines that have already seen the light of other eyes. That, in one image, is the community of readers, is the communion of literature.
What his uncle does not understand is that in walking backwards, his back to the world, his back to God, he is not grieving. He is objecting. Because when everything cherished by you in life has been taken away, what else is there to do but object?
Why do people move out?... People on the move to a better life.
You might think I lost all hope at that point. I did. And as a result I perked up and felt much better.
What is important in life is to end everything for chin chu. There's a new me peace of mind that goes by. Otherwise, we also full time in the words to say, but nobody ever said, and my heart will be heavy with regret.