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1.03_-_The_Tale_of_the_Alchemist_Who_Sold_His_Soul

1.05_-_THE_HOSTILE_BROTHERS_-_ARCHETYPES_OF_RESPONSE_TO_THE_UNKNOWN

2.07_-_I_Also_Try_to_Tell_My_Tale

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SIMILAR TITLES

Italo Calvino

TERMS STARTING WITH


TERMS ANYWHERE

KEYS (10k)

   4 Italo Calvino

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

  985 Italo Calvino
   3 Anonymous
   2 Salman Rushdie

1:A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say. ~ Italo Calvino,

2:A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say. ~ Italo Calvino, The Uses of Literature,

3:A classic is the term given to any book which comes to represent the whole universe, a book on a par with ancient talismans. ~ Italo Calvino,

4:The city is redundant: it repeats itself so that something will stick in the mind. ... Memory is redundant: it repeats signs so that the city can begin to exist. ~ Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Đọc là niềm cô đơn. ~ Italo Calvino,

2:Reading is solitude. ~ Italo Calvino,

3:wrong: Penthesilea is ~ Italo Calvino,

4:Readers are my vampires. ~ Italo Calvino,

5:I am the I of the present ~ Italo Calvino,

6:I read, therefore it writes ~ Italo Calvino,

7:I desideri sono già ricordi. ~ Italo Calvino,

8:Desires are already memories. ~ Italo Calvino,

9:Fantasy is a place where it rains. ~ Italo Calvino,

10:There is no language without deceit. ~ Italo Calvino,

11:Contemporaries cannot be good judges. ~ Italo Calvino,

12:...Life is nothing but trading smells. ~ Italo Calvino,

13:Boys, the noodles I would make for you! ~ Italo Calvino,

14:We'll invent new ways of being together. ~ Italo Calvino,

15:... before, we swam, and now we are swum. ~ Italo Calvino,

16:Il mio nome è al termine del mio viaggio. ~ Italo Calvino,

17:Now, the old man happened to be the Lord. ~ Italo Calvino,

18:How well I would write if I were not here! ~ Italo Calvino,

19:I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed! ~ Italo Calvino,

20:La fantasia è un posto dove ci piove dentro. ~ Italo Calvino,

21:One reads alone, even in another's presence. ~ Italo Calvino,

22:Falsehood is never in words; it is in things. ~ Italo Calvino,

23:La menzogna non è nel discorso, è nelle cose. ~ Italo Calvino,

24:I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel! ~ Italo Calvino,

25:It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices. ~ Italo Calvino,

26:An invisible landscape conditions the visible one ~ Italo Calvino,

27:I've been in love for five hundred million years… ~ Italo Calvino,

28:Lo que dirige el relato no es la voz: es el oído. ~ Italo Calvino,

29:Melancholy is sadness that has taken on lightness. ~ Italo Calvino,

30:time is a catastrophe, perpetual and irreversible. ~ Italo Calvino,

31:Chi comanda al racconto non è la voce: è l’orecchio ~ Italo Calvino,

32:Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears. ~ Italo Calvino,

33:A veces uno se cree incompleto y es solamente joven. ~ Italo Calvino,

34:A poor writer is one who names rather than represents. ~ Italo Calvino,

35:A volte uno si crede incompleto ed è soltanto giovane. ~ Italo Calvino,

36:Chi comanda alla racconto non è la voce: è l'orecchio. ~ Italo Calvino,

37:Each city receives its form from the desert it opposes. ~ Italo Calvino,

38:If this is what you believe, you are wrong: Penthesilea ~ Italo Calvino,

39:One should be light like a bird and not like a feather. ~ Italo Calvino,

40:Às vezes a gente se imagina incompleto e é apenas jovem. ~ Italo Calvino,

41:In museums I always enjoy stopping at the Saint Jeromes. ~ Italo Calvino,

42:Revolutionaries are more formalistic than conservatives. ~ Italo Calvino,

43:Decide for yourself. Everybody reacts in a different way. ~ Italo Calvino,

44:For the man who thought he was Man there is no salvation. ~ Italo Calvino,

45:In general confusion youth recognizes itself and rejoices. ~ Italo Calvino,

46:Memories images, once they are fixed in words, are erased. ~ Italo Calvino,

47:Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased. ~ Italo Calvino,

48:Signs form a language, but not the one you think you know. ~ Italo Calvino,

49:It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear. ~ Italo Calvino,

50:It is not the voice that commands the story; it is the ear. ~ Italo Calvino,

51:The author was an invisible point from which the books came ~ Italo Calvino,

52:We all have a secret wound which we are fighting to avenge. ~ Italo Calvino,

53:Sometimes one who thinks himself incomplete is merely young. ~ Italo Calvino,

54:the cemetery is the home of those who are not here, come in. ~ Italo Calvino,

55:You know that the best you can expect is to avoid the worst. ~ Italo Calvino,

56:I felt cheated and I decided to demand justice of the sultan. ~ Italo Calvino,

57:I ja także chcę tylko jednego: być kimś, kto wie, czego chce! ~ Italo Calvino,

58:In the morning you wake from one bad dream and another begins. ~ Italo Calvino,

59:The only truth I can write is that of the instant I am living. ~ Italo Calvino,

60:What harbor can receive you more securely than a great library? ~ Italo Calvino,

61:Amusement has always been the great moving force behind culture. ~ Italo Calvino,

62:No puede haber amor si no se es uno mismo con todas sus fuerzas. ~ Italo Calvino,

63:The only books I recognize as mine are those I must still write. ~ Italo Calvino,

64:A classic is a book that has never finished what it wants to say. ~ Italo Calvino,

65:[...] a życie to tylko tarzanie się między łóżkiem a trumną [...] ~ Italo Calvino,

66:Los futuros no realizados son sólo ramas del pasado: ramas secas. ~ Italo Calvino,

67:Reading is solitude. One reads alone, even in another's presence. ~ Italo Calvino,

68:At times the mirror increases a thing’s value, at times denies it. ~ Italo Calvino,

69:E combattendo, troveranno che le parole non hanno più significato. ~ Italo Calvino,

70:Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches. ~ Italo Calvino,

71:Knowledge of the world means dissolving the solidity of the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

72:Photography has a meaning only if it exhausts all possible images. ~ Italo Calvino,

73:You'll understand when you've forgotten what you understood before ~ Italo Calvino,

74:È per smaltire un carico di nostalgia che sei andato tanto lontano! ~ Italo Calvino,

75:La lettura è solitudine. Si legge da soli anche quando si è in due. ~ Italo Calvino,

76:- Non sapevo che vi conosceste - Ci siamo incontrati in un sogno ~ Italo Calvino,

77:Os futuros não realizados são apenas ramos do passado: ramos secos. ~ Italo Calvino,

78:Each second is a universe, the second I live is the second I live in ~ Italo Calvino,

79:We live in a country where causes are always seen but never effects. ~ Italo Calvino,

80:Novelists tell that piece of truth hidden at the bottom of every lie. ~ Italo Calvino,

81:Reality, ugly or beautiful as it may be, is something I cannot change ~ Italo Calvino,

82:Scrivere è sempre nascondere qualcosa in modo che venga poi scoperto. ~ Italo Calvino,

83:Tutti abbiamo una ferita segreta per riscattare la quale combattiamo. ~ Italo Calvino,

84:A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say. ~ Italo Calvino,

85:In love, as in gluttony, pleasure is a matter of the utmost precision. ~ Italo Calvino,

86:The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. ~ Italo Calvino,

87:There is no better place to keep a secret than in an unfinished novel. ~ Italo Calvino,

88:You are quick to catch the author's intentions and nothing escapes you ~ Italo Calvino,

89:Chi vuole guardare bene la terra deve tenersi alla distanza necessaria. ~ Italo Calvino,

90:I felt in harmony with the disharmony of others, myself, and the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

91:Kedilerin kentiyle insanların kenti iç içeydi, ama aynı kent değildiler. ~ Italo Calvino,

92:Tenere i piedi sollevati è la prima condizione per godere della lettura. ~ Italo Calvino,

93:Un classico è un libro che non ha mai finito di dire quel che ha da dire ~ Italo Calvino,

94:again I am torn between the necessity and the impossibility of answering. ~ Italo Calvino,

95:Não há melhor lugar para se guardar um segredo que num romance inacabado. ~ Italo Calvino,

96:Un classico è un libro che non ha mai finito di dire quel che ha da dire. ~ Italo Calvino,

97:Memory is redundant- it repeats signs so that the city can begin to exist. ~ Italo Calvino,

98:Memory is redundant: it repeats signs so that the city can begin to exist. ~ Italo Calvino,

99:Of course, the ideal position for reading is something you can never find. ~ Italo Calvino,

100:The difference between the true and the false is only a prejudice of ours. ~ Italo Calvino,

101:To plan a book — or an escape — the first thing to know is what to exclude. ~ Italo Calvino,

102:where the foreigner hesitating between two women always encounters a third, ~ Italo Calvino,

103:When you’ve waited two hundred million years, you can also wait six hundred; ~ Italo Calvino,

104:A gentleman, my Lord Father, is such whether he is on earth or on the treetops ~ Italo Calvino,

105:A los duelos suceden tarde o temprano acontecimientos alegres, es ley de vida. ~ Italo Calvino,

106:Sometimes one who thinks himself incomplete is merely young. —Italo Calvino ~ Kevin Brockmeier,

107:In abortion, the person who is massacred, physically and morally, is the woman. ~ Italo Calvino,

108:L'umano arriva dove arriva l'amore, non ha confini se non quelli che gli diamo. ~ Italo Calvino,

109:Writing always means hiding something in such a way that it then is discovered. ~ Italo Calvino,

110:Forse l'impero,pensò Kublai,non è altro che uno zodiaco di fantasmi della mente. ~ Italo Calvino,

111:Nobody these days holds the written word in such high esteem as police states do. ~ Italo Calvino,

112:Since I have become a slave of writing, the pleasure of reading has ended for me. ~ Italo Calvino,

113:The soul is often in the surface, and the importance of 'depth' is overestimated. ~ Italo Calvino,

114:Each sort of cheese reveals a pasture of a different green, under a different sky. ~ Italo Calvino,

115:Leer es ir al encuentro de algo que está a punto de ser y aún nadie sabe qué será. ~ Italo Calvino,

116:Novels as dull as dishwater, with the grease of random sentiments floating on top. ~ Italo Calvino,

117:The novels I prefer, are those that make you feel uneasy from the very first page. ~ Italo Calvino,

118:I will start out this evening with an assertion: fantasy is a place where it rains. ~ Italo Calvino,

119:The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand ~ Italo Calvino,

120:Ogni libro nasce in presenza di altri libri, in rapporto e confronto ad altri libri. ~ Italo Calvino,

121:Perhaps, Kublai thought, the empire is nothing but a zodiac of the mind’s phantasms. ~ Italo Calvino,

122:Wojna to trochę rzeźnia, a trochę rutyna i nie ma co czepiać się zanadto szczegółów. ~ Italo Calvino,

123:...eyes that, like those of children, look at an eternal present without forgiveness. ~ Italo Calvino,

124:...only by having a clear idea what virtue is can I practice evil with a light heart. ~ Italo Calvino,

125:¿Podré decir alguna vez: "hoy escribe", al igual que "hoy llueve", "hoy hace viento"? ~ Italo Calvino,

126:The ideal place for me is the one in which it is most natural to live as a foreigner. ~ Italo Calvino,

127:Yolcu sahip olduğu tenhayı tanır, sahip olmadığı ve olamayacağı kalabalığı keşfederek. ~ Italo Calvino,

128:Bütün öykülerin ana fikrinin iki çehresi vardır: hayatın devamı; ölümün kaçınılmazlığı. ~ Italo Calvino,

129:I dream of immense cosmologies, sagas and epics reduced to the dimension of an epigram. ~ Italo Calvino,

130:I report to the revolutionaries infiltrated among the counterrevolutionary infiltrators. ~ Italo Calvino,

131:Forgive me if I have a kind of allergic reaction to all words that hint of nationalism... ~ Italo Calvino,

132:No, memory is true as long as you do not set it, as long as it is not enclosed in a form. ~ Italo Calvino,

133:The human race is a zone of living things that should be defined by tracing its confines. ~ Italo Calvino,

134:We'll make an army in the trees and bring the earth and the people on it to their senses. ~ Italo Calvino,

135:El viajero reconoce lo poco que es suyo al descubrir lo mucho qu eno ha tenido y no tendrá ~ Italo Calvino,

136:Maybe you have to become a mother to get to the real sense of everything. Or a prostitute. ~ Italo Calvino,

137:The obstinacy on which power is based is never so fragile as in the moment of its triumph. ~ Italo Calvino,

138:...the world was trying to change its old face and show its underbelly of earth and roots. ~ Italo Calvino,

139:..they live for each other; their eyes are interlocked but there is not love between them. ~ Italo Calvino,

140:Il viaggiatore riconosce il poco che è suo, scoprendo il molto che non ha avuto e non avrà. ~ Italo Calvino,

141:Life, thought the naked man, was a hell, with rare moments recalling some ancient paradise. ~ Italo Calvino,

142:Escape, is one of those words I cannot hear without abandoning myself to endless ruminations ~ Italo Calvino,

143:Reading is going toward something that is about to be, and no one yet knows what it will be. ~ Italo Calvino,

144:You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. ~ Italo Calvino,

145:Gridò, se si può dir che gridi chi parla senza emetter quasi suono ma con tutta la sua forza. ~ Italo Calvino,

146:L'universo esprimerà se stesso fin tanto che qualcuno potrà dire "io leggo dunque esso scrive ~ Italo Calvino,

147:The sea where living creatures were at one time immersed is now enclosed within their bodies. ~ Italo Calvino,

148:É clássico aquilo que persiste como rumor mesmo onde predomina a atualidade mais incompatível. ~ Italo Calvino,

149:Nada gusta más a los hombres como tener enemigos y ver luego si son como se los han imaginado. ~ Italo Calvino,

150:Le imprese più ardite vanno vissute con l'animo più semplice. (Cosimo Piovasco Barone di Rondò) ~ Italo Calvino,

151:Reading is going toward something that is about to be, and no one yet knows what it will be.... ~ Italo Calvino,

152:The city must never be confused with the words that describe it.’’ —Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities ~ Anonymous,

153:Will I ever be able to say, "Today it writes," just like "Today it rains," "Today it is windy"? ~ Italo Calvino,

154:(your purchases and gadgets suggest elaborate and fanciful recipes, at least in your intentions ~ Italo Calvino,

155:I am a Saturn who dreams of being a Mercury, and everything I write reflects these two impulses. ~ Italo Calvino,

156:The city of cats and the city of men exist one inside the other, but they are not the same city. ~ Italo Calvino,

157:And you say, "Just a moment, I've almost finished If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Calvino. ~ Anonymous,

158:Chi oserebbe condannarti alla perdita del tu, catastrofe non meno terribile della perdita dell'io? ~ Italo Calvino,

159:Crecer en círculos concéntricos, como los troncos de los árboles que cada año aumentan una vuelta. ~ Italo Calvino,

160:We could say, then, that man is an instrument the world employs to renew its own image constantly. ~ Italo Calvino,

161:You hope to always to encounter true newness, which, having been new once, will continue to be so. ~ Italo Calvino,

162:Today each of you is the object of the other’s reading, one reads in the other the unwritten story. ~ Italo Calvino,

163:It is only through the confining act of writing that the immensity of the nonwritten becomes legible ~ Italo Calvino,

164:D'una città non godi le sette o le settantasette meraviglie, ma la risposta che dà a una tua domanda. ~ Italo Calvino,

165:Every time I must find something to do that will look like something a little beyond my capabilities. ~ Italo Calvino,

166:The universe is the mirror in which we can contemplate only what we have learned to know in ourselves ~ Italo Calvino,

167:Es preciso que entre las cosas pensadas y las cosas no haya más diferencias. Entonces seremos felices. ~ Italo Calvino,

168:The universe will express itself as long as somebody will be able to say, "I read, therefore it writes. ~ Italo Calvino,

169:Forse un giorno si arriverà ad essere tutti sereni, e non capiremo più tante cose perché capiremo tutto. ~ Italo Calvino,

170:On sober reflection, you prefer it this way, confronting something and not quite knowing yet what it is. ~ Italo Calvino,

171:The traveler recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have. ~ Italo Calvino,

172:This is what I wanted to hear from you: confess what you are smuggling: moods, states of grace, elegies! ~ Italo Calvino,

173:Sentii subito che nell'ordine perfetto dell’universo s’era aperta una breccia, uno squarcio irreparabile. ~ Italo Calvino,

174:A classic is a book which with each rereading offers as much of a sense of discovery as the first reading. ~ Italo Calvino,

175:Mas a desgraça é que foi levado à loucura por Eros, deus pagão, que quanto mais reprimido, mais devasta... ~ Italo Calvino,

176:The best novelist of my generation is an Italian living in Paris, still working and improving - Italo Calvino. ~ Gore Vidal,

177:... KUBLAI: We have proved that if we were here, we would not be. POLO: And here, in fact, we are. ~ Italo Calvino,

178:Leave me like this. I have come full circle and I understand. The world must be read backward. All is clear. ~ Italo Calvino,

179:My empire has grown too far toward the outside. It is time,’ the Khan thought, ‘for it to grow within itself. ~ Italo Calvino,

180:The best introduction to the psychological world of one of the most important and gifted writers of our time. ~ Italo Calvino,

181:You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours. ~ Italo Calvino,

182:La conoscenza del prossimo ha questo di speciale: passa necessariamente attraverso la conoscenza di se stesso. ~ Italo Calvino,

183:L'estraneità di ciò che non sei più o non possiedi più t'aspetta al varco dei luoghi estranei e non posseduti. ~ Italo Calvino,

184:Ali nije samo to: u dnevnoj svjetlosti u tom difuznom blijedom sjaju bez sjena nalazim tamu još gušću od noćne. ~ Italo Calvino,

185:De una ciudad no disfrutas las siete o setenta y siete maravillas, sino la respuesta que da a una pregunta tuya ~ Italo Calvino,

186:And Polo answers, "Traveling, you realize that differences are lost: each city takes to resembling all cities... ~ Italo Calvino,

187:No one, wise Kublai, knows better than you that the city must never be confused with the words that describe it. ~ Italo Calvino,

188:And I see the houses of the human race perched on the edge of the sea, shipwrecked in their false neighborliness. ~ Italo Calvino,

189:Every silence consists of the network of minuscule sounds that enfolds it." - from "The Adventure of a Poet ~ Italo Calvino,

190:The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death. ~ Italo Calvino,

191:It was the love which the hunter has for living things, and which he can only express by aiming his gun at them ... ~ Italo Calvino,

192:La letteratura vive solo se si pone degli obbiettivi smisurati, anche al di là d'ogni possibilità di realizzazione. ~ Italo Calvino,

193:La pagina ha il suo bene solo quando la volti e c'è la vita dietro che spinge e scompiglia tutti i fogli del libro. ~ Italo Calvino,

194:Memory really matters...only if it enables us to become without ceasing to be, and to be without ceasing to become. ~ Italo Calvino,

195:The world is so complicated, tangled, and overloaded that to see into it with any clarity you must prune and prune. ~ Italo Calvino,

196:...And meanwhile the Galaxy ran through space and left behind those signs old and new and I still hadn't found mine. ~ Italo Calvino,

197:Başka yer, negatif bir aynadır. Yolcu sahip olduğu tenhayı tanır, sahip olmadığı ve olmayacağı kalabalığı keşfederek. ~ Italo Calvino,

198:Cercare e saper riconoscere chi e cosa, in mezzo all'inferno, non è inferno, e farlo durare, e dargli spazio. ~ Italo Calvino,

199:[...] ma Pin non ha voglia di giocare e continua a camminare a perdifiato, con una tristezza che gli annuvola la gola. ~ Italo Calvino,

200:The world is so complicated, tangled, and overloaded that to see into it with any clarity you must prune and prune. In ~ Italo Calvino,

201:If the spark doesn't come, that's a pity; but we do not read the classics out of duty or respect, but only out of love. ~ Italo Calvino,

202:Il mondo è così complicato, aggrovigliato e sovraccarico che per vederci un po' chiaro è necessario sfoltire, sfoltire. ~ Italo Calvino,

203:It seems impossible, in a big city like Paris, but you can waste hours looking for the right place to burn up a corpse. ~ Italo Calvino,

204:there can exist no dictionary that will translate into words the burden of obscure allusions that lurks in these things ~ Italo Calvino,

205:There is still, in fact, in Calvino’s archive a drawer full of newspaper cuttings concerning scientific discoveries. As ~ Italo Calvino,

206:A lição que se pode tirar de um mito reside na literalidade da narrativa, não nos acréscimos que lhe impomos do exterior. ~ Italo Calvino,

207:Jego [cesarza] zadanie to prowadzić tę wojnę, która w danej chwili się toczy, i co najwyżej pomyśleć jeszcze o następnej. ~ Italo Calvino,

208:The city does not consist of this, but of relationships between the measurements of its space and the events of its past: ~ Italo Calvino,

209:Bir kentte hayran kaldığın şey onun yedi ya da yetmiş yedi harikası değil, senin ona sorduğun bir soruya verdiği yanıttır. ~ Italo Calvino,

210:seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space ~ Italo Calvino,

211:Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combinatoria of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined? ~ Italo Calvino,

212:as long as I know there is a woman who loves reading for reading’s sake, I can convince myself that the world continues.... ~ Italo Calvino,

213:Il senso d'isolamento lo si prova soltanto durante il tragitto da un luogo all'altro, cioè quando non si è in nessun luogo. ~ Italo Calvino,

214:A classic is the term given to any book which comes to represent the whole universe, a book on a par with ancient talismans. ~ Italo Calvino,

215:A classic is the term given to any book which comes to represent the whole universe, a book on a par with ancient talismans. ~ Italo Calvino,

216:And she knew him and so herself, for although she had always known herself she had never been able to recognize it until now. ~ Italo Calvino,

217:La página tiene utilidad sólo cuando le das la vuelta y está detrás la vida que empuja y desordena todas las hojas del libro. ~ Italo Calvino,

218:This thought has always filled me with terror: that I might be one of those people, that I might be only one of those people. ~ Italo Calvino,

219:…we can not love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes along its own trajectory and immediately disappears. ~ Italo Calvino,

220:All this is like a dream which the word bears within itself and which, passing through him who writes, is freed and frees him. ~ Italo Calvino,

221:Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say. ~ Italo Calvino,

222:L'altrove è uno specchio in negativo. Il viaggiatore riconosce il poco che è suo,scoprendo il molto che non ha avuto e non avrà. ~ Italo Calvino,

223:L’altrove è uno specchio in negativo. Il viaggiatore riconosce il poco che è suo, scoprendo il molto che non ha avuto e non avrà. ~ Italo Calvino,

224:What if it were as they say? If, while I believe I am writing in fun, what I write were really dictated by the extraterrestrials? ~ Italo Calvino,

225:Why do you speak to me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me.' Polo answers: 'Without stones there is no arch. ~ Italo Calvino,

226:yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone. ~ Italo Calvino,

227:...Seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space. ~ Italo Calvino,

228:these are people used to seeing one another daily year after year; everything they say is the continuation of things already said. ~ Italo Calvino,

229:How? Well, if a girl has had enough of every man who exists, her only remaining desire could be for a man who doesn't exist at all… ~ Italo Calvino,

230:If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance. ~ Italo Calvino,

231:... we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears. ~ Italo Calvino,

232:Everything can change, but not the language that we carry inside us, like a world more exclusive and final than one's mother's womb. ~ Italo Calvino,

233:Minha confiança no futuro da literatura consiste em saber que há coisas que só a literatura com seus meios específicos nos pode dar. ~ Italo Calvino,

234:[...] mi sembra che il linguaggio venga sempre usato in modo approssimativo, casuale, sbadato, e ne provo un fastidio intollerabile. ~ Italo Calvino,

235:You reach a moment in life when, among the people you have known, the dead outnumber the living. And the mind refuses to accept more ~ Italo Calvino,

236:The fact is that I find in the day's light, in this diffused, pale, almost shadowless luminosity, a darkness deeper than the night's. ~ Italo Calvino,

237:Gerçek şu ki gündüzün ışığında, bu yayılmış, soluk, hemen hemen gölgesiz aydınlıkta geceninkinden de daha koyu bir karanlık buluyorum. ~ Italo Calvino,

238:Il bassotto alzò il muso verso di lui, con lo sguardo dei cani quando non capiscono e non sanno che possono aver ragione a non capire. ~ Italo Calvino,

239:There: the white butterfly has crossed the whole valley, and from the reader's book has flown here, to light on the page I am writing. ~ Italo Calvino,

240:Todo o imaginável pode ser sonhado mas também o sonho mais inesperado é um enigma que oculta um desejo, ou o seu contrário, um terror. ~ Italo Calvino,

241:What is more natural than that a solidarity, a complicity, a bond should be established between Reader and Reader, thanks to the book? ~ Italo Calvino,

242:Kentliler sormuş olmalı: "Neden korkuyorsun, ruhumuzun Şeytan'ın eline geçmesinden mi?" "Hayır, ona verecek ruhumuz olmamasından. ~ Italo Calvino,

243:As soon as I set foot there, everything I had imagined was forgotten; Pyrrha had become what is Pyrrha; and I thought I had always known ~ Italo Calvino,

244:Elsewhere is a negative mirror. The traveler recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have. ~ Italo Calvino,

245:The more one was lost in unfamiliar quarters of distant cities, the more one understood the other cities he had crossed to arrive there. ~ Italo Calvino,

246:My sister always says she loves novels where you feel an elemental strength, primordial, telluric. That's exactly what she says: telluric ~ Italo Calvino,

247:Myśli te zaprawione były pewną goryczą ludzi starych, którzy więcej cierpią nad utratą rzeczy dawnych, niż cieszą się z nadejścia nowych. ~ Italo Calvino,

248:Orlando, sevda ormanı sana göre yer değildir! Alçakça tuzaklarından seni hiçbir kalkanın koruyamayacağı bir düşmanın peşinden koşuyorsun. ~ Italo Calvino,

249:It's better not to know authors personally, because the real person never corresponds to the image you form of him from reading his books. ~ Italo Calvino,

250:La ciudad no cuenta su pasado, lo contiene como las líneas de una mano, escrito en las esquinas de las calles, en las rejas de las ventanas ~ Italo Calvino,

251:La mia fiducia nel futuro della letteratura consiste nel sapere che ci sono cose che solo la letteratura può dare coi suoi mezzi specifici. ~ Italo Calvino,

252:Suspended over the abyss, the life of Octavias inhabitants is less uncertain than in other cities. They know the net will last only so long. ~ Italo Calvino,

253:The dream of being invisible . . . When I find myself in an environment where I can enjoy the illusion of being invisible, I am really happy. ~ Italo Calvino,

254:-Avete paura che le nostre anime caschino in mano al Diavolo? Avrebbero chiesto quelli della città -No: che non abbiate anima da dargli. ~ Italo Calvino,

255:But already ships were vanishing over the horizon and I was left behind, in this world of ours full of responsibilities and will-o'-the-wisps. ~ Italo Calvino,

256:Each city receives its form from the desert it opposes; and so the camel driver and the sailor see Despina, a border city between two deserts. ~ Italo Calvino,

257:Cada ciudad recibe su forma del desierto al que se opone; y así ven el camellero y el marinero a Despina, ciudad fronteriza entre dos desiertos. ~ Italo Calvino,

258:every choice has its obverse, that is to say a renunciation, and so there is no difference between the act of choosing and the act of renouncing ~ Italo Calvino,

259:I don't know if you believe in the Spirit, sir. I believe in it. I believe in the dialogue that the Spirit conducts uninterruptedly with itself. ~ Italo Calvino,

260:Solo dopo aver conosciuto la superficie delle cose, ci si può spingere a cercare quel che c’è sotto. Ma la superficie delle cose è inesauribile. ~ Italo Calvino,

261:The unconscious is the ocean of the unsayable, of what has been expelled from the land of language, removed as a result of ancient prohibitions. ~ Italo Calvino,

262:Every choice has its obverse, that is to say a renunciation, and so there is no difference between the act of choosing and the act of renouncing. ~ Italo Calvino,

263:-Hep başın arkaya dönük mü ilerlersin sen- ya da: -Gördüğün şey hep geride kalan mıdır?- ya da daha doğrusu: -Yalnız geçmişe mi senin yolculuğun? ~ Italo Calvino,

264:Karta książki tylko wtedy jest coś warta, jeśli możesz ją odwrócić i dojrzeć za nią życie, które na nią napiera gwałtem i miesza wszystkie karty. ~ Italo Calvino,

265:Nobody looks at the moon in the afternoon, and this is the moment when it would most require our attention, since its existence is still in doubt. ~ Italo Calvino,

266:Se infelice è l’innamorato che invoca baci di cui non sa il sapore, mille volte più infelice è chi questo sapore gustò appena e poi gli fu negato. ~ Italo Calvino,

267:We can prevent reading: but in the decree that forbids reading there will be still read something of the truth that we would wish never to be read ~ Italo Calvino,

268:Without translation, I would be limited to the borders of my own country. The translator is my most important ally. He introduces me to the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

269:- Hai paura che le nostre anime caschino nelle mani del Diavolo? - avrebbero chiesto quelli della Città. - No: che non abbiate anima da dargli. ~ Italo Calvino,

270:Lucretius wants to write the poem of matter, but he warns us from the start that the reality of matter is that it’s made of invisible particles. He ~ Italo Calvino,

271:thế là cuối cùng, phải chăng chiến tranh chính là cái cuộc chuyền từ tay người này sang tay người kia các món đồ, mỗi lúc lại méo mó thêm một chút? ~ Italo Calvino,

272:...Your labor which gives form to desire takes from desire its form, and you believe you are enjoying Anastasia wholly when you are only its slave. ~ Italo Calvino,

273:Everything has already begun before, the first line of the first page of every novel refers to something that has already happened outside the book. ~ Italo Calvino,

274:My confidence in the future of literature consists in the knowledge that there are things that only literature can give us, by means specific to it. ~ Italo Calvino,

275:Cái làm cho sự làm tình và sự đọc giống nhau nhất là, ở cả hai sự ấy, thời gian và không gian đều mở, khác với thời gian và không gian đo lường được. ~ Italo Calvino,

276:Don't ask where the rest of this book is!" It is a shrill cry that comes from an undefined spot among the shelves. "All books continue in the beyond. ~ Italo Calvino,

277:- Eu falo, falo - diz Marco -, mas quem me ouve retém somente as palavras que deseja. [...] Quem comanda a narração não é a voz: é o ouvido. (p. 129) ~ Italo Calvino,

278:...if your cart is empty and the others are full, you can only hold out so long: then you're overwhelmed by envy, heartbreak, and you can't stand it. ~ Italo Calvino,

279:though there are some foods you don’t know, mentioned by name, which the translator has decided to leave in the original; for example, schoëblintsjia ~ Italo Calvino,

280:hasta que murió, sin haber comprendido, tras una vida entera dedicada a la fe, en qué creía, pero tratando de creer firmemente en ello hasta el final. ~ Italo Calvino,

281:In gioventù ogni libro nuovo che si legge è come un nuovo occhio che si apre e modifica la vista degli altri occhi o libri-occhi che si avevano prima. ~ Italo Calvino,

282:My faith in the future of literature rests on the knowledge that there are things that only literature, with its particular capacities, can give us. I ~ Italo Calvino,

283:Don't ask where the rest of this book is!" It is a shrill cry that comes from an undefined spot among the shelves. "All books continue in the beyond... ~ Italo Calvino,

284:If there is nothing that needs correcting in the world memory, the only thing left to do is to correct reality where it doesn't agree with that memory. ~ Italo Calvino,

285:What makes lovemaking and reading resemble each other most is that within both of them times and spaces open, different from measurable time and space. ~ Italo Calvino,

286:God knows wherebthey are now, the people I receive instructions, or rather-let's come right out and say it-take orders. It is obvious I'm a subordinate. ~ Italo Calvino,

287:L'aspetto in cui l'amplesso e la lettura s'assomigliano di più è che al loro interno s'aprono tempi e spazi diversi dal tempo e dallo spazio misurabili. ~ Italo Calvino,

288:The one contains what is accepted as necessary when it is not yet so; the others, what is imagined as possible and, a moment later, is possible no longer. ~ Italo Calvino,

289:When the olfactory alphabet, which made them so many words in a precious lexicon, is forgotten, perfumes will be left speechless, inarticulate, illegible. ~ Italo Calvino,

290:Cosimo did not yet know love, and what is any experience without that? What point is there in risking life, when the real flavor of life is as yet unknown? ~ Italo Calvino,

291:I felt a kind of vertigo, as if I were merely plunging from one world to another, and in each I arrived shortly after the end of the world had taken place. ~ Italo Calvino,

292:But our mother, the most distant from him, perhaps, seemed the only one who could accept him as he was, maybe because she didn't try to find an explanation. ~ Italo Calvino,

293:Fantasy is like jam. . . . You have to spread it on a solid piece of bread. If not, it remains a shapeless thing . . . out of which you can’t make anything. ~ Italo Calvino,

294:Ogni vita è un enciclopedia, una biblioteca, un campionario di stili, dove tutto può essere continuamente rimescolato e riordinato in tutti i modi possibili ~ Italo Calvino,

295:To be able to read the classics you have to know "from where" you are reading them; otherwise both the book and the reader will be lost in a timeless cloud. ~ Italo Calvino,

296:Each new Clarice, compact as a living body with its smells and its breath, shows off, like a gem, what remains of the ancient Clarices, fragmentary and dead. ~ Italo Calvino,

297:It is only after you have come to know the surface of things ... that you can venture to seek what is underneath. But the surface of things is inexhaustible. ~ Italo Calvino,

298:You're the absolute protagonist of this book, very well; but do you believe that gives you the right to have carnal relations with all the female characters? ~ Italo Calvino,

299:Il suo segreto è il modo in cui la vista scorre su figure che si succedono come in una partitura musicale nella quale non si può cambiare spostare nessuna nota ~ Italo Calvino,

300:It’s not that you expect anything in particular from this particular book. You’re the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. ~ Italo Calvino,

301:A human being becomes human not through the casual convergence of certain biological conditions, but through an act of will and love on the part of other people. ~ Italo Calvino,

302:And Marco's answer was: 'Elsewhere is a negative mirror. The traveler recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have. ~ Italo Calvino,

303:,There is never a moonlight night but wicked ideas in evil souls writhe like serpents in nests, and charitable ones sprout lilies of renunciation and dedication. ~ Italo Calvino,

304:But who can say that the clock’s numbers aren’t peeping from rectangular windows, where I see every minute fall on me with a click like the blade of a guillotine? ~ Italo Calvino,

305:onsuz yapamayacağın bir şeyi kenara bırakmayı bir kez başardığında, bir başka şey olmadan da yapabildiğini, sonra bir başka şeyden de sıyrılabildiğini göreceksin. ~ Italo Calvino,

306:The moment that counts most for me is the one that precedes reading. At times a title is enough to kindle in me the desire for a book that perhaps does not exist. ~ Italo Calvino,

307:They rebuild Ersilia elsewhere. They weave a similar pattern of strings which they would like to be more complex and at the same time more regular than the other. ~ Italo Calvino,

308:What Romantic terminology called genius or talent or inspiration is nothing other than finding the right road empirically, following one's nose, taking shortcuts. ~ Italo Calvino,

309:When examples of openness of thought come from a single ruler, they count for nothing, except to show that he alone can afford to be like that because he is king. ~ Italo Calvino,

310:The novels that attract me most are those that create an illusion of transparency around a knot of human relationships as obscure, cruel, and perverse as possible. ~ Italo Calvino,

311:En la plaza está la pequeña pared de los viejos que miran pasar la juventud; el hombre está sentado en fila con ellos. Los deseos son ya recuerdos. (Ciudad Isadora) ~ Italo Calvino,

312:Alte zile decât astea ale noastre nu sunt, până o să intrăm în mormânt,[...]. De mi-o fi dat să nu le irosesc, să nu irosesc nimic din ce sunt și din ce-aș putea fi! ~ Italo Calvino,

313:A me – dice – piacciono i libri in cui tutti i misteri e le angosce passano attraverso una mente esatta e fredda e senza ombre come quella d'un giocatore di scacchi. ~ Italo Calvino,

314:The novel begins in a railway station, a locomotive huffs, steam from a piston covers the opening of the chapter, a cloud of smoke hides part of the first paragraph. ~ Italo Calvino,

315:The novels that attract me most... are those that create an illusion of transperancy around a knot of human relationships as obscure, cruel and perverse as possible. ~ Italo Calvino,

316:Biographical data, even those recorded in the public registers, are the most private things one has, and to declare them openly is rather like facing a psychoanalyst. ~ Italo Calvino,

317:The word connects the visible trace with the invisible thing, the absent thing, the thing that is desired or feared, like a frail emergency bridge flung over an abyss. ~ Italo Calvino,

318:If unhappy is the sweetheart who invokes kisses of which he does not know the flavour, a thousand times more unhappy is who this flavour tasted once and then was denied ~ Italo Calvino,

319:The line between the reality that is photographed because it seems beautiful to us and the reality that seems beautiful because it has been photographed is very narrow. ~ Italo Calvino,

320:La forza dell'eremita si misura non tanto da quanto lontano è andato a stare, ma dalla poca distanza che gli basta per staccarsi dalla città, senza mai perderla di vista ~ Italo Calvino,

321:La realidad fotografiada asume en seguida un carácter nostálgico, de alegría desaparecida en alas del tiempo, un caracter conmemorativo, aunque sea una foto de anteayer. ~ Italo Calvino,

322:My brother maintains," I answered, "that those who wish to look carefully at the earth should stay at the necessary distance," and Voltaire very much admired the answer. ~ Italo Calvino,

323:With cities, it is as if with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear. ~ Italo Calvino,

324:Or else, given that there is world that side of the window and world this side, perhaps the "I," the ego, is simply the window through which the world looks at the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

325:this lightness is something created in the writing, using the linguistic tools of the poet, independent of whatever philosophical doctrine the poet claims to be following. ~ Italo Calvino,

326:All places communicate instantly with all other places, a sense of isolation is felt only during the trip between one place and the other, that is, when you are in no place. ~ Italo Calvino,

327:If a lover is wretched who invokes kisses of which he knows not the flavor, a thousand times more wretched is he who has had a taste of the flavor and then had it denied him. ~ Italo Calvino,

328:Nell’universo infinito della letteratura s’aprono sempre altre vie da esplorare, nuovissime o antichissime, stili e forme che possono cambiare la nostra immagine del mondo... ~ Italo Calvino,

329:Erst wenn man die Oberfläche der Dinge kennen gelernt hat, kann man sich aufmachen, um herauszufinden, was darunter sein mag. Doch die Oberfläche der Dinge ist unerschöpflich. ~ Italo Calvino,

330:The city is redundant: it repeats itself so that something will stick in the mind. […] Memory is redundant: it repeats signs so that the city can begin to exist. ~ Italo Calvino,

331:Rimbaldo trascina un morto e pensa: "[...] per te i dadi hanno già dato i loro numeri. Per me ancora vorticano nel bussolotto. E io amo, o morto, la mia ansia, non la tua pace. ~ Italo Calvino,

332:With the smell of beer I try to get the smell of death off me. And only the smell of death will get the smell of beer off you, like all the drinkers whose graves I have to dig. ~ Italo Calvino,

333:Now that the book is finished, I know that this was not a hallucination, a sort of professional malady, but the confirmation of something I already suspected—folktales are real. ~ Italo Calvino,

334:Sono convinto che scrivere prosa non dovrebbe essere diverso dallo scrivere poesia; in entrambi i casi è ricerca d’una espressione necessaria, unica, densa, concisa, memorabile. ~ Italo Calvino,

335:Are you depressed or euphoric? The house, in its wisdom, seems to have taken advantage of your moments of euphoria to prepare itself to shelter you in your moments of depression. ~ Italo Calvino,

336:...instead I find myself more and more outside; from one courtyard I move to another courtyard, as if in this palace all the doors served only for leaving and never for entering. ~ Italo Calvino,

337:The facility of the entrance into another world is an illusion: you start writing in a rush, anticipating the happiness of a future reading, and the void yawns on the white page. ~ Italo Calvino,

338:While the hemlock was being prepared, Socrates was learning a melody on the flute. “What use will that be to you?”, he was asked. “At least I will learn this melody before I die. ~ Italo Calvino,

339:I am a prisoner of a gaudy and unlivable present, where all forms of human society have reached an extreme of their cycle and there is no imagining what new forms they may assume. ~ Italo Calvino,

340:Reading is going toward something that is about to be, and no one yet knows what it will be. ~ Italo Calvino, If on a Winter's Night a Traveler (1979), translated by William Weaver (1981), p. 72.,

341:I do not have any political commitments anymore. I'm politically a total agnostic; I'm one of the few writers in Italy who refuses to be identified with a specific political party. ~ Italo Calvino,

342:The more time passed, the less happened. The more they felt something must happen, the more the bailiffs realized they had to do something but the less they understood what it was. ~ Italo Calvino,

343:Si conobbero. Lui conobbe lei e se stesso, perché in verità non s'era mai saputo. E lei conobbe lui e se stessa, perché pur essendosi saputa sempre, mai s'era potuta riconoscere così. ~ Italo Calvino,

344:Traveling, you realize that differences are lost: each city takes to resembling all cities, places exchange their form, order, distances, a shapeless dust cloud invades the continent. ~ Italo Calvino,

345:When you're young, all evolution lies before you, every road is open to you, and at the same time you can enjoy the fact of being there on the rock, flat mollusk-pulp, damp and happy. ~ Italo Calvino,

346:In seguito a una serie di disavventure intellettuali che non meritano d'essere ricordate, il signor Palomar ha deciso che la sua principale attività sarà guardare le cose dal di fuori. ~ Italo Calvino,

347:Traveling, you realize that differences are lost: each city takes to resembling all cities, places exchange their form, order, distances, a shapeless dust cloud invades the continents. ~ Italo Calvino,

348:In the midst of a thick forest, there was a castle that gave shelter to all travelers overtaken by night on their journey: lords and ladies, royalty and their retinue, humble wayfarers. ~ Italo Calvino,

349:Italo Calvino quote, ‘A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.’ For I have read The Great Gatsby numerous times, and always discover new things in each reading. ~ Ann Hood,

350:The catalogue of forms is endless: until every shape has found its city, new cities will continue to born. When the forms exhaust their variety and come apart, the end of cities begins. ~ Italo Calvino,

351:The satirist is prevented by repulsion from gaining a better knowledge of the world he is attracted to, yet he is forced by attraction to concern himself with the world that repels him. ~ Italo Calvino,

352:This – some say – confirms the hypothesis that each man bears in his mind a city made only of differences, a city without figures and without form, and the individual cities fill it up. ~ Italo Calvino,

353:I'm accustomed to thinking of literature as a search for knowledge; in order to move onto existential terrain I need to consider it in relation to anthropology, ethnology, and mythology. ~ Italo Calvino,

354:There is someone looking through the befogged glass, he opens the glass door of the bar, everything is misty, inside, too, as if seen by nearsighted eyes, or eyes irritated by coal dust. ~ Italo Calvino,

355:When I'm writing a book I prefer not to speak about it, because only when the book is finished can I try to understand what I've really done and to compare my intentions with the result. ~ Italo Calvino,

356:although science interests me just because of its efforts to escape from anthropomorphic knowledge, I am nonetheless convinced that our imagination cannot be anything but anthropomorphic. ~ Italo Calvino,

357:We were peering into this darkness, crisscrossed with voices, when the change took place: the only real, great change I've ever happened to witness, and compared to it the rest is nothing ~ Italo Calvino,

358:Esiste una leggerezza della pensosità, così come tutti sappiamo che esiste una leggerezza della frivolezza; anzi, la leggerezza pensosa può far apparire la frivolezza come pesante e opaca. ~ Italo Calvino,

359:Overambitious projects may be objectionable in many fields, but not in literature. Literature remains alive only if we set ourselves immeasurable goals, far beyond all hope of achievement. ~ Italo Calvino,

360:The catalogue of forms is endless: until every shape has found its city, new cities will continue to be born. When the forms exhaust their variety and come apart, the end of cities begins. ~ Italo Calvino,

361:The espresso machines in station cafés boast their kinship with the locomotives, the espresso machines of yesterday and today with the locomotives and steam engines of today and yesterday. ~ Italo Calvino,

362:Very often the effort men put into activities that seem completely useless turns out to be extremely important in ways no one could foresee. Play has always been the mainspring of culture. ~ Italo Calvino,

363:Le città come i sogni sono costruite di desideri e di paure,anche se il filo del loro discorso è segreto,le loro regole assurde,le prospettive ingannevoli, e ogni cosa ne nasconde un'altra. ~ Italo Calvino,

364:Questo è il significato della lotta, il significato vero, totale, al di là dei vari significati ufficiali. Una spinta di riscatto umano, elementare, anonimo, da tutte le nostre umiliazioni. ~ Italo Calvino,

365:Try to foresee now everything that might make you interrupt your reading. Cigarettes within reach, if you smoke, and the ashtray. Anything else? Do you have to pee? All right, you know best. ~ Italo Calvino,

366:La ciudad se te aparece como un todo en el que ningún deseo se pierde y del que tú formas parte, y como ella goza de todo lo que tú no gozas, no te queda sino habitar ese deseo y contentarte. ~ Italo Calvino,

367:Cosimo stretched out his arms. 'I came up here before you, my lords, and here I will stay afterwards too!' -'You want to withdraw!' cried El Conde. -'No, to resist,' replied the Baron. ~ Italo Calvino,

368:Her friends' lips were red, their teeth white, and their tongues and gums were pink. Pink, too, were the tips of their breasts. Their eyes were aquamarine blue, cherry-black, hazel and maroon. ~ Italo Calvino,

369:Il vento, venendo in città da lontano, le porta doni inconsueti, di cui s'accorgono solo poche anime sensibili, come i raffreddati del fieno, che starnutano per pollini di fiori d'altre terre. ~ Italo Calvino,

370:But he would continuously change them around, according to his studies and tastes of the moment, for he considered his books as rather like birds and it saddened him to see them caged or still. ~ Italo Calvino,

371:How can you keep up with her, this woman who is always reading another book besides the one before her eyes, a book that does not yet exist, but which, since she wants it, cannot fail to exist? ~ Italo Calvino,

372:In politics, as in every other sphere of life, there are two important principles for a man of any sense: don't cherish too many illusions, and never stop believing that every little bit helps. ~ Italo Calvino,

373:Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else. ~ Italo Calvino,

374:The city is redundant: it repeats itself so that something will stick in the mind. ... Memory is redundant: it repeats signs so that the city can begin to exist. ~ Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities,

375:Your case gives me new hope," I said to him. "With me, more and more often I happen to pick up a novel that has just appeared and I find myself reading the same book I have read a hundred times. ~ Italo Calvino,

376:For years I have been coming to this library, and I explore it volume by volume, shelf by shelf, but I could demonstrate to you that I have done nothing but continue the reading of a single book. ~ Italo Calvino,

377:what matters is not the enclosure of the work within a harmonious figure, but the centrifugal force produced by it -- a plurality of language as a guarantee of a truth that is not merely partial. ~ Italo Calvino,

378:I rather enjoy that sense of bewilderment a novel gives you when you start reading it, but if the first effect is fog, I'm afraid the moment the fog lifts my pleasure in reading will be lost, too. ~ Italo Calvino,

379:Who ever said this author had an unmistakable tone? On the contrary, he is known as an author who changes greatly from one book to the next. And in these very changes you recognize him as himself. ~ Italo Calvino,

380:you come upon the ruins of the abandoned cities, without the walls which do not last, without the bones of the dead which the wind rolls away: spiderwebs of intricate relationships seeking a form. ~ Italo Calvino,

381:He was staring hard, not at his wife and me but at his daughter watching us. In his cold pupil, in the firm twist of his lips, was reflected Madame Miyagi's orgasm reflected in her daughter's gaze. ~ Italo Calvino,

382:I have tried to remove weight, sometimes from people, sometimes from heavenly bodies, sometimes from cities; above all I have tried to remove weight from the structure of stories and from language. ~ Italo Calvino,

383:To explode or to implode – said Qfwfq – that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to expand one's energies in space without restraint, or to crush them into a dense inner concentration. ~ Italo Calvino,

384:Bağışla beni efendimiz: er geç o rıhtıma çıkacağım kuşkusuz," der Marco, "ama dönüp sana anlatamayacağım onu. Böyle bir kent var, ve de basit bir sırrı var: yalnız gidişleri bilir, dönüşleri bilmez. ~ Italo Calvino,

385:in his view, literature’s worth lies in its power of mystification, in mystification it has its truth; therefore a fake, as the mystification of a mystification, is tantamount to a truth squared. He ~ Italo Calvino,

386:I sogni dei partigiani sono rari e corti, sogni nati dalle notti di fame, legati alla storia del cibo sempre poco e da dividere in tanti: sogni di pezzi di pane morsicati e poi chiusi in un cassetto ~ Italo Calvino,

387:Perhaps nothing escapes this fate but the liveliness and nimbleness of the mind—the very qualities with which the novel is written, qualities that belong to a universe other than the one we live in. ~ Italo Calvino,

388:Anyway, the conclusion to which all stories come is that the life a person has led is one and one alone, uniform and compact as a shrunken blanket where you can’t distinguish the fibers of the weave. ~ Italo Calvino,

389:I thought: "Perhaps Adelma is the city where you arrive dying and where each finds again the people he has known. This means I, too, am dead." And I also thought: "This means the beyond is not happy. ~ Italo Calvino,

390:The Sultan’s wife must never remain without books that please her: a clause in the marriage contract is involved, a condition the bride imposed on her august suitor before agreeing to the wedding.... ~ Italo Calvino,

391:Beware of saying to them that sometimes different cities follow one another on the same site and under the same name, born and dying without knowing one another, without communication among themselves. ~ Italo Calvino,

392:He knows the conspirators are waiting for a sign from the Sultana to light the fuse, but she has given orders never to disturb her while she is reading, not even if the palace were about to blow up.... ~ Italo Calvino,

393:Does the written word tame passions? Or subdue the forces of nature? Or does it find a harmony with the inhumanity of the universe? Or incubate a violence, held back but always ready to spring, to claw? ~ Italo Calvino,

394:And when my spirit wants no stimulus or nourishment save music, I know it is to be sought in cemeteries: the musicians hide in the tombs; from grave to grave flute trills, harp chords answer one another. ~ Italo Calvino,

395:Myth is the hidden part of every story, the buried part, the region that is still unexplored because there are as yet no words to enable us to get there. Myth is nourished by silence as well as by words. ~ Italo Calvino,

396:From this arid sphere every discourse and every poem sets forth; and every journey through forests, battles, treasures, banquets, bedchambers, brings us back here, to the center of an empty horizon. ~ Italo Calvino,

397:Only in a superficial sense can lies be said to exclude the truth; you will be aware that in many cases lies- the patient's lies to the psychoanalyst- are just as revealing as the truth, if not more so... ~ Italo Calvino,

398:Tengo un librito, mucho más breve que los de Aristóteles y Ovidio, en el que están contenidas todas las ciencias y cualquiera puede, con poquísimo estudio, formarse de él una idea perfecta: es el alfabeto; ~ Italo Calvino,

399:But in vain I set out to visit the city: forced to remain motionless and always the same, in order to be more easily remembered, Zora has languished, disintegrated, disappeared. The earth has forgotten her. ~ Italo Calvino,

400:Déblayer la neige n'est pas un jeu d'enfant, surtout quand on a l'estomac presque vide, mais pour Marcovaldo, la neige était comme une amie, comme un élément qui annulait les murs qui emprisonnaient sa vie. ~ Italo Calvino,

401:The things that the novel does not say are necessarily more numerous than those it does say and only a special halo around what is written can give the illusion that you are reading also what is not written. ~ Italo Calvino,

402:La Ciudad es una para el que pasa sin entrar, y otra para el que está preso en ella; una es la ciudad a la que se llega la primera vez, otra la que se deja para no volver, cada una merece un nombre diferente. ~ Italo Calvino,

403:Mientras sé que en el mundo hay alguien que hace juegos de prestidigitación solo por amor al juego, mientras sé que hay una mujer que ama la lectura por la lectura, puedo convencerme de que el mundo continúa. ~ Italo Calvino,

404:So you begin to wonder if Leonia's true passion is really, as they say, the enjoyment of new and different things, and not, instead, the joy of expelling, discarding, cleansing itself of a recurrent impurity. ~ Italo Calvino,

405:So you begin to wonder if Leonia’s true passion is really, as they say, the enjoyment of new and different things, and not, instead, the joy of expelling, discarding, cleansing itself of a recurrent impurity. ~ Italo Calvino,

406:Chegando a qualquer nova cidade o viajante reencontra o seu passado que já não sabia que tinha: a estranheza do que já não somos ou já não possuímos espera-nos ao caminho nos lugares estranhos e não possuídos. ~ Italo Calvino,

407:If one starts to draw comparisons between what is and what is not, it is the poorer qualities of the former that strike you, the impurities, the flaws; in short, you can only really feel safe with nothingness. ~ Italo Calvino,

408:Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places. ~ Italo Calvino,

409:Every new book I read comes to be a part of that overall and unitary book that is the sum of my readings...if you need little to set the imagination going, I require even less: the promise of reading is enough. ~ Italo Calvino,

410:It could be an important feature to be added to your portrait: your mind has interior walls that allow you to partition different times in which to stop or flow, to concentrate alternately on parallel channels. ~ Italo Calvino,

411:Ecco, pensò Amerigo, quei due, così come sono, sono reciprocamente necessari. E pensò: ecco, questo modo d'essere è l'amore. E poi: l'umano arriva dove arriva l'amore; non ha confini se non quelli che gli diamo. ~ Italo Calvino,

412:La fantasia è una specie di macchina elettronica che tiene conto di tutte le combinazioni possibili e sceglie quelle che rispondono ad un fine, o che semplicemente sono le più interessanti, piacevoli, divertenti. ~ Italo Calvino,

413:[...] l'arte di scriver storie sta nel saper tirare fuori da quel nulla che si è capito della vita tutto il resto. ma finita la pagina si riprende la vita e ci s'accorge che quel che si sapeva è proprio un nulla. ~ Italo Calvino,

414:Success consists in felicity of verbal expression, which every so often may result from a quick flash of inspiration but as a rule involves a patient search... for the sentence in which every word is unalterable. ~ Italo Calvino,

415:When politicians and politically minded people pay too much attention to literature, it is a bad sign - a bad sign mostly for literature. But it is also a bad sign when they don't want to hear the word mentioned. ~ Italo Calvino,

416:Her breast was young, the nipples rosy. Cosimo just grazed it with his lips, before Viola slid away over the branches as if she were flying, with him clambering after her, and that skirt of hers always in his face ~ Italo Calvino,

417:Imagine I can see her, her or something of her, but only her, in a hundred, a thousand different vistas, she who makes the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them. ~ Italo Calvino,

418:I must, however, bear in mind that my every move to erase previous events provokes a rain of new events, which complicate the situation worse than before and which I will then, in their turn, have to try to erase. ~ Italo Calvino,

419:La città per chi passa senza entrarci è una, e un'altra per chi ne è preso e non ne esce; una è la città in cui s'arriva la prima volta, un'altra quella che si lascia per non tornare; ognuna merita un nome diverso. ~ Italo Calvino,

420:You explode, if that's more to your taste, shoot yourself all around in endless darts, be prodigal, spendthrift, reckless: I shall implode, collapse inside the abyss of myself, towards my buried centre, infinitely. ~ Italo Calvino,

421:The art of writing tales consists in an ability to draw the rest of life from the little one has understood of it; but life begins again at the end of the page, and one realises that one has knew nothing whatsoever. ~ Italo Calvino,

422:The line between the reality that is photographed because it seems beautiful to us and the reality that seems beautiful because it has been photographed is very narrow." - from "The Adventure of a Photographer ~ Italo Calvino,

423:They knew each other. He knew her and so himself, for in truth he had never known himself. And she knew him and so herself, for although she had always known herself she had never been able to recognize it until now. ~ Italo Calvino,

424:Perhaps, for each of them, I also resembled someone who was dead. I had barely arrived at Adelma and I was already one of them, I had gone over to their side, absorbed in that kaleidescope of eyes, wrinkles, grimaces. ~ Italo Calvino,

425:- Quando sarai stanco di star lì cambierai idea! - gli gridò. - Non cambierò mai idea, - fece mio fratello, dal ramo. - Ti farò vedere io, appena scendi! - - E io non scenderò più! - E mantenne la parola. ~ Italo Calvino,

426:A distanza di tanti anni, devo dire che questo spirito, che permise ai partigiani di fare le cose meravigliose che fecero, resta ancor oggi, per muoversi nella contrastata realtà del mondo, un atteggiamento umano senza ~ Italo Calvino,

427:A obra literária é uma dessas mínimas porções nas quais o existente se cristaliza numa forma, adquire um sentido, que não é fixo, nem definido, nem enrijecido numa imobilidade mineral, mas tão vivo quanto um organismo. ~ Italo Calvino,

428:With the revolution, there are people who change so much they become unrecognizable, and other people who feel they are the same selves as before. It must be a sign that they were prepared in advance for the new times. ~ Italo Calvino,

429:Ci sono quelli che si condannano al grigiore della vita più mediocre perché hanno avuto un dolore, una sfortuna; ma ci sono anche quelli che lo fanno perché hanno avuto più fortuna di quella che si sentivano di reggere. ~ Italo Calvino,

430:Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased," Polo said. "Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it, or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little. ~ Italo Calvino,

431:To write well about the elegant world you have to know it and experience it to the depths of your being... what matters is not whether you love it or hate it, but only to be quite clear about your position regarding it. ~ Italo Calvino,

432:There is little I can tell you about Aglaura beyond the things its own inhabitants have always repeated: an array of proverbial virtues, of equally proverbial faults, a few eccentricities, some punctilious regard for rules. ~ Italo Calvino,

433:Yo, al contrario, estoy convencido hace tiempo de que la perfección sólo se produce accesoriamente y por azar; por tanto no merece el menor interés, pues la verdadera naturaleza de las cosas sólo se revela en la destrucción ~ Italo Calvino,

434:Long novels written today are perhaps a contradiction: the dimension of time has been shattered, we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears. ~ Italo Calvino,

435:Polo: "You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours." Khan: "Or the question it asks you, forcing you to answer, like Thebes through the mouth of the Sphinx. ~ Italo Calvino,

436:I, on the contrary, have been convinced for some time that perfection is not produced except marginally and by chance; therefore it deserves no interest at all, the true nature of things being revealed only in disintegration. ~ Italo Calvino,

437:I will quote Cioran (who is not yet a classic but will become one): "While they were preparing the hemlock, Socrates was learning a tune on the flute. 'What good will it do you,' they asked, 'to know this tune before you die? ~ Italo Calvino,

438:The proper use of language, for me personally, is one that enables us to approach things (present or absent) with discretion, attention, and caution, with respect for what things (present or absent) communicate without words. ~ Italo Calvino,

439:Çevresini saran karanlık, kalleş dünya birden gizli zenginliklerini sunuyormuş, yaşamdan hala, toplu sözleşmenin saat ücreti, ek ücret,çocuk yardımı, pahalılık yardımı dışında da bir şey beklenebilirmiş gibi geldi Marcovaldo'ya. ~ Italo Calvino,

440:Literature remains alive only if we set ourselves immeasurable goals, far beyond all hope of achievement. Only if poets and writers set themselves tasks that no one else dares imagine will literature continue to have a function. ~ Italo Calvino,

441:Now she is inviting you to a seminar at the university, where books are analyzed according to all Codes, Conscious and Unconscious, and in which all Taboos are eliminated, the ones imposed by the dominant Sex, Class, and Culture. ~ Italo Calvino,

442:Y ella se abandona a la corriente de la lectura como al único acto de vida posible en un mundo donde no queda sino arena árida sobre capas de betún oleoso y peligro de muerte por razón de Estado y reparto de fuentes de energía... ~ Italo Calvino,

443:...an archer, the moment he thinks he's experienced, is lost; every lion we encounter in our brief life is different from every other lion; woe to us if we stop to make comparisons, to deduce our movements from norms and premises. ~ Italo Calvino,

444:The book should be the written counterpart of the unwritten world; its subject should be what does not exist and cannot exist except when written, but whose absence is obscurely felt by that which exists, in its own incompleteness. ~ Italo Calvino,

445:Whether there is such a thing as Reality, of which the various levels are only partial aspects, or whether there are only levels, is something that literature cannot decide. Literature recognizes rather the *reality of the levels.* ~ Italo Calvino,

446:In short, what you are doing is very beautiful but grammatically it doesn’t change a thing. At the moment when you most appear to be a united voi, a second person plural, you are two tu’s, more separate and circumscribed than before. ~ Italo Calvino,

447:The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary. ~ Italo Calvino,

448:...his life was dominating by conflicting ideas, as often happens in periods of transition. The turbulence of the times makes some people feel a need to bestir themselves, but in the opposite direction, backwards rather than forwards; ~ Italo Calvino,

449:Apart from religious ceremonies, triduums, novenas, gardening, harvesting, vintaging, whippings, slavery, incest, fires, hangings, invasion, sacking, rape and pestilence, we have had no experience. What can a poor nun know of the world? ~ Italo Calvino,

450:Long-time inhabitant of steeples, accustomed to contemplating, from his perch on a rainspout, the expanse of roofs, he knew that the souls of cities are more substantial and more lasting than those of all their inhabitants put together. ~ Italo Calvino,

451:nhưng có lúc ngòi bút chỉ rào rạo bụi mực, không lăn chảy bằng một giọt đời, và cuộc đời thì toàn bộ ởn goài kia, bên ngoài ô cửa sổ, bên ngoài bạn, và bạn cảm thấy mình sẽ không bao giờ còn có thể nương náu nơi trang giấy bạn đang viết ~ Italo Calvino,

452:Açık konuşalım: Her rejim, hatta en otoriter olan bile değişken bir denge durumunda ayakta kalabilir, bu nedenle kendi baskı donanımının varlığını sürekli olarak haklı göstermesi gerekir ve baskı uygulayacak bir şeylere gereksinme duyar. ~ Italo Calvino,

453:Raramente l'occhio si ferma su una cosa,ed è quando l'ha riconosciuta per il segno di un'altra cosa: un'impronta sulla sabbia indica il passaggio della tigre,un pantano annuncia una vena d'acqua,il fiore dell'ibisco la fine dell'inverno. ~ Italo Calvino,

454:Quello che vorresti é l'aprirsi d'uno spazio e d'un tempo astratti ed assoluti in cui muoverti seguendo una traiettoria esatta e tesa; ma quando ti sembra di riuscirci t'accorgi d'esser fermo, bloccato, costretto a ripetere tutto da capo. ~ Italo Calvino,

455:Il libro dovrebb'essere la controparte scritta del mondo non scritto; la sua materia dovrebbe essere ciò che non c'è né potrà esserci se non quando sarà scritto, ma di cui ciò che c'è sente oscuramente il vuoto nella propria incompletezza. ~ Italo Calvino,

456:It is my image that I want to multiply, but not out of narcissism or megalomania, as could all too easily be believed: on the contrary, I want to conceal, in the midst of so many illusory ghosts of myself, the true me, who makes them move. ~ Italo Calvino,

457:Memory really matters...only if it binds together the imprint of the past and the project of the future, if it enables us to act without forgetting what we wanted to do, to become without ceasing to be, and to be without ceasing to become. ~ Italo Calvino,

458:The lawn mower attends with defeaning shudder to the tonsure; a light odor of fresh hay intoxicates the air; the leveled grass finds again a bristling infancy; but the bite of the blades reveals unevenness, mangy clearings, yellow patches. ~ Italo Calvino,

459:All over the world great writers were dying young: Italo Calvino, Raymond Carver, and now here was Angela wrestling with the Reaper. A fatwa was not the only way to die. There were older types of death sentence that still worked very well. ~ Salman Rushdie,

460:Cosimo sat in the ash tree every day, gazing at the meadow as if he could read in it something that had long been consuming him inside: the very idea of distance, of the gap that can't be bridged, of the wait that can last longer than life. ~ Italo Calvino,

461:Everything in the garden was like that: lovely but impossible to enjoy properly, with that worrying feeling inside that they were only there through an odd stroke of luck, and the fear that they'd soon have to give an account of themselves. ~ Italo Calvino,

462:Sözlerim, senin etrafında hangi ülkeyi kurarsa kursun, bu sarayın yerinde kazıklar üzerine kurulmuş bir köy de olsa, meltem sana çamur dolu bir nehir ağzının kokusunu da getirse sen, hep kendi durduğun yere benzer bir yerden göreceksin onu. ~ Italo Calvino,

463:The living of Laudomia frequent the house of the unborn to interrogate them: footsteps echo beneath the hollow domes; the questions are asked in silence; and it is always about themselves that the living ask, not about those who are to come. ~ Italo Calvino,

464:Instead of making myself write the book I ought to write, the novel that was expected of me, I conjured up the book I myself would have liked to read, the sort by an unknown writer, from another age and another country, discovered in an attic. ~ Italo Calvino,

465:La mia operazione è stata il più delle volte una sottrazione di peso; ho cercato di togliere peso ora alle figure umane, ora ai corpi celesti, ora alle città; soprattutto ho cercato di togliere peso alla struttura del racconto e al linguaggio. ~ Italo Calvino,

466:Literature remains alive only if we set ourselves immeasurable goals, far beyond all hope of achievement. Only if poets and writers set themselves tasks that no one else dares imagine will literature continue to have function." — Italo Calvino ~ Italo Calvino,

467:faced with a difficult choice. Either they must admit that all their calculations were wrong and their figures are unable to describe the heavens, or else they must reveal that the order of the gods is reflected exactly in the city of monsters. ~ Italo Calvino,

468:Wciąż są w ruchu te same przedmioty, przechodząc z jednego obozu do innego, czy z jednego pułku do innego w tym samym obozie; czymże zresztą innym jest w ogóle wojna, jeśli nie przechodzeniem z rąk do rąk dobytku coraz bardziej sponiewieranego? ~ Italo Calvino,

469:but the gods who live beneath names and above places have gone off without a word and outsiders have settled in their place. It is pointless to ask whether the new ones are better or worse than the old, since there is no connection between them, ~ Italo Calvino,

470:Che ce ne importa di chi è già un eroe, di chi la coscienza ce l'ha già? E' il processo per arrivarci che si deve rappresentare! Finché resterà un solo individuo al di qua della coscienza, il nostro dovere sarà di occuparci di lui e solo di lui! ~ Italo Calvino,

471:You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a Winter's Night a Traveller. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. …Tell the others right away, "No, I don't want to watch TV!… I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed! ~ Italo Calvino,

472:Praise to be the stars that implode. A new freedom opens up within them: annulled from space, exonerated from time, existing at last, for themselves alone and no longer in relation to all the rest, perhaps only they can be sure they really exist. ~ Italo Calvino,

473:In an existence like mine forecasts could not be made: I never know what could happen to me in the next half hour, I can't imagine a life all made up of minimal alternatives, carefully circumscribed, on which bets can be made: either this or that. ~ Italo Calvino,

474:İnsanlar on bir ay boyunca kenti seviyorlar, kente toz kondurmuyorlardı; gökdelenler, otomatik sigara satıcıları, panoramik perdeli sinemalar sürekli bir çekicilik kaynağı sayılıyordu. Bu duyguyu kesinlikle paylaşmayan tek kişi ise Marcovaldo idi. ~ Italo Calvino,

475:Read Emily Dickinson. Read Graham Greene. Read Italo Calvino. Read Maya Angelou. Read anything you want. Just read. Books are possibilities. They are Escape Routes. They give you options when you have none. Each one can be a home for an uprooted mind. ~ Matt Haig,

476:Ogni incontro di due esseri umani al mondo è uno sbranarsi. Vieni con me, io ho la coscienza di questo male e sarai più sicura che con chiunque altro; perchè io faccio del male come tutti lo fanno, ma a differenza degli altri, io ho la mano sicura. ~ Italo Calvino,

477:Cold has a thousand ways of moving in the world: on the sea it gallops like a troop of horses, on the countryside it falls like a swarm of locusts, in the cities like a knife-blade it slashes the streets and penetrates the chinks of unheated houses. ~ Italo Calvino,

478:In the Ondariva gardens the branches spread out like the tentacles of extraordinary animals, and the plants on the ground opened up stars of fretted leaves like the green skins of reptiles, and waved feathery yellow bamboos with a rustle like paper. ~ Italo Calvino,

479:This is the aim of my explorations: examining the traces of happiness still to be glimpsed, I gauge its short supply. If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance. ~ Italo Calvino,

480:A child's pleasure in listening to stories lies partly in waiting for things he expects to be repeated: situations, phrases, formulas. Just as in poems and songs the rhymes help to create the rhythm, so in prose narrative there are events that rhyme. ~ Italo Calvino,

481:I was yearning to follow him, especially now that I knew he shared in the enterprises of that raggedy gang of boys, and it seemed to me that he had opened the gates of a new kingdom, to look at not with fearful distrust but with comradely enthusiasm. ~ Italo Calvino,

482:Night fell, the first I had spent not embracing a rock, and perhaps for this reason it seemed cruelly shorter to me. The light tended at every moment to erase Ayl, to cast a doubt on her presence, but the darkness restored my certainty she was there. ~ Italo Calvino,

483:A model is by definition that in which nothing has to be changed, that which works perfectly; whereas reality, as we see clearly, does not work and constantly falls to pieces; so we must force it, more or less roughly, to assume the form of the model. ~ Italo Calvino,

484:Here is page 31 again, page 32 ... and then what comes next? Page 17 all over again, a third time! What kind of book did they sell you, anyway? They bound together all these copies of the same signature, not another page in the whole book is any good. ~ Italo Calvino,

485:nghệ thuật viết truyện là ở chỗ biết rút ra toàn thể phần còn lại của cuộc sống từ cái sự-không-là-gì-cả lĩnh hội được từ nó; nhưng khi trang viết kết thúc, thì cuộc sống lại lên đường, và ta nhận ra rằng những gì mình biết quả là một sự-không-là-gì-cả ~ Italo Calvino,

486:Nuestro padre se asomó al antepecho. - ¡Cuando te canses de estar ahí ya cambiarás de idea! - le gritó. - Nunca cambiaré de idea - dijo mi hermano desde la rama. - ¡Ya verás, en cuanto bajes! - ¡No bajaré nunca más! Y mantuvo su palabra. ~ Italo Calvino,

487:Renouncing things is less difficult than people believe: it's all a matter of getting started. Once you've succeeded in dispensing with something you thought essential, you realize you can also do without something else, then without many other things. ~ Italo Calvino,

488:That wish to enter into an elusive element which had urged Cosimo into the trees, was still working now inside him unsatisfied, making him long for a more intimate link, a relationship which would bind him to each leaf and twig and feather and flutter. ~ Italo Calvino,

489:academic envelope serves only to protect everything the story says and does not say, an inner afflatus always on the verge of being dispersed at contact with the air, the echo of a vanished knowledge revealed in the penumbra and in tacit allusions. Torn ~ Italo Calvino,

490:With my spyglass I can observe a woman who is reading on a terrace in the valley," I told her. "I wonder if the books she reads are calming or upsetting." "How does the woman seem to you? Calm or upset?" "Calm." "Then she reads upsetting books. ~ Italo Calvino,

491:To open the gate for me there was a gravedigger I had already met at the Star of The Sweden."I am looking for Mr. Kauderer," I said to him. He answered, " Mr. Kauderer is not here. But since the cemetery is the home of those who are not here, come in. ~ Italo Calvino,

492:Your first book is the only one that matters. Perhaps a writer should write only that one. That is the one moment when you make the big leap; the opportunity to express yourself is offered that once, and you untie the knot within you then or never again. ~ Italo Calvino,

493:Your first book already defines you, while you are really far from being defined. And this definition is something you may then carry with you for the rest of your life, trying to confirm it or extend or correct or deny it; but you can never eliminate it. ~ Italo Calvino,

494:It is pointless to ask whether the new ones are better or worse than the old, since there is no connection between them, just as the old post cards do not depict Maurilia as it was, but a different city which, by chance, was called Maurilia, like this one. ~ Italo Calvino,

495:We live in a uniform civilization, within well-defined cultural models: furnishings, decorative elements, blankets, record player have all been chosen among a certain number of given possibilities. What can they reveal to you about what she is really like? ~ Italo Calvino,

496:Contemplating the stars he has become accustomed to considering himself an anonymous and incorporeal dot, almost forgetting that he exists; to deal now with human beings, he cannot help involving himself, and he no longer knows where his self is to be found. ~ Italo Calvino,

497:Instead of making myself write the book I ought to write, the novel that was expected of me, I conjured up the book I myself would have liked to read, the sort by an unknown writer, from another age and another country, discovered in an attic. ITALO CALVINO ~ Salman Rushdie,

498:You cast another bewildered look at the books around you (or, rather: it was the books that looked at you, with the bewildered gaze of dogs who, from their cages in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of his master, come to rescue him) ~ Italo Calvino,

499:Emshwiller’s like a wild mixture of Italo Calvino (intellectual games) and Grace Paley (perfect honesty) and Fay Weldon (outrageous wit) and Jorge Luis Borges (pure luminosity), but no—her voice is perfectly her own. She isn’t like anybody. She’s different. ~ Ursula K Le Guin,

500:Finito il turno Arturo torna a casa, alle volte un po' dopo e alle volte un po' prima che suoni la sveglia della moglie, Elide. Lei, stirandosi con "una specie di dolcezza pigra", gli mette le braccia al collo, e dal suo giaccone capisce il tempo che fa fuori. ~ Italo Calvino,

501:You reach a moment in life when, among the people you have known, the dead outnumber the living. And the mind refuses to accept more faces, more expressions: on every new face you encounter, it prints the old forms, for each one it finds the most suitable mask. ~ Italo Calvino,

502:Reader, it is time for your tempest-tossed vessel to come to port. What harbor can receive you more securely than a great library? Certainly there is one in the city from which you set out and to which you have returned after circling the world from book to book. ~ Italo Calvino,

503:Whatever person you decide to photograph, or whatever thing, you must go on photographing it always, exclusively, at every hour of the day and night. Photography has a meaning only if it exhausts all possible images." - from "The Adventure of a Photographer ~ Italo Calvino,

504:This was mere unfounded prejudice--that seems obvious to me--because neither before nor after existed, nor any place to immigrate from, but there were those who insisted that the concept of "immigrant" could be understood in the abstract, outside of space and time. ~ Italo Calvino,

505:To fall asleep like a bird. To have a wing you could stick your head under, a world of branches suspended above the earthly world, barely glimpsed down below, muffled and remote. Once you begin rejecting your present state, there is no knowing where you can arrive. ~ Italo Calvino,

506:Certo il costo da pagare è alto ma dobbiamo accettarlo: non poterci distinguere dai tanti segnali che passano per questa via, ognuno con un suo significato che resta nascosto e indecifrabile perché fuori di qui non c'è più nessuno capace di riceverci e d'intenderci. ~ Italo Calvino,

507:...if you ask an inhabitant of Zenobia to describe his vision of a happy life, it is always a city like Zenobia that he imagines […], a Zenobia perhaps quite different, a-flutter with banners and ribbons, but always derived by combining elements of that first model. ~ Italo Calvino,

508:To fall in the void as I fell: none of you knows what that means… I went down into the void, to the most absolute bottom conceivable, and once there I saw that the extreme limit must have been much, much farther below, very remote, and I went on falling, to reach it. ~ Italo Calvino,

509:This is already true now, when you are still occupied, each with the other's presence, in an exclusive fashion. Imagine how it will be in a little while, when ghosts that do not meet will frequent your minds, accompanying the encounters of your bodies tested by habit. ~ Italo Calvino,

510:Anche ricordare il male può essere un piacere quando il male è mescolato non dico al bene ma al vario, al mutevole, al movimentato, insomma a quello che posso pure chiamare il bene e che è il piacere di vedere le cose a distanza e di raccontarle come ciò che è passato. ~ Italo Calvino,

511:Who are we, if not a combination of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined? Each life is an encyclopaedia, a library, an inventory of objects, a series of styles, and everything can be constantly reshuffled and reordered in every conceivable way. ~ Italo Calvino,

512:Una poesia vive anche per il potere d’irradiare ipotesi divagazioni associazioni d’idee in territori lontani, o meglio di richiamare e agganciare a sé idee di varia provenienza, organizzandole in una mobile rete di riferimenti e rifrazioni, come attraverso un cristallo. ~ Italo Calvino,

513:Perinthia's astronomers are faced with a difficult choice. Either they must admit that all their calculations are wrong and their figures are unable to describe the heavens, or else they must reveal that the order of the gods is reflected exactly in the city of monsters. ~ Italo Calvino,

514:it is always about themselves that the living ask, not about those who are to come. One man is concerned with leaving behind him an illustrious reputation, another wants his shame to be forgotten; all would like to follow the thread of their own actions’ consequences; but ~ Italo Calvino,

515:Perinthia’s astronomers are faced with a difficult choice. Either they must admit that all their calculations were wrong and their figures are unable to describe the heavens, or else they must reveal that the order of the gods is reflected exactly in the city of monsters. ~ Italo Calvino,

516:I had seen much more than that, I had visited the world of the things that could have been, and I couldn't drive it from my mind. And I had known the beauty kept prisoner in the heart of that world, the beauty lost for me and for all of us, and I had fallen in love with it. ~ Italo Calvino,

517:My working method has more often than not involved the subtraction of weight. I have tried to remove weight, sometimes from people, sometimes from heavenly bodies, sometimes from cities; above all I have tried to remove weight from the structure of stories and from language. ~ Italo Calvino,

518:Clarice, the glorious city, has a tormented history. Several times it decayed, then burgeoned again, always keeping the first Clarice as an unparalleled model of every splendor, compared to which the city’s present state can only cause more sighs at every fading of the stars. ~ Italo Calvino,

519:Grown-ups are an untrustworthy, treacherous lot, they don't take their games in the serious wholehearted way children do, and yet they too have their own games, one more serious than the other, one game inside another, so that it's impossible to discover what the real one is. ~ Italo Calvino,

520:If I were to draw, I would apply myself only to studying the form of inanimate objects," I said somewhat imperiously, because I wanted to change the subjects and also because a natural inclination does truly lead me to recognise my moods in the motionless suffering of things. ~ Italo Calvino,

521:Inutilmente chiudete le vostre porte, - questa era la risposta che ci si poteva attendere dalla portatrice d'acqua, - io mi guardo bene dall'entrare in una Città che è tutta di metallo compatto. Noi abitatori del fluido visitiamo solo gli elementi che scorrono e si mescolano. ~ Italo Calvino,

522:Le nostre distanze un po' s'accorciavano un po' s'allungavano ma ormai era chiaro che l'uno non avrebbe mai raggiunto l'altro né mai l'altro l'uno. Di giocare a rincorrerci avevamo perso ogni gusto, e del resto non eravamo più bambini, ma ormai non ci restava altro da fare. ~ Italo Calvino,

523:There is a story that for me comes before all other stories and of which all the stories I read seem to carry an echo, immediately lost. In my readings I do nothing but seek that book read in my childhood, but what I remember of it is too little to enable me to find it again. ~ Italo Calvino,

524:and she comes to this café every evening perhaps deliberately to make him suffer, or perhaps hoping that the habit of suffering will become for him a habit like any other, that it will take on the flavor of the nothingness that has coated her mouth and her life for years. “The ~ Italo Calvino,

525:...childhood boredom is a special kind of boredom. It is a boredom full of dreams, a sort of projection into another place, into another reality. In adulthood boredom is made of repetition, it is the continuation of something from which we are no longer expecting any surprise. ~ Italo Calvino,

526:In every age someone, looking at Fedora as it was, imagined a way of making it the ideal city, but while he constructed his miniature model, Fedora was already no longer the same as before, and what had been until yesterday a possible future became only a toy in a glass globe. ~ Italo Calvino,

527:Let me make one thing clear: this theory that the universe, after having reached an extremity of rarefaction, will be condensed again has never convinced me. And yet many of us are counting only on that, continually making plans for the time when we’ll all be back there again. ~ Italo Calvino,

528:Writing always means hiding something in such a way that it then is discovered; because the truth that can come from my pen is like a shard that has been chipped from a great boulder by a violent impact, then flung far away; because there is no certitude outside falsification. ~ Italo Calvino,

529:In fact the problem Leopardi is facing is speculative and metaphysical, a problem in the history of philosophy from Parmenides to Descartes and Kant: the relationship between the idea of infinity as absolute space and absolute time, and our empirical knowledge of space and time. ~ Italo Calvino,

530:I think up to a point people's characters depend on the toilets they have to shut themselves up in every day. You get home from the office and you find the toilet green with mould, marshy: so you smash a plate of peas in the passage and you shut yourself in your room and scream. ~ Italo Calvino,

531:Mi tío estaba aún en la primera juventud; la edad en la que los sentimientos se mezclan todos en un confuso impulso, sin distinguir aún entre el mal y el bien; la edad en que toda nueva experiencia, por macabra e inhumana que sea, se muestra trémula y cálida de amor por la vida. ~ Italo Calvino,

532:O romance que mais me apetecia ler neste momento deveria ter só como força motriz a vontade de contar, de acumular histórias sobre histórias, sem pretender impor uma visão do mundo, só fazer assistir ao seu crescimento, como uma planta, como que um emaralhado de ramos e folhas... ~ Italo Calvino,

533:Yet, even now, ever time (often) that I find that I don't understand something, then instinctively, I'm filled with the hope that perhaps this will be my moment again, perhaps once again I shall understand nothing, I shall grasp that other knowledge, found and lost in an instant. ~ Italo Calvino,

534:… El único camino para estar con los otros de verdad era estar separado de los otros, imponer tercamente a sí y a los otros esa incómoda singularidad y soledad en todas las horas y en todos los momentos de su vida, como es la vocación del poeta, del explorador, del revolucionario. ~ Italo Calvino,

535:...passions, poetry and the ego have been seen as perpetual explosions? But if that's true, then so its its opposite; ever since that August when athe mushroom rose over cities reduced to a layer of ash, an age was born in which the explosion is symbolic only of absolute negation. ~ Italo Calvino,

536:To fly is the opposite of traveling: you cross a gap in space, you vanish into the void, you accept not being in a place for a duration that is itself a kind of void in time; then you reappear, in a place and in a moment with no relation to the where and when in which you vanished. ~ Italo Calvino,

537:(one would say yes, if not every day, at least fairly regularly), whether only for yourself or also for others (often only for yourself, but with care, as if you were cooking also for others; and sometimes also for others, but nonchalantly, as if you were cooking only for yourself), ~ Italo Calvino,

538:If I knew how to draw, I would apply myself only to studying the form of inanimate objects,” I said somewhat imperiously, because I wanted to change the subject and also because a natural inclination does truly lead me to recognize my moods in the motionless suffering of things. Miss ~ Italo Calvino,

539:At this point we must remind ourselves that the idea that the world is made up of weightless atoms surprises us because we have experienced the weight of things. Similarly, we could not admire the lightness of language if we had not also learned to admire language endowed with weight. ~ Italo Calvino,

540:Entrai a Ipazia un mattino, un giardino di magnolie si specchiava su lagune azzurre, io andavo tra le siepi sicuro di scoprire belle e giovani dame fare il bagno: ma in fondo all’acqua i granchi mordevano gli occhi delle suicide con la pietra legata al collo e i capelli verdi d’alghe. ~ Italo Calvino,

541:Si arriva a un momento della vita in cui tra la gente che si è conosciuta i morti sono più dei vivi. E la mente si rifiuta di accettare altre fisionomie, altre espressioni: su tutte le facce nuove che incontra, imprime i vecchi calchi, per ognuna trova la maschera che s'adatta di più. ~ Italo Calvino,

542:To write, for example, a crime that is horrible but which somehow 'resembles' the butterfly, which would be light and fine like the butterfly. I could also describe the butterfly, but bearing in mind the horrible scene of a crime, so that the butterfly would become something frightful. ~ Italo Calvino,

543:-Viajas para reviver o teu passado? - era agora a pergunta do Kan, que também podia ser formulada assim: - Viajas para achar o teu futuro? E a resposta de Marco: - O algures é um espelho em negativo. O viajante reconhece o pouco que é seu, descobrindo o muito que não teve nem terá. ~ Italo Calvino,

544:It's all very well for me to tell myself there are no provincial cities any more and perhaps there never were any: all places communicate instantly with all other places, a sense of isolation is felt only during the trip between one place and the other, that is, when you are in no place. ~ Italo Calvino,

545:To fly is the opposite of traveling: you cross a gap in space, you vanish into the void, you accept not being in any place for a duration that is itself a kind of void in time; then you reappear, in a place and in a moment with no relation to the where and the when in which you vanished. ~ Italo Calvino,

546:O certo é que os lixeiros são acolhidos como anjos e a sua tarefa de remover os restos da existência do dia anterior é circundada de um respeito silencioso, como um rito que inspira a devoção, ou talvez apenas porque, uma vez que as coisas são jogadas fora, ninguém mais quer pensar nelas. ~ Italo Calvino,

547:Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combination of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined? Each life is an encyclopedia, a library, an inventory of objects, a series of styles, and everything can be constantly shuffled and reordered in every way conceivable. ~ Italo Calvino,

548:Most of the books I have written and those I intend to write originate from the thought that it will be impossible for me to write a book of that kind: when I have convinced myself that such a book is completely beyond my capacities of temperament or skill, I sit down and start writing it. ~ Italo Calvino,

549:It was the hour in which objects lose the consistency of shadow that accompanies them during the night and gradually reacquire colors, but seem to cross meanwhile an uncertain limbo, faintly touched, just breathed on by light; the hour in which one is least certain of the world's existence. ~ Italo Calvino,

550:Llega un momento de la vida en que de la gente que uno ha conocido son más los muertos que vivos. Y la mente se niega a aceptar otras fisonomías, otras expresiones: en todas las caras nuevas que encuentra, imprime los viejos moldes, para cada una encuentra una máscara que se le adapta mejor. ~ Italo Calvino,

551:Your reading is no longer solitary: you think of the Other Reader, who, at this same moment, is also opening the book; and there, the novel to be read is superimposed by a possible novel to be lived, the continuation of your story with her, or better still, the beginning of a possible story. ~ Italo Calvino,

552:Llega un momento de la vida en que de la gente que uno ha conocido son más los muertos que los vivos. Y la gente se niega a aceptar otras fisionomías, otras expresiones: En todas las caras nuevas que encuentra, imprime los viejos calcos, para cada una encuentra una cara que se le adapta mejor. ~ Italo Calvino,

553:Yo tenía la impresión de que mi hermano no sólo había enloquecido del todo, sino que se estaba volviendo algo imbécil, cosa más grave y dolorosa, porque la locura es una fuerza de la naturaleza, para bien o para mal, mientras que la bobería es una debilidad de la naturaleza, sin contrapartida. ~ Italo Calvino,

554:This is the paradox of the power of literature: it seems that only when it is persecuted does it show its true powers, challenging authority, whereas in our permissive society it feels that it is being used merely to create the occasional pleasing contrast to the general ballooning of verbiage. ~ Italo Calvino,

555:It is the desperate moment when we discover that this empire, which had seemed to us the sum of all wonders, is an endless, formless ruin, that corruption’s gangrene has spread too far to be healed by our scepter, that the triumph over enemy sovereigns has made us the heirs of their long undoing. ~ Italo Calvino,

556:Ma la città non dice il suo passato, lo contiene come le linee d'una mano, scritto negli spigoli delle vie, nelle griglie delle finestre, negli scorrimano delle scale,nelle antenne dei parafulmini,nelle aste delle bandiere, ogni segmento rigato a sua volta di graffi,seghettature,intagli,svirgole. ~ Italo Calvino,

557:The trouble is that once upon a time they all began like that, all novels. There was somebody who went along a lonely street and saw something that attracted his attention, something that seemed to conceal a mystery, or a premonition; then he asked for explanations and they told him a long story… ~ Italo Calvino,

558:Having exhausted every possibility at the moment when he was coming full circle, Antonino realised that photographing photographs was the only course that he had left - or, rather, the true course he had obscurely been seeking all this time. (Last line of the story The Adventure of a Photographer ) ~ Italo Calvino,

559:Pensé: —Uno llega a un momento de la vida en que de la gente que ha conocido son mas los muertos que los vivos. Y la mente se niega a aceptar otras fisonomías, otras expresiones: en todas las caras nuevas que encuentra, imprime los viejos calcos, para cada una encuentra la máscara que más se adapta. ~ Italo Calvino,

560:The second industrial revolution doesn’t present us, as the first did, with overwhelming images of rolling mills or molten steel, but rather with bits of information that flow, as electrical impulses, through circuits. We still have machines made of steel, but they now obey bits that are weightless. ~ Italo Calvino,

561:You reason too much. Why in the world should love be reasoned?" "To love you you more. Everything increases its power if you do it by reasoning." "You live in the trees and you have the mentality of a lawyer with gout." "The boldest enterprises should be experienced with the simplest heart. ~ Italo Calvino,

562:D'altro canto, c'era sempre la morale che bisogna continuare a fare quanto si può, giorno per giorno; nella politica come in tutto il resto della vita, per chi non è un balordo, contano quei due principî lì: non farsi mai troppe illusioni e non smettere di credere che ogni cosa che fai potrà servire. ~ Italo Calvino,

563:KUBLAI: Perhaps this dialogue of ours is taking place between two beggars nicknamed Kublai Khan and Marco Polo; as they sift through a rubbish heap, piling up rusted flotsam, scraps of cloth, wastepaper, while drunk on the few sips of bad wine, they see all the treasure of the East shine around them. ~ Italo Calvino,

564:La vita d'una persona consiste in un insieme d'avvenimenti di cui l'ultimo potrebbe anche cambiare il senso di tutto l'insieme, non perché conti di più dei precedenti ma perché inclusi in una vita gli avvenimenti si dispongono in un ordine che non è cronologico, ma risponde a un'architettura interna. ~ Italo Calvino,

565:Pensé: —Uno llega a un momento de la vida en que de la gente que ha conocido son mas los muertos que los vivos. Y la mente se niega a aceptar otras fisonomías, otras expresiones: en todas las caras nuevas que encuentra, imprime los viejos calcos, para cada una encuentra la máscara que más se adapta. ~ Italo Calvino,

566:the more one was lost in unfamiliar quarters of distant cities, the more one understood the other cities he had crossed to arrive there; and he retraced the stages of his journeys, and he came to know the port from which he set sail, and the familiar places of his youth, and the surroundings of home... ~ Italo Calvino,

567:The Society for the Implementation of Christmas Consumption has launched a campaign to push the Destructive Gift!" (...) "The important thing (...) is that the Destructive Gift serves to destroy articles of every sort: just what's needed to speed up the pace of consumption and give the market a boost... ~ Italo Calvino,

568:Also in Raissa, city of sadness, there runs an invisible thread that binds one living being to another for a moment, then unravels, then is stretched again between moving points as it draws new and rapid patterns so that at every second the unhappy city contains a happy city unaware of its own existence. ~ Italo Calvino,

569:How is it possible to defeat not the authors but the functions of the author, the idea that behind each book there is someone who guarantees a truth in that world of ghosts and inventions by the mere fact of having invested in it his own truth, of having identified himself with that construction of words? ~ Italo Calvino,

570:... chi siamo noi, chi è ciascuno di noi se non una combinatoria d'esperienza, d'informazioni, di letture, d'immaginazioni? Ogni vita è un'enciclopedia, una biblioteca, un inventario di oggetti, un campionario di stili, dove tutto può essere continuamente rimescolato e riordinato in tutti i modi possibili. ~ Italo Calvino,

571:It is only when they have the photos before their eyes that they seem to take tangible possession of the day they spent, only then that the mountain stream, the movement of the child with his pail, the glint of sun on the wife’s legs take on the irrevocability of what has been and can no longer be doubted. ~ Italo Calvino,

572:uno llega a un momento de la vida en que de la gente que ha conocido son mas los muertos que los vivos. Y la mente se niega aceptar otras fisonomías, otras expresiones: en todas las caras nuevas que encuentra, imprime los viejos calcos, para cada una encuentra la máscara que mas se adapta. ( Ciudad:Adelma) ~ Italo Calvino,

573:The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning roads, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indetations, scrolls. ~ Italo Calvino,

574:The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls. ~ Italo Calvino,

575:As long as I know there exists in the world someone who does tricks only for the love of the trick, as long as I know there is a woman who loves reading for reading's sake, I can convince myself that the world continues...And every evening I, too, abandon myself to reading, like that distant unknown woman... ~ Italo Calvino,

576:Listening to someone read aloud is very different from reading in silence. When you read, you can stop or skip sentences: you are the one who sets the pace. When someone else is reading, it is difficult to make your attention coincide with the tempo of his reading: the voice goes either too fast or too slow. ~ Italo Calvino,

577:I am the man who comes and goes between the bar and the telephone booth. Or, rather:that man is called 'I' and you know nothing else about him, just as this station is called only 'station' and beyond it there exists nothing except the unanswered signal of a telephone ringing in a dark room of a distant city. ~ Italo Calvino,

578:1 )Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected, and innovative we find them when we actually read them. 2)A classic is a work which constantly generates a pulviscular cloud of critical discourse around it, but which always shakes the particles off. ~ Italo Calvino,

579:Ascoltare qualcuno che legge ad alta voce è molto diverso che leggere in silenzio. Quando leggi, puoi fermarti o sorvolare sulle frasi: il tempo sei tu che lo decidi. Quando è un altro che legge è difficile far coincidere la tua attenzione col tempo della sua lettura: la voce va o troppo svelta o troppo piano. ~ Italo Calvino,

580:The book I'm looking for,' says the blurred figure, who holds out a volume similar to yours, 'is the one that gives the sense of the world after the end of the world, the sense that the world is the end of everything that there is in the world, that the only thing there is in the world is the end of the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

581:Mentre Arturo corre già verso il lavoro, Elide mette a posto la casa, scuotendo il capo per le faccende mal fatte da lui. Dopodiché va a letto, striscia il piede dalla parte del marito, ma si accorge ogni volta che dove dorme lei è più caldo, segno che anche Arturo ha dormito lì, e ne prova una grande tenerezza. ~ Italo Calvino,

582:Some books will remain famous but will be considered anonymous works, as for us the epic of Gilgamesh; others author's names will still be known, but none of their works will survive, as was the case with Socrates; or perhaps, all the surviving books will be attributed to a single, mysterious author, like Homer. ~ Italo Calvino,

583:En adelante, de aquel pasado suyo verdadero o hipotético, él queda excluido; no puede detenerse; debe continuar hasta otra ciudad donde lo espera otro pasado suyo, o algo que quizás había sido un posible futuro y ahora es el presente de algún otro. Los futuros no realizados son sólo ramas del pasado: ramas secas. ~ Italo Calvino,

584:What about books? Well, precisely because you have denied it in every other field, you believe you may still grant yourself legitimately this youthful pleasure of expectation in a carefully circumscribed area like the field of books, where you can be lucky or unlucky, but the risk of disappointment isn't serious. ~ Italo Calvino,

585:Do you believe that every story must have a beginning and an end? In ancient times a story could end only in tow ways: having passed all the tests, the hero and the heroine married, or else they died. The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death. ~ Italo Calvino,

586:Do you believe that every story must have a beginning and an end? In ancient times a story could end only in two ways: having passed all the tests, the hero and the heroine married, or else they died. The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death. ~ Italo Calvino,

587:- Viaggi per rivivere il tuo passato? - era a questo punto la domanda del Kan, che poteva anche essere formulata così: - Viaggi per ritrovare il tuo futuro? E la risposta di Marco: - L'altrove è uno specchio in negativo. Il viaggiatore riconosce il poco che è suo, scoprendo il molto che non ha avuto e non avrà. ~ Italo Calvino,

588:Renouncing things is less difficult than people believe: it’s all a matter of getting started. Once you’ve succeeded in dispensing with something you thought essential, you realize you can also do without something else, then without many other things. So here I am walking along this empty surface that is the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

589:The horses start tugging, one this way, one that; the wheels are drawn to such a divergence that they seem perpendicular to the road, a sign that the chariot has stopped. Or else, if it is moving, it might as well remain still, as happens to many people before whom the ramps of the most smooth and speedy roads open. ~ Italo Calvino,

590:A person's life consists of a collection of events, the last of which could also change the meaning of the whole, not because it counts more than the previous ones but because once they are included in a life, events are arranged in an order that is not chronological but, rather, corresponds to an inner architecture. ~ Italo Calvino,

591:Aquella mañana en Dorotea sentí que no había bien que no pudiera esperar de la vida. En los años siguientes mis ojos volvieron a contemplar las extensiones del desierto y las rutas de las caravanas; pero ahora sé que éste es solo uno de los tantos caminos que se me abrían aquella mañana en Dorotea. ( Ciudad: Dorotea) ~ Italo Calvino,

592:I have for a long time loved fabulist, imaginative fiction, such as the writing of Italo Calvino, Jose Saramago, Michael Bulgakov, and Salman Rushdie. I also like the magic realist writers, such as Borges and Marquez, and feel that interesting truths can be learned about our world by exploring highly distorted worlds. ~ Alan Lightman,

593:The unique book, which contains the whole, could only be the sacred text, the total word revealed. But I do not believe totality can be contained in language; my problem is what remains outside, the unwritten, the unwritable. The only way left me is that of writing all books, writing the books of all possible authors. ~ Italo Calvino,

594:Forse non farò cose importanti, ma la storia è fatta di piccoli gesti anonimi, forse domani morirò, [...] ma tutte le cose che farò prima di morire e la mia morte stessa saranno pezzetti di storia, e tutti i pensieri che sto facendo adesso influiscono sulla mia storia di domani, sulla storia di domani del genere umano. ~ Italo Calvino,

595:Now that he is no longer here I should be interested in so many things: philosophy, politics, history. I follow the news, read books, but they befuddle me. What he meant to say is not there, for he understood something else, something that was all-embracing, and he could not say it in words but only by living as he did. ~ Italo Calvino,

596:Because in this way all I did was to accumulate past after past behind me, multiplying the pasts, and if one life was too dense and ramified and embroiled for me to bear it always with me, imagine so many lives, each with its own past and the pasts of the other lives that continue to become entangled one with the others. ~ Italo Calvino,

597:New York is perhaps the only place in America where you feel at the centre and not at the margins, in the provinces, so for that reason I prefer its horror to this privileged beauty, its enslavement to the freedoms which remain local and privileged and very particularized, and which do not represent a genuine antithesis. ~ Italo Calvino,

598:Why come to Trude? I asked myself. And I already wanted to leave. You cand resume your flight whereever you like," they say to me, "but you will arive at another Trude, absolutely the same, detail by detail. The world is covered by a sole Trude which does not begin and does not end. Only the names of the airport changes. ~ Italo Calvino,

599:Journeys to relive your past?' was the Khan's question at this point, a question which could also have been formulated: 'Journeys to recover your future?' And Marco's answer was: 'Elsewhere is a negative mirror. The traveller recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have. ~ Italo Calvino,

600:La mia ricerca dell’esattezza si biforca in due direzioni. Da una parte la riduzione degli avvenimenti contingenti a schemi astratti con cui si possano compiere operazioni e dimostrare teoremi; e dall’altra parte lo sforzo delle parole per render conto con la maggior precisione possibile dell’aspetto sensibile delle cose. ~ Italo Calvino,

601:For Kundera, the weight of living is found in all types of restriction, in the dense network of public and private restrictions that ultimately envelops every life in ever-tighter bonds. His novel shows us how everything in life that we choose and value for its lightness quickly reveals its own unbearable heaviness. Perhaps ~ Italo Calvino,

602:Meanwhile I understood: my mistake with Olivia was to consider myself eaten by her, whereas I should be myself (I always had been) the one who ate her. The most appetizingly flavored human flesh belongs to the eater of human flesh. It was only by feeding ravenously on Olivia that I would cease being tasteless to her palate. ~ Italo Calvino,

603:If one wanted to depict the whole thing graphically, every episode, with its climax, would require a three-dimensional, or, rather, no model: every experience is unrepeatable. What makes lovemaking and reading resemble each other most is that within both of them times and spaces open, different from measurable time and space. ~ Italo Calvino,

604:I would like to erase the consequences of certain events and restore an initial condition. But every moment of my life brings with it an accumulation of new facts, and each of these new facts brings with it its consequences; so the more I seek to return to the zero moment from which I set out, the further I move away from it: ~ Italo Calvino,

605:From my words you will have reached the conclusion that the real Berenice is a temporal succession of different cities, alternately just and unjust. But what I wanted to warn you about is something else: all the future Berenices are already present in this instant, wrapped one within the other, confined, crammed, inextricable. ~ Italo Calvino,

606:[Brzask] jest to pora, kiedy przedmioty tracą konsystencję cienia, jaką darzyła je noc, i odzyskują po trochu właściwe sobie barwy; ale najpierw przechodzą jeszcze przez coś niby strefę pośrednią, niejasną, zaledwie muśnięte czy raczej otoczone dokoła światłem: o tej porze mniej niż kiedykolwiek ma się pewność istnienia świata. ~ Italo Calvino,

607:Il momento che più conta per me è quello che precede la lettura. Alle volte è il titolo che basta ad accendere in me il desiderio d'un libro che forse non esiste. Alle volte è l'incipit del libro, le prime frasi...Insomma: se a voi basta poco per mettere in moto l'immaginazione, a me basta ancor meno: la promessa della lettura. ~ Italo Calvino,

608:Why come to Trude? I asked myself. And I already wanted to leave. You cand resume your flight whereever you like," they say to me, "but you will arive at another Trude, absolutely the same, detail by detail. The world is covered by a sole Trude which does not begin and does not end. Only the names of the airport changes. ~ Italo Calvino,

609:Whenever humanity seems condemned to heaviness, I think I should fly like Perseus into a different space. I don't mean escaping into dreams or into the irrational. I mean that I have to change my approach, look at the world from a different perspective, with a different logic and with fresh methods of cognition and verification. ~ Italo Calvino,

610:The contradiction [trying to use Russian model to reshape Italy] grew to such an extent that I felt totally cut off from the communist world and, in the end, from politics. That was fortunate. The idea of putting literature in second place, after politics, is an enormous mistake, because politics almost never achieves its ideals. ~ Italo Calvino,

611:We were still in the boundless void, striped here and there by a streak or two of hydrogen around the vortexes of the first constellations. I admit it required very complicated deductions to foresee the Mesopotamian plains black with men and horses and arrows and trumpets, but, since I had nothing else to do, I could bring it off. ~ Italo Calvino,

612:For Leopardi, unhappy hedonist that he was, what is unknown is always more attractive than what is known; hope and imagination are the only consolations for the disappointments and sorrows of experience. Man therefore projects his desire into infinity and feels pleasure only when he is able to imagine that this pleasure has no end. ~ Italo Calvino,

613:A person's life consists of a collection of events, the last of which could also change the meaning of the whole, not because it counts more than the previous ones but because once they are included in a life, events are arranged in an order that is not chronological but, rather, corresponds to an inner architecture. ~ Italo Calvino,

614:In the infinite universe of literature there are always other avenues to explore, some brand-new and some exceedingly ancient, styles and forms that can change our image of the world. And when literature fails to assure me that I’m not merely chasing dreams, I look to science to sustain my visions in which all heaviness dissolves . . . ~ Italo Calvino,

615:At times it seems to me that the distance between my writing and her reading is unbridgeable, that whatever I write bears the stamp of artifice and incongruity; if what I am writing were to appear on the polished surface of the page she is reading, it would rasp like a fingernail on a pane, and she would fling the book away with horror. ~ Italo Calvino,

616:There is still one of which you never speak.' Marco Polo bowed his head. 'Venice,' the Khan said. Marco smiled. 'What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?' The emperor did not turn a hair. 'And yet I have never heard you mention that name.' And Polo said: 'Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice. ~ Italo Calvino,

617:Cities also believe they are the work of the mind or of chance, but neither the one nor the other suffices to hold up their walls. You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours. or to the question it asks you, forcing you to answer, like Thebes through the mouth of the Sphinx. ~ Italo Calvino,

618:- Cosimo: Perché mi fai soffrire? - Viola: Perché ti amo. - Cosimo: No, non mi ami! Chi ama vuole la felicità, non il dolore. - Viola: Chi ama vuole solo l'amore, anche a costo del dolore. - Cosimo: Mi fai soffrire apposta, allora. - Viola: Si, per vedere se mi ami. Italo Calvino dal libro "Il barone rampante". ~ Italo Calvino,

619:Yes, the empire is sick, and, what is worse, it is trying to become accustomed to its sores. This is the aim of my explorations: examining the traces of happiness still to be glimpsed, I gauge its short supply. If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance. ~ Italo Calvino,

620:No, writing has not changed me for the better at all; I have merely used up part of my restless, conscienceless youth. What value to me will these discontented pages be? The book, the vow, are worth no more than one is worth oneself. One can never be sure of saving one's soul by writing. One may go writing on and on with a soul already lost. ~ Italo Calvino,

621:Şimdi Marcovaldo'nun uyuyabilmek için, ne olduğunu kendisinin de pek bilmediği bir şeye gereksinimi vardı, artık gerçek, tam bir sessizlik bile yeterli olmayacaktı, sessizlikten daha yumuşak bir dip gürültüsü, orman ağaçlarının eteğindeki bitkileri yalayan hafif bir meltem ya da çayırdan fışkırarak akıp giden bir suyun şırıltısını istiyordu. ~ Italo Calvino,

622:C'è una linea di confine: da una parte ci sono quelli che fanno i libri, dall'altra quelli che li leggono. Io voglio restare una di quelli che li leggono, perciò sto attenta a tenermi sempre al di qua di quella linea. Se no, il piacere disinteressato di leggere finisce, o comunque si trasforma in un'altra cosa, che non è quello che voglio io. ~ Italo Calvino,

623:Eu chegara ao limiar da adolescência e ainda me ocultava entre as raízes das grandes árvores do bosque para me contar histórias. Uma agulha de pinheiro podia representar para mim um cavaleiro ou uma dama ou um bufão; movimentava-a diante de meus olhos e me exaltava em relatos intermináveis. Depois ficava com vergonha dessas fantasias e fugia. ~ Italo Calvino,

624:A publishing house is a fragile organism, dear sir," he says. "If at any point something goes askew, then the disorder spreads, chaos opens beneath our feet. Forgive me, won't you? When I think about it I have an attack of vertigo." And he covers his eyes, as if pursued by the sight of billions of pages, lines, words, whirling in a dust storm. ~ Italo Calvino,

625:Ja, het rijk is ziek, en wat erger is, het probeert te wennen aan zijn wonden. Het doel van mijn onderzoekingstochten is dit: door de sporen van geluk te bestuderen die nog hier en daar te zien zijn, meet ik er de ellende aan af. Als je wilt weten hoe duister het om je heen is, moet je je blik instellen op de zwakke lichtjes in de verte" - uit ~ Italo Calvino,

626:Don't you ever get tired of reading?" she asked. "You could hardly be called good company! Don't you know that, with women, you're supposed to make conversation?" she added; her half smile was perhaps meant to be ironic, though to Amedeo, who at that moment would have paid anything rather than give up his novel, it seemed downright threatening. ~ Italo Calvino,

627:Do you want to demonstrate that the living also have a wordless language, with which books cannot be written but which can only be lived, second by second, which cannot be recorded or remembered? First comes this wordless language of living bodies...then the words books are written with, and attempts to translate that first language are vain... ~ Italo Calvino,

628:I look through the spaces between the iron steps at the colorless flow of the river down below, transporting chunks of ice like white clouds. In a distress that lasts an instant, I seem to be feeling what she feels: that every void continues in the void, every gap, even a short one opens another gap, every chasm empties into the infinite abyss. ~ Italo Calvino,

629:Le riflessioni che il negozio del macellaio ispira a chi vi entra con la borsa della spesa coinvolgono cognizioni tramandate per secoli in varie branche del sapere: la competenza delle carni e del tagli, il miglior modo di cuocere ogni pezzo, i riti che permettono di placare il rimorso per l'uccisione d'altre vite al fine di nutrire la propria. ~ Italo Calvino,

630:Agilulfo trascina un morto e pensa:"[...]E' vero che chi esiste ci mette sempre anche un qualcosa, una impronta particolare, che a me non riuscirà mai di dare. Ma se il loro segreto è qui, in questo succo di trippe, grazie, ne faccio a meno. Questa valle di corpi nudi che si disgregano non mi fa più ribrezzo del carnaio del genere umano vivente. ~ Italo Calvino,

631:Dovete compatire: si è ragazze di campagna, ancorché nobili, vissute sempre ritirate, in sperduti castelli e poi in conventi; fuor che funzioni religiose, tridui, novene, lavori dei campi, trebbiature, vendemmie, fustigazioni di servi, incesti, incendi, impiccagioni, invasioni d’eserciti, saccheggi, stupri, pestilenze, noi non si è visto niente. ~ Italo Calvino,

632:Io tenevo dietro a Vug con l'animo diviso tra felicità e timore: felicità a vedere come ogni sostanza che componeva il mondo trovasse una sua forma definitiva e salda, e un timore ancora indeterminato che questo trionfare dell'ordine in fogge tanto varie potesse riprodurre su un'altra scala il disordine che ci eravamo appena lasciati alle spalle ~ Italo Calvino,

633:The moment that counts most for me is the moment that precedes reading. At times a title is enough to kindle in me the desire for a book that perhaps does not exist. At times it is the incipit of the book, the first sentences... In other words: if you need little to set the imagination going, I require even less: the promise of reading is enough. ~ Italo Calvino,

634:Reader, what are you doing? Aren't you going to resist? Aren't you going to escape? Ah, you are participating.... Ah, you fling yourself into it, too.... You're the absolute protagonist of this book, very well; but do you believe that gives you the right to have carnal relations with all the female characters? Like this, without any preparation..? ~ Italo Calvino,

635:There is nothing for it but for all of us to invent our own ideal libraries of classics. I would say that such a library ought to be composed half of books we have read and that have really counted for us, and half of books we propose to read and presume will come to count—leaving a section of empty shelves for surprises and occasional discoveries ~ Italo Calvino,

636:In un’epoca in cui altri media velocissimi e di estesissimo raggio trionfano, e rischiano d’appiattire ogni comunicazione in una crosta uniforme e omogenea, la funzione della letteratura è la comunicazione tra ciò che è diverso in quanto è diverso, non ottundendone bensì esaltandone la differenza, secondo la vocazione propria del linguaggio scritto. ~ Italo Calvino,

637:It is pointless trying to decide whether Zenobia is to be classified among happy cities or among the unhappy. It makes no sense to divide cities into these two species, but rather into another two: those that through the years and the changes continue to give their form to desires, and those in which desires either erase the city or are erased by it. ~ Italo Calvino,

638:Ora siete marito e moglie, Lettore e Lettrice. Un grande letto matrimoniale accoglie le vostre letture parallele. Ludmilla chiude il suo libro, spegne la sua luce, abbandona il capo sul guanciale, dice: - Spegni anche tu. Non sei stanco di leggere? E tu: - Ancora un momento. Sto per finire Se una notte d’inverno un viaggiatore di Italo Calvino. ~ Italo Calvino,

639:So our efforts led us to become those perfect objects of a sense whose nature nobody quite knew yet, and which later became perfect precisely through the perfection of its object, which was, in fact, us. I'm talking about sight, the eyes; only I had failed to foresee one thing: the eyes that finally opened to see us didn't belong to us but to others. ~ Italo Calvino,

640:Una volta acquisiti dalla tua persona, marcati dal tuo possesso gli oggetti non hanno più l'aria di essere lì per caso, assumono un significato come parti di un discorso, d'una memoria fatta di segnali e emblemi. Sei possessiva? [...] Sei possessiva verso te stessa, ti attacchi ai segni in cui identifichi qualcosa di te, temendo di perderti con loro. ~ Italo Calvino,

641:What statistic allows one to identify the nations where literature enjoys true consideration better than the sums appropriated for controlling it and suppressing it? Where it is the object of such attentions, literature gains an extraordinary authority, inconceivable in countries where it is allowed to vegetate as an innocuous pastime, without risks. ~ Italo Calvino,

642:You're the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. There are plenty, younger than you or less young, who live in the expectation of extraordinary experiences: from books, from people, from journeys, from events, from what tomorrow has in store. But not you. You know that the best you can expect is to avoid the worst. ~ Italo Calvino,

643:I knew that signs also allow others to judge the one who makes them, and that in the course of a galactic year tastes and ideas have time to change, and the way of regarding the earlier ones depends on what comes afterwards; in short, I was afraid a sign that now might seem perfect to me, in two hundred or six hundred million years would make me look absurd. ~ Italo Calvino,

644:Uświadomiłem sobie własne ograniczenia - powiedział mi. - W procesie lektury zachodzi coś, na co nie mam wpływu." Mogłem mu odpowiedzieć, że tej granicy nie może przekroczyć nawet najbardziej wszechobecna policja świata. Możemy zabronić czytania, lecz w dekrecie zabraniającym czytania dałoby się wyczytać coś z prawdy, której wolelibyśmy nigdy nie ujawniać... ~ Italo Calvino,

645:Ogni interpretazione impoverisce il mito e lo soffoca: coi miti non bisogna aver fretta; è meglio lasciarli depositare nella memoria, fermarsi a meditare su ogni dettaglio, ragionarci sopra senza uscire dal loro linguaggio di immagini. La lezione che possiamo trarre da un mito sta nella letteralità del racconto, non in ciò che vi aggiungiamo noi dal di fuori. ~ Italo Calvino,

646:There are three hypotheses about the inhabitants of Baucis: that they hate the earth; that they respect it so much they avoid all contact; that they love it as it was before they existed and with spyglasses and telescopes aimed downward they never tire of examining it, leaf by leaf, stone by stone, ant by ant, contemplating with fascination their own absence. ~ Italo Calvino,

647:With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear. Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else. ~ Italo Calvino,

648:Think what it would be like to have a work conceived from outside the self, a work that would let us escape the limited perspective of the individual ego, not only to enter into selves like our own but to give speech to that which has no language, to the bird perching on the edge of the gutter, to the tree in spring and the tree in fall, to cement, to plastic. ~ Italo Calvino,

649:And in this self-expression I put all the thoughts I had about her, I released the anger she made me feel, my amorous way of thinking about her, my determination to exist for her, the desire for me to be me, and for her to be her, and the love for myself that I put in my love for her--all the things that could be said only in that conch shell wound into a spiral. ~ Italo Calvino,

650:[T]he fact that he is a pastor has nothing to do with his physical appearance, these are politicians whose only weapon is the pulpit and even their non-violence does not really have a mystical aura about it: it is the only form of struggle possible and they use it with the controlled political skill which the extreme harshness of their conditions has taught them. ~ Italo Calvino,

651:For those who pass it without entering, the city is one thing; it is another for those who are trapped by it and never leave. There is the city where you arrive for the first time; and there is another city which you leave never to return. Each deserves a different name; perhaps I have already spoken of Irene under other names; perhaps I have spoken only of Irene. ~ Italo Calvino,

652:I had fallen in love. What I mean is: I had begun to recognize, to isolate the signs of one of those from the others, in fact I waited for these signs I had begun to recognize, I sought them, responded to those signs I awaited with other signs I made myself, or rather it was I who aroused them, these signs from her, which I answered with other signs of my own . . . ~ Italo Calvino,

653:Prendi la posizione più comoda: seduto, sdraiato, raggomitolato, coricato. Coricato sulla schiena, su un fianco, sulla pancia. In poltrona, sul divano, sulla sedia a dondolo, sulla sedia a sdraio, sul pouf. Sull'amaca, se hai un'amaca. Sul letto, naturalmente, o dentro il letto. Puoi anche metterti a testa in giù, in posizione yoga, col libro capovolto, si capisce. ~ Italo Calvino,

654:Suppose we received from another planet a message made up of pure facts, facts of such clarity as to be merely obvious: we wouldn't pay attention, we would hardly even notice; only a message containing something unexpressed, something doubtful and partially indecipherable, would break through the threshold of our consciousness and demand to be received and interpreted. ~ Italo Calvino,

655:And at the bottom of each of those eyes I lived, or rather another me lived, one of the images of me, and it encountered the image of her, the most faithful image of her, in that beyound which opens, past the semiliquid sphere of the irises, in the darkness of the pupils, the mirrored hall of retinas, in our true element which extends without shores, without boundaries. ~ Italo Calvino,

656:I know that every interpretation of a myth impoverishes and suffocates it; with myths, it’s better not to rush things, better to let them settle in memory, pausing to consider their details, to ponder them without moving beyond the language of their images. The lesson we can draw from a myth lies within the literality of its story, not in what we add to it from without. ~ Italo Calvino,

657:Here in Turin you can write because past and future have greater prominence than the present, the force of past history and the anticipation of the future give a concreteness and sense to the discrete, ordered images of today. Turin is a city which entices the reader towards vigour, linearity, style. It encourages logic, and through logic it opens the way toward madness. ~ Italo Calvino,

658:There is still one of which you never speak.' Marco Polo bowed his head. 'Venice,' the Khan said. Marco smiled. 'What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?' The emperor did not turn a hair. 'And yet I have never heard you mention that name.' And Polo said: 'Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice. ~ Italo Calvino,

659:That's how it is: everything women have been told about love has been wrong. They've been told all sorts of things, but all wrong. And their experiences, all imprecise. And yet, they trust the things they're told, not the experiences. [...] And yet, it's easier for women. Life flows in them, a great river, in them, the perpetuators, nature is sure and mysterious, in them. ~ Italo Calvino,

660:You walk for days among trees and among stones. Rarely does the eye light on a thing, and then only when it has recognized that thing as the sign of another thing: a print in the sand indicates the tiger's passage; a marsh announces a vein of water; the hibiscus flower, the end of winter. All the rest is silent and interchangeable; trees and stones are only what they are. ~ Italo Calvino,

661:And at the bottom of each of those eyes I lived, or rather another me lived, one of the images of me, and it encountered the image of her, the most faithful image of her, in that beyond which opens, past the semiliquid sphere of the irises, in the darkness of the pupils, the mirrored hall of the retinas, in our true element which extends without shores, without boundaries. ~ Italo Calvino,

662:I would like to swim against the stream of time: I would like to erase the consequences of certain events and restore an initial condition. But every moment of my life brings with it an accumulation of new facts, and each of these new facts brings with it its consequences; so the more I seek to return to the zero moment from which I set out, the further I move away from it. ~ Italo Calvino,

663:If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave-What story down there awaits its end?-he asks, anxious to hear the story. ~ Italo Calvino,

664:At times I feel your voice is reaching me from far away, while I am prisoner of a gaudy and unlivable present, when all forms of human society have reached an extreme of their cycle and there is no imagining what new forms they may assume. And I hear, from your voice, the invisible reasons which make cities live, through which perhaps, once dead, they will come to life again. ~ Italo Calvino,

665:Then Marco Polo spoke: “Your chessboard, sire, is inlaid with two woods: ebony and maple. The square on which your enlightened gaze is fixed was cut from the ring of a trunk that grew in a year of drought: you see how its fibers are arranged? Here a barely hinted knot can be made out: a bud tried to burgeon on a premature spring day, but the night’s frost forced it to desist. ~ Italo Calvino,

666:A description of Zaira as it is today should contain all Zaira’s past. The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls. ~ Italo Calvino,

667:From mirror to mirror — this is what I happen to dream of — the totality of things, the whole, the entire universe, divine wisdom could concentrate their luminous rays into a single mirror. Or perhaps the knowledge of everything is buried in the soul, and a system of mirrors that would multiply my image would then reveal to me the soul of the universe, which is hidden in mine. ~ Italo Calvino,

668:If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave-What story down there awaits its end? - he asks, anxious to hear the story. ~ Italo Calvino,

669:Pero la ciudad no cuenta su pasado, lo contiene como las líneas de una mano, escrito en las esquinas de las calles, en las rejas de las ventanas, en los pasamanos de las escaleras, en las antenas de los pararrayos, en las astas de las banderas, cada segmento surcado a su vez por arañazos, muescas, incisiones, comas. Italo Calvino. Las ciudades invisibles (Zaira) ~ Italo Calvino,

670:Perhaps my true vocation was that of author of apocrypha, in the several meanings of the term: because writing always means hiding something in such a way that it then is discovered; because the truth that can come from my pen is like a shard that has been chipped from a great boulder by a violent impact, then flung far away; because there is no certitude outside falsification. ~ Italo Calvino,

671:Yes, you are in your room, calm; you open the book to page one, no, to the last page, first you want to see how long it is. It's not too long, fortunately. Long novels written today are perhaps a contradiction: the dimension of time has been shattered, we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears. ~ Italo Calvino,

672:Your house, being the place in which you read, can tell us the position books occupy in your life, if they are a defense you set up to keep the outside world at a distance, if they area dream into which you sink as if into a drug, or bridges you cast toward the outside, toward the world that interests you so much that you want to multiply and extend its dimensions through books. ~ Italo Calvino,

673:All that can be done is for each of us to invent our own ideal library of our classics; and I would say that one half of it would consist of books we have read and that have meant something for us and the other half of books which we intend to read and which we suppose might mean something to us. We should also leave a section of empty spaces for surprises and chance discoveries. ~ Italo Calvino,

674:Your house, being the place in which you read, can tell us the position books occupy in your life, if they are a defense you set up to keep the outside world at a distance, if they are a dream into which you sink as if into a drug, or bridges you cast toward the outside, toward the world that interests you so much that you want to multiply and extend its dimensions through books. ~ Italo Calvino,

675:In an age when other fantastically speedy, widespread media are triumphing, and running the risk of flattening all communication onto a single homogeneous surface, the function of literature is communication between things that are different simply because they are different, not blunting but even sharpening the differences between them, following the true bent of written language. ~ Italo Calvino,

676:In an age when other fantastically speedy, widespread media are triumphing, and running the risk of flattening all communication onto a single, homogenous surface, the function of literature is communication between things that are different simply because they are different, not blunting but even sharpening the differences between them, following the true bent of written language. ~ Italo Calvino,

677:Perhaps everything lies in knowing what words to speak, what actions to perform, and in what order and rhythm; or else someone’s gaze, answer, gesture is enough; it is enough for someone to do something for the sheer pleasure of doing it, and for his pleasure to become the pleasure of others: at that moment, all spaces change, all heights, distances; the city is transfigured, becomes ~ Italo Calvino,

678:Meanwhile, what do you do? How do you occupy this absence of yourself from the world and of the world from you? You read; you do not raise your eyes from the book between one airport and the other, because beyond the page there is the void, the anonymity of stopovers, of the metallic uterus that contains you and nourishes you, of the passing crowd always different and always the same. ~ Italo Calvino,

679:When I got here my first thought was: Maybe I achieved such an effort with my thoughts that time has made a complete revolution; here I am at the station from which I left on my first journey, it has remained as it was then, without any change. All the lives that I could have led begin here; there is the girl who could have been my girl and wasn't, with the same eyes, the same hair... ~ Italo Calvino,

680:In the seed of the city of the just, a malignant seed is hidden, in its turn: the certainty and pride of being in the right -- and of being more just than the many others who call themselves more just than the just. This seed ferments in bitterness, rivalry, resentment; and the natural desire for revenge on the unjust is colored by a yearning to be in their place and to act as they do. ~ Italo Calvino,

681:Reading means stripping yourself of every purpose, every foregone conclusion, to be ready to catch a voice that makes itself heard when you least expect it, a voice that comes from an unknown source, from somewhere beyond the book, beyond the author, beyond the conventions of writing: from the unsaid, from what the world has not yet said of itself and does not yet have the words to say ~ Italo Calvino,

682:— Sire, désormais je t’ai parlé de toutes les villes que je connais. — Il en reste une dont tu ne parles jamais. Marco Polo baissa la tête. — Venise, dit le Khan. Marco sourit. — Chaque fois que je fais la description d’une ville, je dis quelque chose de Venise. — Quand je t’interroge sur d’autres villes, je veux t’entendre parler d’elles. Et de Venise, quand je t’interroge sur Venise. ~ Italo Calvino,

683:Jeśli zimową nocą podróżny, poza osadą Malbork, wychylając się nad brzegiem urwiska, nie lękając się wichury ani zawrotu głowy, patrząc w dół, gdzie zagęszczają się cienie, w sieci zbiegających się linii, w sieci przecinających się linii, na dywan z liści w poświacie księżyca, wokół pustego grobu... - jaka historia tam w tle czeka na zakończenie? - pyta, ciekawy dalszego ciągu powieści. ~ Italo Calvino,

684:Tu casa, al ser el lugar donde lees, puede decirnos cuál es el lugar que los libros tienen en tu vida, si son una defensa que tú interpones para mantener alejado al mundo de fuera, un sueño en el que te hundes como en una droga, o bien si son puentes que lanzas hacia el exterior, hacia el mundo que te interesa tanto que quieres multiplicar y dilatar sus dimensiones a través de los libros. ~ Italo Calvino,

685:An outsider was taking my place, was becoming me, my cage with the starlings would become his, the stereoscope, the real Uhlan helmet hanging from a nail, all my things that I couldn't take with me remained to him; or, rather, it was my relationship with things, places, people, that was becoming his, just as I was about to become him, to take his place among the things and people of his life. ~ Italo Calvino,

686:There is a place where spiders make their nests. Only Pin knows it. He's the only one in the whole valley, perhaps in the whole area. No other boy except Pin has ever heard of spiders that make nests. Perhaps one day Pin will find a friend, a real friend, who understands him and whom he can understand, and then to him, and only to him, will he show the place where the spiders have their lairs. ~ Italo Calvino,

687:In addition there is the fact that this girl's application in drawing seashells denotes in her a search for formal perfection which the world can and therefore must attain; I, on the contrary, have been convinced for some time that perfection is not produced except marginally and by chance; Therefore it deserves no interest at all, the true nature of things being revealed only in disintegration. ~ Italo Calvino,

688:Literature is necessary to politics above all when it gives a voice to the one who doesn’t have a voice, when it gives a name to the one who doesn’t have a name, and especially to all that political language excludes or tends to exclude…Literature is like a ear that can hear more than Politics; Literature is like an eye that can perceive beyond the chromatic scale to which Politics is sensitive. ~ Italo Calvino,

689:So here you are now, ready to attack the first lines of the first page. You prepare to recognize the unmistakable tone of the author. No. You don't recognize it at all. But now that you think about it, who ever said this author had an unmistakable tone? On the contrary, he is known as an author who changes greatly from one book to the next. And in these very changes you recognize him as himself. ~ Italo Calvino,

690:What remains uncertain, rather, is whether this gain in evidence and (we might as well say it) splendor is due to the slow retreat of the sky, which as it moves away, sinks deeper and deeper into darkness, or whether on the contrary, it is the moon that is coming forward, collecting the previously scattered light and depriving the sky of it, concentrating it all in the round mouth of its funnel. ~ Italo Calvino,

691:So began their love, the boy happy and amazed, she happy and not surprised at all (nothing happens by chance to girls). It was the love so long awaited by Cosimo and which had now inexplicably arrived, and so lovely that he could not imagine how he had even thought it lovely before. And the thing newest to him was that it was so simple, and the boy at that moment thought it must be like that always. ~ Italo Calvino,

692:Non si creda che i classici vanno letti perché "servono" a qualcosa. La sola ragione che si può addurre è che leggere i classici è meglio che non leggere i classici. E se qualcuno obietta che non val la pena di far tanta fatica, citerò Cioran: «Mentre veniva preparata la cicuta, Socrate stava imparando un'aria sul flauto. "A cosa ti servirà?" gli fu chiesto. "A sapere quest'aria prima di morire"». ~ Italo Calvino,

693:A conversation with Miss Zwida would lead me inevitably to talk about seashells, and I cannot decide what attitude to take, whether to pretend absolute ignorance or to call on a remote experience now vague; it is my relationship with my life, consisting of things never concluded and half erased, that the subject of seashells forces me to contemplate; hence the uneasiness that finally puts me to flight. ~ Italo Calvino,

694:it’s that particular connection between melancholy and humor that Klibansky, Panofsky, and Saxl examined in Saturn and Melancholy (1964). Just as melancholy is sadness made light, so humor is comedy that has lost its physical weight (that dimension of human carnality that, however, makes Boccaccio and Rabelais great) and casts doubts on the self, the world, and the entire network of relations they form. ~ Italo Calvino,

695:Ci si mette a scrivere di lena, ma c'è un'ora in cui la penna non gratta che polveroso inchiostro, e non vi scorre più una goccia di vita, e la vita è tutta fuori, fuori dalla finestra, fuori di te, e ti sembra che mai più potrai rifugiarti nella pagina che scrivi, aprire un altro mondo, fare un salto.[...] scrivendo non mi sono cambiata in bene, ho solo consumato un po' d'ansiosa incosciente giovinezza. ~ Italo Calvino,

696:Dati biografici: io sono ancora di quelli che credono, con Croce, che di un autore contano solo le opere. (Quando contano, naturalmente.) Perciò dati biografici non ne do, o li do falsi, o comunque cerco sempre di cambiarli da una volta all’altra. Mi chieda pure quel che vuol sapere, e Glielo dirò. Ma non Le dirò mai la verità, di questo può star sicura. Lettera a Germana Pescio Bottino, 9 giugno 1964 ~ Italo Calvino,

697:In Ersilia, to establish the relationships that sustain the city’s life, inhabitants stretch strings from the corners of the houses, white or black or gray or black-and-white according to whether they mark a relationship of blood, of trade, authority, agency. When the strings become so numerous that you can no longer pass among them, the inhabitants leave: the houses are dismantled. —Italo Calvino ~ Siddhartha Mukherjee,

698:She’s there every day,' the writer says. 'Every time I’m about to sit down at my desk I feel the need to look at her. Who knows what she’s reading? I know it isn’t a book of mine, and instinctively I suffer at the thought, I feel the jealousy of my books, which would like to be read the way she reads. I never tire of watching her: she seems to live in a sphere suspended in another time and another space. ~ Italo Calvino,

699:This is what I mean when I say I would like to swim against the stream of time: I would like to erase the consequences of certain events and restore an initial condition. But every moment of my life brings with it an accumulation of new facts, and each of these new facts bring with it consequences; so the more I seek to return to the zero moment from which I set out, the further I move away from it. . . . ~ Italo Calvino,

700:...pensò che solo quella democrazia appena nata poteva meritare il nome di democrazia; era quello il valore che invano poco fa egli andava cercando nella modestia delle cose e non trovava; perché quell'epoca era ormai finita, e piano piano a invadere il campo era tornata l'ombra grigia dello Stato burocratico, uguale prima durante e dopo il fascismo, la vecchia separazione tra amministratori e amministrati. ~ Italo Calvino,

701:But in essence they had both remained in the era of the Wars of Succession, she with artillery in her head, he with genealogical trees; she who dreamed for us children a rank in an army, it didn't matter which, he who saw us instead married to some grand duchess elector of the empire . . . Despite all this, they were excellent parents, but so distracted that the two of us were left to grow up almost on our own. ~ Italo Calvino,

702:Le città sono un insieme di tante cose: di memoria, di desideri, di segni d'un linguaggio; le città sono luoghi di scambio, come spiegano tutti i libri di storia dell'economia, ma questi scambi non sono soltanto scambi di merci, sono scambi di parole, di desideri, di ricordi. Il mio libro s'apre e si chiude su immagini di città felici che continuamente prendono forma e svaniscono, nascoste nelle città infelici. ~ Italo Calvino,

703:Per questa donna […] leggere vuol dire spogliarsi d’ogni intenzione e d’ogni partito preso, per essere pronta a cogliere una voce che si fa sentire quando meno ci s’aspetta, una voce che viene non si sa da dove, da qualche parte al di là del libro, al di là dell’autore, al di là delle convenzioni della scrittura: dal non detto, da quello che il mondo non ha ancora detto di sé e non ha ancora le parole per dire. ~ Italo Calvino,

704:The city outside there has no name yet, we don’t know if it will remain outside the novel or whether the whole story will be contained within its inky blackness. I know only that this first chapter is taking a while to break free of the station and the bar: it is not wise for me to move away from here where they might still come looking for me, or for me to be seen by other people with this burdensome suitcase. ~ Italo Calvino,

705:The naked man had lost hope now; he would never be able to return to the earth's surface;he would never leave the bottom of this shaft, and he would go mad there drinking blood and eating human flesh, without ever being able to die. Up there, against the sky, there were good angels with ropes, and bad angels with grenades and rifles, and a big old man with a white beard who waved his arms but could not save him. ~ Italo Calvino,

706:La pagina ha il suo bene solo quando la volti e c’è la vita dietro che spinge e scompiglia tutti i fogli del libro. La penna corre spinta dallo stesso piacere che ti fa correre le strade. Il capitolo che attacchi e non sai ancora quale storia racconterà è come l’angolo che volterai uscendo dal convento e non sai se ti metterà faccia a faccia con un drago, uno stuolo barbaresco, un’isola incantata, un nuovo amore. ~ Italo Calvino,

707:Marco Polo descreve uma ponte, pedra por pedra. – Mas qual é a pedra que sustenta a ponte? — pergunta Kublai Khan. – A ponte não é sustentada por esta ou aquela pedra — responde Marco —, mas pela curva do arco que estas formam. Kublai Khan permanece em silêncio, refletindo. Depois acrescenta: – Por que falar em pedras? Só o arco me interessa. Polo responde: – Sem pedras, o arco não existe. (p. 84) ~ Italo Calvino,

708:Si mette a letto dalla propria parte, ma prima col piede, poi con tutto il corpo, si sposta tutto nella nicchia di tepore lasciata dalla moglie. Quando lei torna la sera, lui è alzato da un pezzo ad aspettarla. Mangiano qualcosa, con lo struggimento di avere così poco tempo per stare insieme, tanto che non riescono quasi a portarsi il cucchiaio alla bocca, dalla voglia che avrebbero "di star lì a tenersi per mano". ~ Italo Calvino,

709:Si una noche de invierno un viajero, fuera del poblado de Malbork, asomándose desde la abrupta costa sin temor al viento y al vértigo, mira hacia abajo donde la sombra se adensa en una red de líneas que se entrelazan, en una red de líneas que se intersecan sobre la alfombra de hojas iluminadas por la luna en torno a una fosa vacía, «¿Cuál historia espera su fin allá abajo?», pregunta, ansioso de escuchar el relato. ~ Italo Calvino,

710:And a keen jealousy invades me, not of other people, but of that me made of ink and periods and commas, who wrote the novels I will write no more, the author who continues to enter the privacy of this young woman, while I, I here and now, with the physical energy I feel surging, much more reliable than the creative impulse, I am separated from her by the immense distance of a keyboard and a white page on the roller. ~ Italo Calvino,

711:Si alguna vez te conviertes en la mitad de ti mismo, muchacho, y te lo deseo, comprenderás cosas que escapan a la normal inteligencia de los cerebros enteros. Habrás perdido la mitad de ti y del mundo, pero la mitad que quede será mil veces más profunda y valiosa. Y también tú querrás que todo esté demediado y desgarrado a tu imagen, porque belleza y sabiduría y justicia existen sólo en aquello que está hecho a trozos. ~ Italo Calvino,

712:A map of Esmeralda should include, marked in different colored inks, all these routes, solid and liquid, evident and hidden. It is more difficult to fix on the map the routes of the swallows, who cut the air over the roofs, dropping long invisible parabolas with their still wings, darting to gulp a mosquito, spiraling upward, grazing a pinnacle, dominating from every point of their airy paths all the points of the city. ~ Italo Calvino,

713:Certainly from then on our mother changed; her earlier apprehension disappeared, and even if her fate as a mother was different from that of others, with a son so strange, lost to the usual life of the affections, she finally accepted Cosimo's strangeness before the rest of us, as if she were satisfied now by the greetings that from then on he sent her every so often, unpredictably --by that exchange of silent messages. ~ Italo Calvino,

714:Long novels written today are perhaps a contradiction: the dimension of time has been shattered, we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears. We can rediscover the continuity of time only in the novels of that period when time no longer seemed stopped and did not yet seem to have exploded, a period that lasted no more than a hundred years. ~ Italo Calvino,

715:Marco Polo describes a bridge, stone by stone. 'But which is the stone that supports the bridge?' Kublai Khan asks. 'The bridge is not supported by one stone or another,' Marco answers, 'but by the line of the arch that they form.' Kublai Khan remains silent, reflecting. Then he adds: 'Why do you speak to me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me.' Polo answers: 'Without stones there is no arch. ~ Italo Calvino,

716:List of Artists Who Created Fantasy Worlds to Try and Cure Bouts of Sadness 1. Italo Calvino 2. Gabriel Garcia Marquez 3. Jim Henson and Jorge Luis Borges - Labyrinths 4. The creator of MySpace 5. Richard Brautigan 6. J.K. Rowling 7. The inventor of the children's toy Lite-Brite 8. Ann Sexton 9. David Foster Wallace 10. Gaugin and the Caribbean 11. Charles Schulz 12. Liam Rector ~ Shane Jones,

717:Cities have no name for me: they are places without leaves, separating one pasture from another, and where the goats are frightened at street corners and scatter. The dog and I run to keep the flock together.” “I am the opposite of you,” I said. “I recognize only cities and cannot distinguish what is outside them. In uninhabited places each stone and each clump of grass mingles, in my eyes, with every other stone and dump. ~ Italo Calvino,

718:Qualcosa che ci sfugge deve pur restare... Perche' il potere abbia un oggetto su cui esercitarsi, uno spazio in cui allungare le sue braccia... Finche' so che al mondo c'e' qualcuno che fa dei giochi di prestigio solo per amore del gioco, finche' so che c'e' una donna che ama la lettura per la lettura, posso convincermi che il mondo continua... E ogni sera m'abbandono alla lettura, come quella lontana lettrice sconosciuta. ~ Italo Calvino,

719:Thus the city repeats its life, identical, shifting up and down on its empty chessboard. The inhabitants repeat the same scenes, with the acton changed; they repeat the same speeches with variously combined accents; they open alternate mouths in identical yawns. Alone, among all the cities of the empire, Eutropia remains always the same. Mercury, god of the fickle, to whom the city is sacred, worked this ambiguous miracle. ~ Italo Calvino,

720:But Ludmilla is always at least one step ahead of you. “I like to know that book exists that I will still be able to read…” she says, sure that existent objects, concrete albeit unknown, must correspond to the strength of her desire. How can you keep up with her, this woman who is always reading another book besides the one before her eyes, a book that does not yet exist, but which, since she wants it, cannot fail to exist? ~ Italo Calvino,

721:Perhaps everything lies in knowing what words to speak, what actions to perform, and in what order and rhythm; or else someone's gaze, answer, gesture is enough; it is enough for someone to do something for the sheer pleasure of doing it, and for his pleasure to become the pleasure of others: at that moment, all spaces change, all heights, distances; the city is transfigured, becomes crystalline, transparent as a dragonfly. ~ Italo Calvino,

722:Perhaps everything lies in knowing what words to speak, what actions to perform, and in what order and rhythm; or else someone’s gaze, answer, gesture is enough; it is enough for someone to do something for the sheer pleasure of doing it, and for his pleasure to become the pleasure of others: at that moment, all spaces change, all heights, distances; the city is transfigured, becomes crystalline, transparent as a dragonfly. ~ Italo Calvino,

723:If I had to choose an auspicious sign for the approach of the new millennium, I would choose this: the sudden nimble leap of the poet/philosopher who lifts himself against the weight of the world, proving that its heaviness contains the secret of lightness, while what many believe to be the life force of the times—loud and aggressive, roaring and rumbling—belongs to the realm of death, like a graveyard of rusted automobiles. ~ Italo Calvino,

724:These cities grew in approximately the same places as our cities do now, however different the shape of the continents was. There was even a New York that in some way resembled the New York familiar to all of you, but was much newer, or, rather, more awash with new products, new toothbrushes, a New York with its own Manhattan that stretched out dense with skyscrapers gleaming like the nylon bristles of a brand-new toothbrush. ~ Italo Calvino,

725:Reading,” he says, “is always this: there is a thing that is there, a thing made of writing, a solid, material object, which cannot be changed, and through this thing we measure ourselves against something else that is not present, something else that belongs to the immaterial, invisible world, because it can only be thought, imagined, or because it was once and is no longer, past, lost, unattainable, in the land of the dead... ~ Italo Calvino,

726:I have finally come around to asking myself what is expressed in that sand of written words which I have strung together throughout my life, that sand that seems to me to be so far away from the beaches and desert of living. Perhaps by staring at the sand as sand, words as words, we can come close to understanding how and to what extent the world that has been ground down and eroded can still find in sand a foundation and model. ~ Italo Calvino,

727:Reading," he says, "is always this: there is a thing that is there, a thing made of writing, a solid, material object, which cannot be changed, and through this thing we measure ourselves against something else that is not present, something else that belongs to the immaterial, invisible world, because it can only be thought, imagined, or because it was once and is no longer, past, lost, unattainable, in the land of the dead.... ~ Italo Calvino,

728:Il primo libro sarebbe meglio non averlo mai scritto. Finché il primo libro non è scritto, si possiede quella libertà di cominciare che si può usare una sola volta nella vita, il primo libro già ti definisce mentre tu in realtà sei ancora lontano dall’esser definito; e questa definizione dovrai portartela dietro per la vita, cercando di darne conferma o approfondimento o correzione o smentita, ma mai più riuscendo a prescinderne. ~ Italo Calvino,

729:Forse questo giardino esiste solo all'ombra delle nostre palpebre abbassate, e mai abbiamo interrotto, tu di sollevare polvere sui campi di battaglia, io di contrattare sacchi di pepe in lontani mercati, ma ogni volta che socchiudiamo gli occhi in mezzo al frastuono e alla calca ci è concesso di ritirarci qui vestiti di chimoni di seta, a considerare quello che stiamo vedendo e vivendo, a tirare le somme, a contemplare di lontano. ~ Italo Calvino,

730:Perhaps it is this story that is a bridge over the void, and as it advances it flings forward news and sensations and emotions to create a ground of upsets both collective and individual in the midst of which a path can be opened while we remain in the dark about many circumstances both historical and geographical. I clear my path through the wealth of details that cover the void I do not want to notice and I advance impetuously... ~ Italo Calvino,

731:Reading,” he says, “is always this: there is a thing that is there, a thing made of writing, a solid, material object, which cannot be changed, and through this thing we measure ourselves against something else that is not present, something else that belongs to the immaterial, invisible world, because it can only be thought, imagined, or because it was once and is no longer, past, lost, unattainable, in the land of the dead. . . . ~ Italo Calvino,

732:Whenever humanity seems condemned to heaviness, I think I should fly like Perseus into a different space. I don’t mean escaping into dreams or the irrational. I mean that I have to change my approach, look at the world from a different perspective, with a different logic and with fresh methods of cognition and verification. (Terence sent me this quote the other day. A good battle cry, I believe... and one I wholeheartedly respect.) ~ Italo Calvino,

733:The taste for the spontaneous, natural, lifelike snapshot kills spontaneity, drives away the present. Photographed reality immediately takes on a nostalgic character, of joy fled on the wings of time, a commemorative quality, even if the picture was taken the day before yesterday. And the life that you live in order to photograph it is already, at the outset, a commemoration of itself." - from "The Adventure of a Photographer ~ Italo Calvino,

734:A human being becomes human not through the casual convergence of certain biological conditions, but through an act of will and love on the part of other people. If this is not the case, then humanity becomes — as it is already to a large extent — no more than a rabbit-warren. But this is no longer a “free-range” warren but a “battery” one, in the conditions of artificiality in which it lives, with artificial light and chemical feed. ~ Italo Calvino,

735:Se volessi scegliere un simbolo augurale per l'affacciarsi al nuovo millennio, sceglierei questo: l'agile salto improvviso del poeta-filosofo che si solleva sulla pesantezza del mondo, dimostrando che la sua gravità contiene il segreto della leggerezza, mentre quella che molti credono essere la vitalità dei tempi, rumorosa, aggressiva, scalpitante e rombante, appartiene al regno della morte, come un cimitero d'automobili arrugginite. ~ Italo Calvino,

736:Creating a space and time for reflection and imagination and study presupposes an accumulation of wealth, and behind every accumulation of wealth there are obscure lives subject to labour and sacrifices and oppression without any hope. Every project or image that allows us to to reach out towards another way of being outside the injustice that surrounds us carries the mark of the injustice without which it could not have been conceived. ~ Italo Calvino,

737:Among your books, in this assortment that does not make up a library, a dead or dormant part can still be distinguished, which is the store of volumes put aside, books read and rarely reread, or books you have not and will not read but have still retained (and dusted), and then a living part, which is the books you are reading or plan to read or from which you have not yet detached yourself or books you enjoy handling, seeing around you. ~ Italo Calvino,

738:In the field of suppressed languages there are many now that attract more attention ... Basque ... Breton ... Romany.... They all sign up for those.... Not that they study the language: nobody wants to do that these days.... They want problems to debate, general ideas to connect with other general ideas. My colleagues adjust, follow the mainstream, give their courses titles like ‘Sociology of Welsh,’ 'Psycho-linguistics of Provençal.”... ~ Italo Calvino,

739:Il Re deve stare al gioco: non stipendia forse il Matto apposta per farsi contraddire e canzonare? È antica e saggia usanza nelle corti che il Matto o Giullare o Poeta eserciti la sua funzione di capovolgere e deridere i valori sui quali il sovrano basa il proprio dominio, e gli dimostri che ogni linea diritta nasconde un rovescio storto, ogni prodotto finito uno sconquasso di pezzi che non combaciano, ogni discorso filato un bla-bla-bla. ~ Italo Calvino,

740:Though I leave the house as little as possible, I have the impression that someone is disturbing my papers. More than once I have discovered that some pages were missing from my manuscripts. A few days afterward I would find the pages in their place again. But often I no longer recognize my manuscripts, as if I had forgotten what I had written, or as if overnight I were so changed that no longer recognized myself in the self of yesterday. ~ Italo Calvino,

741:...we contemplated the stars beyond the Moon, big as pieces of fruit, made of light, ripened on the curved branches of the sky, and everything exceeded my most luminous hopes, and yet, and yet, it was, instead, exile. I thought only of the Earth. It was the Earth that caused each of us to be that someone he was rather than someone else; up there, wrested from the Earth, it was as if I were no longer that I, not she that She for me. ~ Italo Calvino,

742:Dalle tende a cono si levava il concerto dei pesanti respiri addormentati. Cosa fosse quel poter chiudere gli occhi, perdere coscienza di sé, affondare in un vuoto delle proprie ore, e poi svegliandosi ritrovarsi eguale a prima, a riannodare i fili della propria vita, Agilulfo non lo poteva sapere e la sua invidia per la facoltà di dormire propria delle persone esistenti era un'invidia vaga, come di qualcosa che non si sa nemmeno concepire. ~ Italo Calvino,

743:I say to myself that the result of the unnatural effort to which I subject myself, writing, must be the respiration of this reader, the operation of reading turned into a natural process, the current that brings the sentences to graze the filter of her attention, to stop for a moment before being absorbed by the circuits of her mind and disappearing, transformed into her interior ghosts, into what in her is most personal and incommunicable. ~ Italo Calvino,

744:You have with you the book you were reading in the cafe, which you are eager to continue, so that you can then hand it on to her, to communicate again with her through the channel dug by others' words, which, as they are uttered by an alien voice, by the voice of that silent nobody made of ink and typographical spacing, can become yours and hers, a language, a code between the two of you, a means to exchange signals and recognize each other. ~ Italo Calvino,

745:If I love order, it's not the mark of a character subjected to an inner discipline, a repression of the instincts. In me the idea of an absolutely regular world, symmetrical and methodical, is associated with that first impulse and burgeoning of nature. The rest of your images that associate passion with disorder, love with intemperate overflow - river fire whirlpool volcano - are for me memories of nothingness and listlessness and boredom. ~ Italo Calvino,

746:I say to myself that the result of the unnatural effort to which I subject myself, writing, must be the respiration of this reader, the operation of reading turned into a natural process, the current that brings the sentences to graze the filter of her attention, to stop for a moment before being absorbed by the circuits of her mind and disappearing, transformed into her interior ghosts, into what in her is most personal and incommunicable.   At ~ Italo Calvino,

747:Notable American Women is an enchanting and moving novel. Like Italo Calvino and Lewis Carrol, Ben Marcus reconfigures the world that we might see ourselves in a cultural and moral landscape that is disturbingly familiar, yet entirely new. As though granted a new beginning, Marcus renames the creatures of our world, questions who we are and who, as men and women, we might be. Notable American Women is a wonder book, pleasurable and provocative. ~ Maureen Howard,

748:...and every Wednesday the perfumed young lady slips me a hundred-crown note to leave her alone with the convict. And by Thursday the hundred crowns are already gone in so much beer. And when the visiting hour is over, the young lady comes out with the stink of jail in her elegant clothes; and the prisoner goes back to his cell with the lady's perfume in his jailbird's suit. And I'm left with the smell of beer. Life is nothing but trading smells. ~ Italo Calvino,

749:Daqui a dizer que o dragão é a psicologia, não custa um passo: mais ainda, é a psique, é o fundo obscuro de si mesmo que são Jorge enfrenta (...) Soam as trombetas e os tambores, é uma execução capital a que viemos assistir, a espada de são Jorge está suspensa no ar, todos nós temos o fôlego suspenso, estamos a ponto de compreender que o dragão não é apenas o inimigo, o diverso, o outro, mas somos nós, é uma parte de nós mesmos que devemos julgar. ~ Italo Calvino,

750:Meanwhile, in the satisfaction you receive from her way of reading you, from the textual quotations of your physical objectivity, you begin to harbor a doubt: that she is not reading you, single and whole as you are, but using you, using fragments of you detached from the context to construct for herself a ghostly partner, known to her alone, in the penumbra of her semiconsciousness, and what she is deciphering is this apocryphal visitor, not you. ~ Italo Calvino,

751:Stations are all alike; it doesn’t matter if the lights cannot illuminate beyond their blurred halo, all of this is a setting you know by heart, with the odor of train that lingers even after all the trains have left, the special odor of stations after the last train has left. The lights of the station and the sentences you are reading seem to have the job of dissolving more than of indicating the things that surface from a veil of darkness and fog. ~ Italo Calvino,

752:A writer's work has to take account of many rhythms: Vulcan's and Mercury's, a message of urgency obtained by dint of patient and meticulous adjustments and an intuition so instantaneous that, when formulated, it acquires the finality of something that could never have been otherwise. But it is also the rhythm of time that passes with no other aim than to let feelings and thoughts settle down, mature, and shed all impatience or ephemeral contingency. ~ Italo Calvino,

753:The lives of individuals of the human race form a constant plot, in which every attempt to isolate one piece of living that has a meaning separate from the rest-for example, the meeting of two people, which will become decisive for both-must bear in mind that each of the two brings with himself a texture of events, environments, other people, and that from the meeting, in turn, other stories will be derived which will break off from their common story. ~ Italo Calvino,

754:Those who arrive at Thekla can see little of the city, beyond the plank fences, the sackcloth screens, the scaffoldings, the metal armatures, the wooden catwalks hanging from ropes or supported by sawhorses, the ladders, the trestles. If you ask, “Why is Thekla’s construction taking such a long time?” the inhabitants continue hoisting sacks, lowering leaded strings, moving long brushes up and down, as they answer, “So that its destruction cannot begin. ~ Italo Calvino,

755:...he knows it is a city, but he thinks of it as a camel from whose pack hang wineskins and bags of candies fruit, date wine, tobacco leaves, and already he sees himself as the head of a long caravan taking him away from the desert of the sea, toward oases of fresh water in the palm trees' jagged shade, toward palaces of thick, whitewashed walls, tiled courts where girls are dancing barefoot, moving their arms, half-hidden by their veils, half-revealed. ~ Italo Calvino,

756:The seventh reader interrupts you: "Do you believe that every story must have a beginning and an end? In ancient times a story could only end in two ways: having passed all the tests, the hero and heroine married, or else they died. The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death." You stop for a moment to reflect on these words. Then, in a flash, you decide you want to marry Ludmilla. ~ Italo Calvino,

757:Cosa li spinge a questa vita, cosa li spinge a combattere, dimmi? [...] E' l'offesa della loro vita, il buio della loro strada, il suicidio della loro casa, le parole oscene imparate fin da bambini, la fatica di dover essere cativi. E basta un nulla, un passo falso, un impennamento dell'anima e ci si ritrova dall'altra parte, come Pelle, dalla brigata nera, a sparare con lo stesso furore, con lo stesso odio, contro gli uni o contro gli altri, fa lo stesso. ~ Italo Calvino,

758:I continue to gaze into the valley bottom of the memory. And my fear now is that as soon as a memory forms it immediately takes on the wrong light, mannered, sentimental as war and youth always are, becomes a piece of narrative written in the style of the time, which can't tell us how things really were but only how we thought we saw them, thought we said them. I don't know if I am destroying the past or saving it, the past hidden in that besieged village. ~ Italo Calvino,

759:Something must always remain that eludes us ... For power to have an object on which it can be exercised, a space in which to stretch out its arms ... As long as I know there exists in the world someone who does tricks only for the love of the trick, as long as I know there is a woman who loves reading for reading's sake, I can convince myself that the world continues ... And every evening I, too, abandon myself to reading, like that distant unknown woman. ~ Italo Calvino,

760:Nobody these days holds the written word in such high esteem as police states do,' Arkadian Porpirych says. 'What statistic allows one to identify the nations where literature enjoys true consideration better than the sums appropriated for controlling it and suppressing it? Where it is the object of such attentions, literature gains an extraordinary authority, inconceivable in countries where it is allowed to vegetate as an innocuous pastime, without risks. ~ Italo Calvino,

761:At times I am gripped by an absurd desire: that the sentence I am about to write be the one the woman is reading at that same moment. The idea mesmerizes me so much that I convince myself it is true: I write the sentence hastily, get up, go to the window, train my spyglass to check the effect of my sentence in her gaze, in the curl of her lips, in the cigarette she lights, in the shifts of her body in the deck chair, in her legs, which she crosses or extends. ~ Italo Calvino,

762:You only have to start saying of something : 'Ah, how beautiful ! We must photograph it !' and you are already close to the view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it never existed, and therefore in order to really live you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life. ~ Italo Calvino,

763:KUBLAI: I do not know when you have had time to visit all the countries you describe to me. It seems to me you have never moved from this garden. POLO: Everything I see and do assumes meaning in a mental space where the same calm reigns as here, the same penumbra, the same silence streaked by the rustling of learn. At the moment when I concentrate and reflect, I find myself again, always, in this garden, at this hour of the evening, in your august presence. ~ Italo Calvino,

764:Something must always remain that eludes us ... For power to have an object on which it can be exercised, a space in which to stretch out its arms ... As long as I know there exists in the world someone who does tricks only for the love of the trick, as long as I know there is a woman who loves reading for reading's sake, I can convince myself that the world continues ... And every evening I, too, abandon myself to reading, like that distant unknown woman .... ~ Italo Calvino,

765:It's all very well for me to tell myself there are no provincial cities any more and perhaps there never were any: all places communicate instantly with all other places, a sense of isolation is felt only during the trip between one place and the other, that is, when you are in no place. I, in fact, recognize myself here without a here or an elsewhere, recognized as an outsider by the nonoutsiders at least as clearly as I recognize the nonoutsiders and envy them. ~ Italo Calvino,

766:My working method has more often than not involved the subtraction of weight. I have tried to remove weight, sometimes from people, sometimes from heavenly bodies, sometimes from cities; above all I have tried to remove weight from the structure of stories and from language. . . . Maybe I was only then becoming aware of the weight, the inertia, the opacity of the world--qualities that stick to the writing from the start, unless one finds some way of evading them. ~ Italo Calvino,

767:POLO: Everything I see and do assumes meaning in a mental space where the same calm reigns as here, the same penumbra, the same silence streaked by the rustling of learn. At the moment when I concentrate and reflect, I find myself again, always, in this garden, at this hour of the evening, in your august presence, though I continue, without a moment’s pause, moving up a river green with crocodiles or counting the barrels of salted fish being lowered into the hold. ~ Italo Calvino,

768:el infierno de los vivos no es algo que será; hay uno, es aquél que existe ya aquí, el infierno que habitamos todos los días, que formamos estando juntos. Dos maneras hay de no sufrirlo. La primera es fácil para muchos: aceptar el infierno y volverse parte de él hasta el punto de no verlo más. La segunda es peligrosa y exige atención y aprendizaje continuos: buscar y saber reconocer quién y qué, en medio del infierno, no es infierno, y hacerlo durar, y darle espacio. ~ Italo Calvino,

769:Nei musei mi fermo sempre volentieri davanti ai sangirolami. I pittori rappresentano l'eremita come uno studioso che consulta trattati all'aria aperta, seduto all'imboccatura d'una grotta. Poco più in là è accucciato un leone, domestico, tranquillo. Perché un leone? La parola scritta ammansisce le passioni? O sottomette le forze della natura? O trova un'armonia con la disumanità dell'universo? O cova una violenza trattenuta ma sempre pronta ad avventarsi, a sbranare? ~ Italo Calvino,

770:L'inferno dei viventi non è qualcosa che sarà; se ce n'è uno, è quello che è già qui, l'inferno che abitiamo tutti i giorni, che formiamo stando insieme. Due modi ci sono per non soffrirne. Il primo riesce facile a molti: accettare l'inferno e diventarne parte fino al punto di non vederlo più. Il secondo è rischioso ed esige attenzione e apprendimento continui: cercare e saper riconoscere chi e cosa, in mezzo all'inferno, non è inferno, e farlo durare, e dargli spazio. ~ Italo Calvino,

771:You fight with dreams as with formless and meaningless life, seeking a pattern, a route that must surely be there, as when you begin to read a book and you don't yet know in which direction it will carry you. What you would like is the opening of an abstract and absolute space and time in which you could move, following an exact, taut trajectory; but when you seem to be succeeding, you realize you are motionless, blocked, forced to repeat everything from the beginning. ~ Italo Calvino,

772:Dall'introduzione sul ruolo sociale di lettrice per passione disinteressata. È un ruolo sociale cui credo, e che è il presupposto del mio lavoro, non solo di questo libro. Né mi dimentico neanche per un minuto (dato che vivo di diritti d'autore) che il lettore è acquirente, che il libro è un oggetto che si vende sul mercato. Chi crede di poter prescindere dall'economicità dell'esistenza e da tutto ciò che essa comporta, non ha mai avuto il mio rispetto. ~ Italo Calvino,

773:It sometimes seems to me that a pestilence has struck the human race in its most distinctive faculty - that is, the use of words. It is a plague afflicting language, revealing itself as a loss of cognition and immediacy, an automatism that tends to level out all expression into the most generic, anonymous, and abstract formulas, to dilute meaning, to blunt the edge of expressiveness, extinguishing the sparks that shoots out from the collision of words and new circumstances. ~ Italo Calvino,

774:A stone, a figure, a sign, a word reaching us isolated from its context is only that stone, figure, sign, or word: we can try to define them, to describe them as they are, and no more than that; whether, beside the face they show us, they also have a hidden face, is not for us to know. The refusal to comprehend more than what the stones show us is perhaps the only way to evince respect for their secret; trying to guess is a presumption, a betrayal of that true, lost meaning. ~ Italo Calvino,

775:O inferno dos vivos não é algo que será; se existe, é aquele que já está aqui, o inferno no qual vivemos todos os dias, que formamos estando juntos. Existem duas maneiras de não sofrer. A primeira é fácil para a maioria das pessoas: aceitar o inferno e tornar-se parte deste até o ponto de deixar de percebê-lo. A segunda é arriscada e exige atenção e aprendizagem contínuas: tentar saber reconhecer quem e o que, no meio do inferno, não é inferno, e preserva-lo, e abrir espaço. ~ Italo Calvino,

776:Questa metà di fanciulla (la metà di crostaceo adesso aveva un aspetto ancor più disumano e inespressivo) si girò su se stessa, cercò un luogo accogliente, punto un piede da una parte l'altro dall'altra di un ruscello, piegò un poco i ginocchi, v'appoggiò le braccia dalle ferree cubitiere, protese avanti il capo e indietro il tergo, e si mise tranquilla e altera a far pipì. Era una donna di armoniose lune, di piuma tenera e di fiotto gentile. Rambaldo ne fu tosto innamorato. ~ Italo Calvino,

777:Of course this happens when a classic text ‘works’ as a classic, that is when it establishes a personal relationship with the reader. If there is no spark, the exercise is pointless: it is no use reading classics out of a sense of duty or respect, we should only read them for love. Except at school: school has to teach you to know, whether you like it or not, a certain number of classics amongst which (or by using them as a benchmark) you will later recognise ‘your’ own classics ~ Italo Calvino,

778:Tienes contigo el libro que estabas leyendo en el café y que te sientes impaciente por continuar, para podérselo pasar después a ella, para comunicar de nuevo con ella a través del cauce excavado por las palabras ajenas, que justamente en tanto que pronunciadas por una voz extraña, por la voz de ese silencioso nadie hecho de tinta y de espacios tipográficos, pueden convertirse en vuestras, un lenguaje, un código entre vosotros, un medio para intercambiaros señales y reconoceros. ~ Italo Calvino,

779:Gurdulù trascina un morto e pensa: "Butti fuori certi peti più puzzolenti dei miei, cadavere. Non so perché tutti ti compiangano. Cosa ti manca? Prima ti muovevi, ora il tuo movimento passa ai vermi che tu nutri. Crescevi unghie e capelli: ora colerai liquame che farà crescere più alte nel sole le erbe del prato. Diventerai erba, poi latte delle mucche che mangeranno l'erba, sangue di bambino che ha bevuto il latte e così via. Vedi che sei più bravo a vivere tu di me, o cadavere? ~ Italo Calvino,

780:Among Chuang-tzu's many skills, he was an expert draftsman. The king asked him to draw a crab. Chuang-tzu replied that he needed five years, a country house, and twelve servants. Five years later the drawing was still not begun. "I need another five years," said Chuang-tzu. The king granted them. At the end of these ten years, Chuang-tzu took up his brush and, in an instant, with a single stroke, he drew a crab, the most perfect crab ever seen. [Calvino retells this Chinese story] ~ Italo Calvino,

781:Irene is a name for a city in the distance, and if you approach, it changes. For those who pass it without entering, the city is one thing; it is another for those who are trapped by it and never leave. There is the city where you arrive for the first time; and there is another city which you leave never to return. Each deserves a different name; perhaps I have already spoken of Irene under other names; perhaps I have spoken only of Irene. — Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino ~ Italo Calvino,

782:Entre sus muchas virtudes, Chuang Tzu tenía la de ser diestro en el dibujo. El rey le pidió que dibujara un cangrejo. Chuang Tzu respondió que necesitaba cinco años y una casa con doce servidores. Pasaron cinco años y el dibujo aún no estaba empezado. «Necesito otros cinco años», dijo Chuang Tzu. El rey se los concedió. Transcurridos los diez años, Chuang Tzu tomó el pincel y en un instante, con un solo gesto, dibujó un cangrejo, el cangrejo más perfecto que jamás se hubiera visto. ~ Italo Calvino,

783:O inferno dos vivos não é algo que será; se existe, é aquele que já está aqui, o inferno no qual vivemos todos os dias, que formamos estando juntos. Existem duas maneiras de não sofrer. A primeira é fácil para a maioria das pessoas: aceitar o inferno e tornar-se parte deste até o ponto de deixar de percebê-lo. A segunda é arriscada e exige atenção e aprendizagem contínuas: tentar saber reconhecer quem e o que, no meio do inferno, não é inferno, e preserva-lo, e abrir espaço. ~ Italo Calvino,

784:The only contact we could have with the void was through this little the void had produced as quintessence of its own emptiness; the only image we had of the void was our own poor universe. All the void we would ever know was there, in the relativity of what is, for even the void had been no more than a relative void,a void secretly shot with veins and temptations to be something, given that in a moment of crisis at its own nothingness it had been able to give rise to the universe. ~ Italo Calvino,

785:“O inferno dos vivos não é algo que será; se existe, é aquele que já está aqui, o inferno no qual vivemos todos os dias, que formamos estando juntos. Existem duas maneiras de não sofrer. A primeira é fácil para a maioria das pessoas: aceitar o inferno e tornar-se parte deste até o ponto de deixar de percebê-lo. A segunda é arriscada e exige atenção e aprendizagem contínuas: tentar saber reconhecer quem e o que, no meio do inferno, não é inferno, e preserva-lo, e abrir espaço.” ~ Italo Calvino,

786:Memory, or rather experience -- which is the memory of the event plus the wound it has inflicted on you, plus the change which it has wrought in you and which has made you different-- experience is the basic nutrition also for a work of literature (but not only for that), the true source of wealth for every writer (but not only for the writer), and yet the minute it gives shape to a work of literature it withers and dies. The writer, after writing, finds that he is the poorest of men. ~ Italo Calvino,

787:- O inferno dos vivos não é algo que será; se existe, é aquele que já está aqui, o inferno no qual vivemos todos os dias, que formamos estando juntos. Existem duas maneiras de não sofrer. A primeira é fácil para a maioria das pessoas: aceitar o inferno e tornar-se parte deste até o ponto de deixar de percebê-lo. A segunda é arriscada e exige atenção e aprendizagem contínuas: tentar saber reconhecer quem e o que, no meio do inferno, não é inferno, e preservá-lo, e abrir espaço. (p. 156) ~ Italo Calvino,

788:There are days when everything I see seems to me charged with meaning: messages it would be difficult for me to communicate to others, define, translate into words, but which for this very reason appear to me decisive. They are announcements or presages that concern me and the world at once: for my part, not only the external events of my existence but also what happens inside, in the depths of me; and for the world, not some particular event but the general way of being of all things. ~ Italo Calvino,

789:I could distinguish the shape of her bosom, her arms, her thighs, just as I remember them now, just as now, when the Moon has become that flat, remote circle, I still look for her as soon as the first sliver appears in the sky, and the more it waxes, the more clearly I imagine I can see her, her or something of her, but only her, in a hundred, a thousand different vistas, she who makes the Moon the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them. ~ Italo Calvino,

790:O inferno dos vivos não é uma coisa que virá a existir; se houver um, é o que já está aqui, o inferno que habitamos todos os dias, que nós formamos ao estarmos juntos. Há dois modos para não o sofrermos. O primeiro torna-se fácil para muita gente: aceitar o inferno e fazer parte dele a ponto de já não o vermos. O segundo é arriscado e exige uma atenção e uma aprendizagem contínuas: tentar e saber reconhecer, no meio do inferno, quem e o que não é inferno, e fazê-lo viver, e dar-lhe lugar. ~ Italo Calvino,

791:Entre las muchas virtudes de Chuang-Tzu estaba la habilidad en el dibujo. El rey le pidió que dibujase un cangrejo. Chuang-Tzu dijo que necesitaba cinco años de tiempo y un palacio de doce sirvientes. A los cinco años aún no había empezado el dibujo. «Necesito otros cinco años», dijo Chuang-Tzu. El rey se los concedió. Transcurridos diez años, Chuang-Tzu cogió el pincel y en un momento, de un solo gesto, pintó un cangrejo, el cangrejo más perfecto jamás visto. Italo Calvino, Lezioni americane. ~ Anonymous,

792:How long are you going to let yourself be dragged passively by the plot? You had flung yourself into the action, filled with adventurous impulses: and then? Your function was quickly reduced to that of one who records situations decided by others, who submits to whims, finds himself involved in events that elude his control. Then what use is your role as protagonist to you? If you continue lending yourself to this game, it means that you, too, are an accomplice of the general mystification. ~ Italo Calvino,

793:«Mi ero insomma innamorato. Vale a dire: avevo cominciato a riconoscere, a isolare, i segni di una da quelli delle altre, anzi li aspettavo, questi segni che avevo cominciato a riconoscere, li cercavo, anzi rispondevo a questi segni che aspettavo con altri segni che facevo io, anzi ero io a provocarli, questi segni di lei ai quali io rispondevo con altri segni miei, vale a dire io ero innamorato di lei e lei di me, cosa si poteva desiderare di più dalla vita?». (Italo Calvino, “Le Cosmicomiche”) ~ Italo Calvino,

794:La letteratura vive solo se si pone degli obiettivi smisurati, anche al di là d’ogni possibilità di realizzazione. Solo se poeti e scrittori si proporranno impresse che nessun altro osa immaginare la letteratura continuerà ad avere una funzione. Da quando la scienza diffida dalle spiegazioni generali e dalle soluzioni che non siano settoriali e specialistiche, la grande sfida per la letteratura è saper tessere insieme i diversi saperi e i diversi codici in una visione plurima, sfaccettata del mondo. ~ Italo Calvino,

795:Biz canlıların cehennemi gelecekte var olacak bir şey değil eğer bir cehennem varsa, burada, çoktan aramızda; her gün içinde yaşadığımız, birlikte, yan yana durarak yarattığımız cehennem. İki yolu var acı çekmemenin: Birincisi pek çok kişiye kolay gelir: cehennemi kabullenmek ve onu görmeyecek kadar onunla bütünleşmek, ikinci yol riskli, sürekli bir dikkat ve eğitim istiyor; cehennemin ortasında cehennem olmayan kim ve ne var, onu aramak ve bulduğunda tanımayı bilmek, onu yaşatmak, ona fırsat vermek. ~ Italo Calvino,

796:To be sure, repression must also allow an occasional breathing space, must close an eye every now and then, alternate indulgence with abuse, with a certain unpredictability in its caprices; otherwise, if nothing more remains to be repressed, the whole system rusts and wears down. Let's be frank: every regime, even the most authoritarian, survives in a situation of unstable equilibrium, whereby it needs to justify constantly the existence of its repressive apparatus, therefore of something to repress. ~ Italo Calvino,

797:Havia muito tempo que Amedeo procurava reduzir ao mínimo sua participação na vida ativa. Não que não gostasse de ação, ao contrário, o amor pela ação alimentava todo o seu caráter, seus gostos; no entanto, de um ano para o outro, a vontade de ele mesmo fazer ia minguando, minguando, tanto que ele chegava a se perguntar se algum dia realmente tivera vontade. O interesse pela ação sobrevivia, porém, no prazer de ler; sua paixão eram sempre as narrativas de fatos, as histórias, o enredo de vidas humanas... ~ Italo Calvino,

798:The minute you start saying something, 'Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!' you are already close to the view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life." - from "The Adventure of a Photographer ~ Italo Calvino,

799:The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space. ~ Italo Calvino,

800:And then she says, “I feel all these footsteps come loose from the stairs and move forward in the void, then plunge… a crowd falling…” And she digs in her heels. I look through the spaces between the iron steps at the colorless flow of the river down below, transporting chunks of ice like white clouds. In a distress that lasts an instant, I seem to be feeling what she feels: that every void continues in the void, every gap, even a short one, opens into another gap, every chasm empties into the infinite abyss. ~ Italo Calvino,

801:Hold tight to me!" I shouted, and I was already overtaking her, entwining my limbs with hers. "If we cling together we can go down!" and I was concentrating all my strength on uniting myself more closely with her, and I concentrated my sensations as I enjoyed the fullness of that embrace. I was so absorbed I didn't realize at first that I was, indeed, tearing her from her weightless condition, but was making her fall back on the Moon. Didn't I realize it? Or had that been my intention from the very beginning? ~ Italo Calvino,

802:Ci sono giorni in cui ogni cosa che vedo mi sembra carica di significati: messaggi che mi sarebbe difficile comunicare ad altri, definire, tradurre in parole, ma che appunto perciò mi si presentano come decisivi. Sono annunci o presagi che riguardano me e il mondo insieme: e di me non gli avvenimenti esteriori dell'esistenza ma ciò che accade dentro, nel fondo; e del mondo non qualche fatto particolare ma il modo d'essere generale di tutto. Comprenderete dunque la mia difficoltà a parlarne, se non per accenni. ~ Italo Calvino,

803:The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space. ~ Italo Calvino,

804:A person, for example, reads in adulthood a book that is important for him, and it makes him say, "How could I have lived without reading it!" and also, "What a pity I did not read it in my youth!" Well, these statements do not have much meaning, especially the second, because after he has read that book, his life becomes the life of a person who has read that book, and it is of little importance whether he read it early or late, because now his life before that reading also assumes a form shaped by that reading. ~ Italo Calvino,

805:I sense a hint of bitterness in this letter of yours and in a previous one. Excellent: we are living in a dark period, there is absolutely nothing going right, and the only consolation we have is to think about the brevity of life. I have to say that in this situation I am absolutely fine, and I am giving myself up finally to total misanthropy, which I now discover corresponds fully to my true nature. But you seem to be still anxious about something or other. Ha, ha! Don’t worry, it will just get worse and worse. ~ Italo Calvino,

806:The minute you start saying something, 'Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!' you are already close to view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life. The first course leads to stupidity; the second to madness. ~ Italo Calvino,

807:To explode or to implode - said Qwfwq - that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to expand one's energies in space without restraint, or to crush them into a dense inner concentration and, by ingesting, cherish them. To steal away, to vanish; no more; to hold within oneself every gleam, every ray, deny oneself every vent, suffocating in the depths of the soul the conflicts that so idly trouble it, give them their quietus; to hide oneself, to obliterate oneself; perchance to awaken elsewhere, unchanged. ~ Italo Calvino,

808:I’m producing too many stories at once because what I want is for you to feel, around the story, a saturation of other stories that I could tell and maybe will tell or who knows may already have told on some other occasion, a space full of stories that perhaps is simply my lifetime, where you can move in all directions, as in space, always finding stories that cannot be told until other stories are told first, and so, setting out from any moment or place, you encounter always the same density of material to be told. ~ Italo Calvino,

809:If all material were transparent—the ground that supports us, the envelope that sheathes our body—everything would be seen not as a fluttering of impalpable wings but as an inferno of grinding and ingesting. Perhaps at this moment a god of the nether world situated in the center of the earth with his eye that can pierce granite is watching us from below, following the cycle of living and dying, the lacerated victims dissolving in the bellies of their devourers, until they, in their turn, are swallowed by another belly. ~ Italo Calvino,

810:The real protagonist of the story, however, is the magic ring, because it is the movements of the ring that determine those of the characters and because it is the ring that establishes the relationships between them. Around the magic object there forms a kind of force field that is in fact the territory of the story itself. We might say that the magic object is an outward and visible sign that reveals the connection between people or between events. . . We might even say that in a narrative any object is always magic. ~ Italo Calvino,

811:Benim Marco Polo'mun kalbinde yatan, insanları kentlerde yaşatan gizli nedenleri, krizlerin ötesinde değerleri olan nedenleri keşfetmek. Kentler birçok şeyin bir araya gelmesidir: Anıların, arzuların, bir dilin işaretlerinin. Kentler takas yerleridir, tıpkı bütün ekonomi tarihi kitaplarında anlatıldığı gibi, ama bu değiş-tokuşlar yalnızca ticari takaslar değil; kelime, arzu ve anı değiş-tokuşlarıdır. Kitabım, mutsuz kentlerin içine gizlenmiş, sürekli biçim alıp, yitip giden mutlu kentler imgesi üzerine açılıp kapanıyor. ~ Italo Calvino,

812:Ben ucu ucuna görmüştüm onu. O kadar genç olmasına şaşırmıştım: Bir delikanlıyı andırıyordu, sapasağlam, kazınmış ensesi, gergin ve bronz teni, kaygılı bir sevincin egemen olduğu ışıltılı gözleriyle bir delikanlıyı: Savaş vardı, onun yarattığı savaş ve o generallerle arabadaydı; yeni bir üniforma vardı üzerinde, en faal ve soluk soluğa günlerini geçiriyordu, o yaz akşamlarında hızla insanların kendisini tanıdığı köylerden geçiyordu. Ve sanki bir oyun oynanıyormuş gibi, yalnızca oyun aradaşları arıyordu kendine, hepsi bu. ~ Italo Calvino,

813:And, thinking of this judgment I would no longer be able to change, I suddenly felt a kind of relief, as if peace could come to me only after the moment when there would be nothing to add and nothing to remove in that arbitrary ledger of misunderstandings, and the galaxies which were gradually reduced to the last tail of the last luminous ray, winding from the sphere of darkness, seemed to bring with them the only possible truth about myself, and I couldn’t wait until all of them, one after the other, had followed this path. ~ Italo Calvino,

814:His trees were now hung all over with scrawled pieces of paper and bits of cardboard with maxims from Seneca and Shaftesbury, and with various objects; clusters of feathers, church candles, crowns of leaves, women's corsets, pistols, scales, tied to each other in certain order. The Ombrosians used to spend hours trying to guess what those symbols meant: nobles, Pope, virtue, war? I think some of them had no meaning at all but just served to jog his memory and make him realize that even the most uncommon ideas could be right. ~ Italo Calvino,

815:Hay días en los que cada cosa que veo parece cargada de significados: mensajes que me sería difícil comunicar a otros, definir, traducir a palabras, pero que por eso mismo se me presentan como decisivos. Son anuncios o presagios que se refieren a mí y al mundo a un tiempo: y de mi no a los acontecimientos externos de la existencia sino a lo que ocurre dentro, en el fondo; y del mundo no a algún hecho particular sino al modo de ser general de todo. Comprenderéis pues mi dificultad para hablar de ello, salvo por alusiones. ~ Italo Calvino,

816:It is not a young man’s response, which was more what we expected, but that of an elderly man of letters, which is all the more significant, perhaps, because it shows us the unexpected direction taken by Pasternak on his interior journey in his long period of silence. This last survivor of the Westernising, avant-garde poets of the 1920s has not detonated in the ‘thaw’ a display of stylistic fireworks long held in reserve; after the end of the dialogue with the international avant-garde, which had been the natural space for his poetry, ~ Italo Calvino,

817:What does the name of an author on the jacket matter? Let us move forward in thought to three thousand years from now. Who knows which books from our period will be saved, and who knows which authors’ names will be remembered? Some books will remain famous but will be considered anonymous works, as for us the epic of Gilgamesh; other authors’ names will still be well know, but none of their works will survive, as was the case with Socrates; or perhaps all the surviving books will be attributed to a single, mysterious author, like Homer. ~ Italo Calvino,

818:The people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping...something runs among them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene. ~ Italo Calvino,

819:That's the good thing about being halved. One understands the sorrow of every person and thing in the world at its own incompleteness. I was whole and did not understand, and moved about deaf and unfeeling amid the pain and sorrow all round us, in places where as a whole person one would least think to find it. It’s not only me . . . who am a split being, but you and everyone else too. Now I have a fellowship which I did not understand, did not know before, when whole, a fellowship with all the mutilated and incomplete things in the world. ~ Italo Calvino,

820:I speak and speak,” Marco says, “but the listener retains only the words he is expecting. The description of the world to which you lend a benevolent ear is one thing; the description that will go the rounds of the groups of stevedores and gondoliers on the street outside my house the day of my return is another; and yet another, that which I might dictate late in life, if I were taken prisoner by Genoese pirates and put in irons in the same cell with a writer of adventure stories. It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear. ~ Italo Calvino,

821:Marcovaldo learned to pile the snow into a compact little wall. If he went on making little walls like that, he could build some street for himself alone; only he would know where these streets led, and everybody else would be lost there. He would remake the city, pile up mountains high as houses, which no one would be able to tell from real houses. But perhaps by now all the houses had turned to snow, inside and out, a whole city of snow and with monuments and spires and trees, a city could be unmade by shovel and remade in a different way. ~ Italo Calvino,

822:what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past it was a past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveller's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city, the traveller finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places. ~ Italo Calvino,

823:...the people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping...something runs among them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene... ~ Italo Calvino,

824:De hel van de levenden is niet iets wat zal zijn; als er een is, dan is het de hel die hier al is, de hel die wij dag in dag uit bewonen, die we vormen door onze samenleving. Er zijn twee manieren om er niet onder te lijden. De eerste valt velen makkelijk: de hel aanvaarden en er deel van gaan uitmaken tot je op het punt bent gekomen dat je hem niet meer ziet. De tweede is riskant en vereist ononderbroken aandacht en studie: zoeken en weten te herkennen wie en wat er, temidden van de hel, geen hel is, dat laten voortduren, en er ruimte aan geven. ~ Italo Calvino,

825:If you think about it, reading is a necessarily individual act, far more than writing. If we assume that writing manages to go beyond the limitations of the author, it will continue to have a meaning only when it is read by a single person and passes through his mental circuits. Only the ability to be read by a given individual proves that what is written shares in the power of writing, a power based on something that goes beyond the individual. The universe will express itself as long as somebody will be able to say, "I read, therefore it writes. ~ Italo Calvino,

826:Still all "realities" and "fantasies" can take on form only by means of writing, in which outwardness and innerness, the world and I, experience and fantasy appear composed of the same verbal material. The polymorphic visions of the eyes and the spirit are contained in uniform lines of small or capital letters, periods, commas, parentheses - pages of signs, packed as closely together as grains of sand, representing the many-colored spectacle of the world on a surface that is always the same and always different, like dunes shifted by the desert wind. ~ Italo Calvino,

827:¿Qué importa el nombre del autor en la portada? Trasladémonos con el pensamiento a tres mil años de aquí. Quién sabe qué libros se habrán salvado de nuestra época, y de quién sabe qué autores se recordará aún el nombre. Habrá libros que seguirán siendo famosos, pero que serán considerados obras anónimas, como para nosotros la epopeya de Gilgamesh; habrá autores cuyo nombre será siempre famoso, pero de los que no quedará ninguna obra, como sucedió con Sócrates; o quizá todos los libros supervivientes se atribuirán a un único autor misterioso, como Homero. ~ Italo Calvino,

828:The Great Khan tried to concentrate on the game: but now it was the game’s reason that eluded him. The end of every game is a gain or a loss: but of what? What were the real stakes? At checkmate, beneath the foot of the king, knocked aside by the winner’s hand, nothingness remains: a black square, or a white one. By disembodying his conquests to reduce them to the essential, Kublai had arrived at the extreme operation: the definitive conquest, of which the empire’s multiform treasures were only illusory envelopes; it was reduced to a square of planed wood. ~ Italo Calvino,

829:Penso che siamo sempre alla caccia di qualcosa di nascosto o di solo potenziale o ipotetico, di cui seguiamo le tracce che affiorano sulla superficie del suolo. […] La parola collega la traccia visibile alla cosa invisibile, alla cosa assente, alla cosa desiderata o temuta, come un fragile ponte di fortuna gettato sul vuoto. Per questo il giusto uso del linguaggio per me è quello che permette di avvicinarsi alle cose (presenti o assenti) con discrezione e attenzione e cautela, col rispetto ci ciò che le cose (presenti o assenti) comunicano senza parole. ~ Italo Calvino,

830:Childhood boredom is a special kind of boredom. It is a boredom full of dreams, a sort of projection into another place, into another reality. In adulthood boredom is made of repetition, it is the continuation of something from which we are no longer expecting any surprise. Would that I had time to get bored today! What I do have is the fear of repeating myself in my literary work. This is the reason that every time I must come up with a new challenge to face. I must find something to do that will look like a novelty, something a little beyond my capabilities. ~ Italo Calvino,

831:Pero la ciudad no dice su pasado, lo contiene como las líneas de una mano, escrito en los ángulos de las calles, en las rejas de las ventanas, en los pasamanos de las escaleras, en las antenas de los pararrayos, en las astas de las banderas, surcado a su vez cada segmento por raspaduras, muescas, incisiones, cañonazos. ( Ciudad: Zaira) — las imágenes de la memorias, una vez fijadas por las palabras, se borran -dijo Polo- Quizá a Venecia tengo miedo de perderla toda de una vez, si hablo de ella. O quizá hablando de otras ciudades la he perdido ya poco a poco. ~ Italo Calvino,

832:Tutte le “realtà” e le “fantasie” possono prendere forma solo attraverso la scrittura, nella quale esteriorità e interiorità, mondo e io, esperienza e fantasia appaiono composte della stessa materia verbale; le visioni polimorfe degli occhi e dell’anima si trovano contenute in righe uniformi di caratteri minuscoli o maiuscoli, di punti, di virgole, di parentesi; pagine di segni allineati fitti fitti come granelli di sabbia rappresentano lo spettacolo variopinto del mondo in una superficie sempre uguale e sempre diversa, come le dune spinte dal vento del deserto. ~ Italo Calvino,

833:Why d’you make me suffer?" “Because I love you.” Now it was his turn to get angry. “No, no, you don’t love me! People in love want happiness, not pain!” “People in love want only love, even at the cost of pain.” “Then you’re making people suffer on purpose.” “Yes, to see if you love me.” The Baron’s philosophy would not go any further. “Pain is a negative state of the soul.” “Love is all.” “Pain should always be fought against.” “Love refuses nothing.” “Some things I’ll never admit.” “Oh yes, you do, now, for you love me and you suffer. ~ Italo Calvino,

834:The close-up has no equivalent in a narrative fashioned of words. Literature is totally lacking in any working method to enable it to isolate a single vastly enlarged detail in which one face comes forward to underline a state of mind or stress the importance of a single detail in comparison with the rest. As a narrative device, the ability to vary the distance between the camera and the object may be a small thing indeed, but it makes for a notable difference between cinema and oral or written narrative, in which the distance between language and image is always the same. ~ Italo Calvino,

835:Questo è il significato della lotta, il significato vero, totale, al di là dei vari significati ufficiali. Una spinta di riscatto umano, elementare, anonimo, da tutte le nostre umiliazioni: per l'operaio dal suo sfruttamento, per il contadino dalla sua ignoranza, per il piccolo borghese dalle sue inibizioni, per il paria dalla sua corruzione. Io credo che il nostro lavoro politico sia questo, utilizzare anche la nostra miseria umana, utilizzarla contro se stessa, per la nostra redenzione, così come i fascisti utilizzano la miseria per perpetuare la miseria, e l'uomo contro l'uomo. ~ Italo Calvino,

836:You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, "No, I don't want to watch TV!" Raise your voice -- they won't hear you otherwise -- "I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed!" Maybe they haven't heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: "I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel!" Or if you prefer, don't say anything: just hope they'll leave you alone. ~ Italo Calvino,

837:I, on the other hand, am walking through a larch wood and every step I take is history. I think 'I love you, Adriana' and that is history, will have great consequences. I'll behave tomorrow in battle like a man who has thought tonight 'I love you, Adriana.' Perhaps I may not accomplish great deeds but history is made up of little anonymous gestures; I may die tomorrow even before that German, but everything I do before dying and my death too will be little parts of history, and all the thoughts I'm having now will influence my history tomorrow, tomorrow's history of the human race. ~ Italo Calvino,

838:But a situation that takes place at the opening of a novel always refers you to something else that has happened or is about to happen, and it is this something else that makes it risky to identify with me, risky for you the reader and for him the author; and the more gray and ordinary and undistinguished and commonplace the beginning of this novel is, the more you and the author feel a hint of danger looming over that fraction of “I” that you have heedlessly invested in the “I” of a character whose inner history you know nothing about, as you know nothing about the contents of that ~ Italo Calvino,

839:I have also thought of a model city from which all possible cities can be deduced," Marco answered. "It is a city made only of exceptions, exclusions, incongruities, contradictions. If such a city is the most improbable, by reducing the number of abnormal elements, we increase the probability that the city really exists. So I have only to subtract exceptions from my model, and in whatever direction I proceed, I will arrive at one of the cities which, always as an exception, exist. But I cannot force my operation beyond a certain limit: I would achieve cities too probable to be real. ~ Italo Calvino,

840:Talvez toda a questão seja saber quais palavras pronunciar, quais gestos executar, e em que ordem e ritmo, ou então basta o olhar a resposta o aceno de alguém, basta que alguém faça alguma coisa pelo simples prazer de fazê-la, e para que o seu prazer se torne um prazer para os outros; naquele momento todos os espaços se alteram, as alturas, as distâncias, a cidade se transfigura, torna-se cristalina, transparente como uma libélula. Mas é necessário que tudo aconteça como se por acaso, sem dar muita importância, sem a pretensão de estar cumprindo uma operação decisiva [...]. (p. 147) ~ Italo Calvino,

841:Or else the cloud hovered, having barely left the lips, dense and slow, and suggested another vision: the exhalations that hang over the roofs of the metropolises, the opaque smoke that is not scattered, the hood of miasmata that weighs over the bituminous streets. Not the labile mists of memory nor the dry transparence, but the charring of burned lives that forms a scab on the city, the sponge swollen with vital matter that no longer flows, the jam of past, present, future that blocks existences calcified in the illusion of movement: this is what you would find at the end of your journey. ~ Italo Calvino,

842:Arrivando a ogni città il viaggiatore ritrova un suo passato che non sapeva più d'avere: l'estraneità di ciò che non sei più o non possiedi più t'aspetta al varco nei luoghi estranei e non posseduti. Marco entra in una città; vede qualcuno in una piazza vivere una vita o un istante che potevano essere suoi; al posto di quell'uomo ora avrebbe potuto esserci lui se si fosse fermato nel tempo tanto tempo prima, oppure se tanto tempo prima a un crocevia invece di prendere una strada avesse preso quella opposta e dopo un lungo giro fosse venuto a trovarsi al posto di quell'uomo in quella piazza. ~ Italo Calvino,

843:If the ancients had been able to see it as I see it now, Mr. Palomar thinks, they would have thought they had projected their gaze into the heaven of Plato's ideas, or in the immaterial space of the postulates of Euclid; but instead, thanks to some misdirection or other, this sight has been granted to me, who fear it is too beautiful to be true, too gratifying to my imaginary universe to belong to the real world. But perhaps it is this same distrust of our senses that prevents us from feeling comfortable in the universe. Perhaps the first rule I must impose on myself is this: stick to what I see. ~ Italo Calvino,

844:...she, Mrs. Ph(i)Nk₀, she who in the midst of our closed petty world had been capable of a generous impulse, 'Boys, the tagliatelle I would make for you!', a true outburst of general love, initiating at the same moment the concept of space and, properly speaking, space itself, and time, and universal gravitation, and the gravitating universe, making possible billions and billions of suns, and of planets, and fields of wheat, and Mrs. Ph(i)Nk₀s scattered through the continents of the planets, kneading with floury, oil-shiny, generous arms, and she lost at that very moment, and we, mourning her loss. ~ Italo Calvino,

845:Tomorrow, Reader and Other Reader, if you are together, if you lie down in the same bed like a settled couple, each will turn on the lamp at the side of the bed and sink into his or her book; two parallel readings will accompany the approach of sleep; first you, then you will turn out the light; returning from separated universes, you will find each other fleetingly in the darkness, where all separations are erased, before divergent dreams draw you again, one to one side, and one to the other. But do not wax ironic on this prospect of conjugal harmony: what happier image of a couple could you set against it? ~ Italo Calvino,

846:Kublai [Kan] pregunta a Marco: -Cuando regreses al Poniente, ¿repetiras a tu gente los relatos que me hacer a mi? -Yo hablo, hablo -dice Marco- pero el que me escucha solo retiene las palabras que espera. Una es la descripcion del mundo a la que prestas oidos benevolos, otra la que recorrera los corrillos de descargadores y gondoleros del canal de mi casa el dia de mi regreso, otra la que podria dictar a avanzada edad, si cayera prisionero de piratas genoveses y me pusieran el cepo en la misma celda que a un escritor de novelas de aventuras. Lo que dirige el relato no es la voz: es el oido ~ Italo Calvino,

847:At a certain point the farthest galaxies that had seen me (or had seen the I SAW YOU sign from a galaxy closer to us, or the I SAW THE I SAW YOU from a bit farther on) would reach the ten-billion-light-year threshold, beyond which they would move off at three hundred thousand kilometers per second, the speed of light, and no image would be able to overtake them after that. So there was the risk that they would remain with their temporary mistaken opinion of me, which from that moment on would become definitive, no longer rectifiable, beyond all appeal and therefore, in a sense, correct, corresponding to the truth. ~ Italo Calvino,

848:Or else you can say, like the camel driver who took me there: "I arrived here in my first youth, one morning, many people were hurrying along the streets toward the market, the women had fine teeth and looked you straight in the eye, three soldiers on a platform played the trumpet, and all around wheels turned and colored banners fluttered in the wind. Before then I had known only the desert and the caravan routes. In the years that followed, my eyes returned to contemplate the desert expanses and the caravan routes; but now I know this path is only one of the many that opened before me on that morning in Dorothea. ~ Italo Calvino,

849:Ama bu dikey kentte,bütün boşlukların dolmak, her betonarma blokun başka bloklarla iç içe geçmek eğilimi gösterdiği bu sıkıştırılmış kentte, duvarlar arasındaki boş dilimlerden, yönetmeliklerin iki yapı arasında öngördükleri en az uzaklıklardan, iki yapının arka arkaya vermesinden oluşan bir tür karşıkent, eksi kent ortaya çıkıyor; yapı aralarındaki boşluklardan, aydınlatma deliklerinden,havalandırma kanallarından taşıt geçitlerinden, küçük iç alanlardan, bodrum girişlerinden oluşan bir sıva ve zift gezegeni üzerindeki kuru kanal ağını andıran bir kent; işte eski kedi halkı duvarların sıkıştırdığı bu ağda dolaşıyor. ~ Italo Calvino,

850:…Marco’s answers and objections took their place in a discourse already proceeding on its own, in the Great Khan’s head. That is to say, between the two of them it did not matter whether questions and solutions were uttered aloud or whether each of the two went on pondering in silence. In fact, they were silent, their eyes half-closed, reclining on cushions, swaying in hammocks, smoking long amber pipes. Marco Polo imagined answering (or Kublai Khan imagined his answer) that the more one was lost in unfamiliar quarters of distant cities, the more one understood the other cities he had crossed to arrive there… ~ Italo Calvino,

851:I lowered my hands to try to save from disorder the arrangement of the tleaves and flowers; meanwhile, she was also dealing with the branches, leaning forward; and so it happened that at the very moment when one of my hands slipped in confusion between Madame Miyagi's kimono and her bare skin and found itself clasping a soft and warm breast, elongated in form, one of the lady's hands, from among the branches keiyaki [translator's note: in Europe called Caucasian elm], had reached my member and was holding it in a firm, frank grasp, drawing it from my garments as if she were performing the operation of stripping away leaves. ~ Italo Calvino,

852:It is time for this book in the second person to address itself no longer to a general male you, perhaps brother and double of a hypocrite I, but directly to you who appeared already in the second chapter as the Third Person necessary for the novel to be a novel, for something to happen between that male Second Person and the female Third, for something to take form, develop, or deteriorate according to the phases of human events. Or, rather, to follow the mental models through which we live our human events. Or, rather, to follow the mental models through which we attribute to human events the meanings that allow them to be lived. ~ Italo Calvino,

853:It is not true what everyone always says that the only way to see America is to go across it by car. Apart from the fact that it is impossible given its enormous size, it is also deadly boring. A few outings on the motorway are enough to give an idea of what small-town and even village America is like on average, with the endless suburbs along the highways, a sight of desperate squalor, with all those low buildings, petrol stations or other shops which look like them, and the colours of the writing on the shop signs, and you realize 95 per cent of America is a country of ugliness, oppressiveness and sameness, in short of relentless monotony. ~ Italo Calvino,

854:And for the verb "to read"? Will we be able to say, "Today it reads" as we say "Today it rains"? If you think about it, reading is a necessarily individual act, far more than writing. If we assume that writing manages to go beyond the limitations of the author, it will continue to have a meaning only when it is read by a single person and passes through his mental circuits. Only the ability to be read by a given individual proves that what is written shares in the power of writing, a power based on something that goes beyond the individual. The universe will express itself as long as somebody will be able to say, "I read, therefore it writes. ~ Italo Calvino,

855:Dice: - Tutto è inutile, se l'ultimo approdo non può che essere la città infernale, ed è là in fondo che, in una spirale sempre più stretta, ci risucchia la corrente. E Polo: - L'inferno dei viventi non è qualcosa che sarà; se ce n'è uno, è quello che è già qui, l'inferno che abitiamo tutti i giorni, che formiamo stando insieme. Due modi ci sono per non soffrirne. Il primo riesce facile a molti: accettare l'inferno e diventarne parte fino al punto di non vederlo più. Il secondo è rischioso ed esige attenzione e apprendimento continui: cercare e saper riconoscere chi e cosa, in mezzo all'inferno, non è inferno, e farlo durare, dargli spazio. ~ Italo Calvino,

856:Reading," he says, "is always this: there is a thing that is there, a thing made of writing, a solid material object, which cannot be changed, and through this thing we measure ourselves against something else that is not present, something else that belongs to the immaterial, invisible world, because it can only be thought, imagined, or because it was once and is no longer, past, lost, unattainable, in the land of the dead...." "Or that is not present because it does not yet exist, something desire, feared, possible or impossible," Ludmilla says. "Reading is going toward something that is about to be, and no one yet knows what it will be.... ~ Italo Calvino,

857:As far as you are able to gather from hints scattered through these letters, Apocryphal Power, riven by internecine battles and eluding the control of its founder, Ermes Marana, has broken into two groups: a sect of enlightened followers of the Archangel of Light and a sect of nihilist followers of the Archon of Shadow. The former are convinced that among the false books flooding the world they can track down the few that bear a truth perhaps extrahuman or extraterrestrial. The latter believe that only counterfeiting, mystification, intentional falsehood can represent absolute value in a book, a truth not contaminated by the dominant pseudo truths. ~ Italo Calvino,

858:Marco enters a city; he sees someone in a square living a life or an instant that could be his; he could now be in that man's place, if he had stopped in time, long ago; or if, long ago, at a crossroads, instead of taking one road he had taken the opposite one, and after long wandering he had come to be in the place of that man in the square. By now, from that real or hypothetical past of his, he is excluded; he cannot stop; he must go on to another city, where another of his pasts awaits him, or something perhaps that had been a possible future of his and is now someone else's present. Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches. ~ Italo Calvino,

859:Marco [Polo] enters a city; he sees someone in a square living a life or an instant that could be his; he could now be in that man's place, if he had stopped time, long ago; or if, long ago, at a crossroads, instead of taking one road he had taken the opposite one, and after long wandering he had come to be in the place of that man in the square. By now, from that real or hypothetical past of his, he is excluded; he cannot stop; he must go on to another city, where another of his pasts awaits him, or something perhaps that had been a possible future of his and is someone else's present. Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches. ~ Italo Calvino,

860:Everything is more uncertain than ever but I feel I’ve now reached a state of inner serenity: as long as we can check our telephone numbers and there is no answer then we will continue, all three of us, speeding back and forth along these white lines, with no points of departure or arrival to threaten with their sensations and meanings the single-mindedness of our race, freed finally from the awkward thickness of our persons and voices and moods, reduced to luminous signals, the only appropriate way of being for those who wish to be identified with what they say, without the distorting buzz our presence or the presence of others transmits to our messages. ~ Italo Calvino,

861:Cuando escribo procedo por series: tengo muchas carpetas donde meto las páginas escritas, según las ideas que se me pasan por la cabeza, o apuntes de cosas que quisiera escribir. Tengo una carpeta para los objetos, una carpeta para los animales, una para las personas, una carpeta para los personajes históricos y otra para los héroes de la mitología; tengo una carpeta sobre las cuatro estaciones y una sobre los cinco sentidos; en una recojo páginas sobre las ciudades y los paisajes de mi vida y en otra ciudades imaginarias, fuera del espacio y del tiempo. Cuando una carpeta empieza a llenarse de folios, me pongo a pensar en el libro que puedo sacar de ellos. ~ Italo Calvino,

862:You turn the book over in your hands, you scan the sentences on the back of the jacket, generic phrases that don't say a great deal. So much the better, there is no message that indiscreetly outshouts the message that the book itself must communicate directly, that you must extract from the book, however much or little it may be. Of course, this circling of the book, too, this reading around it before reading inside it, is a part of the pleasure in a new book, but like all preliminary pleasures, it has its optimal duration if you want it to serve as a thrust toward the more substantial pleasure of the consummation of the act, namely the reading of the book. ~ Italo Calvino,

863:All this so that Marco Polo could explain or imagine explaining or be imagined explaining or succeed finally in explaining to himself that what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places. ~ Italo Calvino,

864:How well I would write if I were not here! If between the white page and the writing of words and stories that take shape and disappear without anyone's ever writing them there were not interposed that uncomfortable partition which is my person! Style, taste, individual philosophy, subjectivity, cultural background, real experience, psychology, talent, tricks of the trade: all the elements that make what I write recognizable as mine seem to me a cage that restricts my possibilities. If I were only a hand, a severed hand that grasps a pen and writes...who would move this hand? The anonymous throng? The spirit of the times? The collective unconscious? I do not know. ~ Italo Calvino,

865:Marco entra numa cidade; vê alguém numa praça que vive uma vida ou um instante que poderiam ser seus; ele podia estar no lugar daquele homem se tivesse parado no tempo tanto tempo atrás, ou então se tanto tempo atrás numa encruzilhada tivesse tomado uma estrada em vez de outra e depois de uma longa viagem se encontrasse no lugar daquele homem e naquela praça. Agora, desse passado real ou hipotético, ele está excluído; não pode parar; deve prosseguir até uma outra cidade em que outro passado aguarda por ele, ou algo que talvez fosse um possível futuro e que agora é o presente de outra pessoa. Os futuros não realizados são apenas ramos do passado: ramos secos. ~ Italo Calvino,

866:Diz: - Tudo é inútil, se o último local de desembarque tiver de ser a cidade infernal, e é lá no fundo que, numa espiral cada vez mais apertada, nos chupar a corrente. E Polo: - O inferno dos vivos não é uma coisa que virá a existir; se houver um, é o que já está aqui, o inferno que habitamos todos os dias, que nós formamos ao estarmos juntos. Há dois modos para não o sofrermos. O primeiro torna-se fácil para muita gente: aceitar o inferno e fazer parte dele a ponto de já não o vermos. O segundo é arriscado e exige uma atenção e uma aprendizagem contínuas: tentar e saber reconhecer, no meio do inferno, quem e o que não é inferno, e fazê-lo viver, e dar-lhe lugar. ~ Italo Calvino,

867:When I got here my first thought was: Maybe I achieved such an effort with my thoughts that time has made a complete revolution; here I am at the station from which I left on my first journey, it has remained as it was then, without any change. All the lives that I could have led begin here; there is the girl who could have been my girl and wasn’t, with the same eyes, the same hair…” She looks around as if making fun of me; I point my chin at her; she raises the corners of her mouth as if to smile, then stops: because she has changed her mind, or because this is the only way she smiles. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it as one. And then what? ~ Italo Calvino,

868:Recurrent invasions racked the city of Theodora in the centuries of its history; no sooner was one enemy routed than another gained strength and threatened the survival of the inhabitants. When the sky was cleared of condors, they had to face the propagation of serpents; the spiders' extermination allowed the flies to multiply into a black swarm; the victory over the termites left the city at the mercy of the woodworms. One by one the species incompatible to the city had to succumb and were extinguished. By dint of ripping away scales and carapaces, tearing off elytra and feathers, the people gave Theodora the exclusive image of human city that still distinguishes it. ~ Italo Calvino,

869:Together with the centrifugal radiation that projects my image along all the dimensions of space, I would like these pages also to render the opposite movement, through which I receive from the mirrors images that direct sight cannot embrace. From mirror to mirror - this is what I happen to dream of - the totality of things, the whole, the entire universe, divine wisdom could concentrate their luminous rays into a single mirror. Or perhaps the knowledge of everything is buried in the soul, and a system of mirrors that would multiply my image to infinity and reflect its essence in a single image would then reveal to me the soul of the universe, which is hidden in mine. ~ Italo Calvino,

870:As a matter of fact, we had already been warned against sliding down the marble banisters, not out of fear that we might break a leg or an arm, for that never worried our parents-which was, I think, why we never broke anything-but because they feared that since we were growing up and gaining weight, we might knock over the busts of ancestors placed by our father on the banisters at the turn of every flight of stairs. Cosimo had, in fact, once brought down a bishop, a great-great-great-grandfather, miter and all; lie was punished, and since then he had learned to brake just before reaching the turn of a flight and jump off within a hair's-breadth of running into a bust. ~ Italo Calvino,

871:...sometimes different cities follow one another on the same site and under the same name, born and dying without knowing one another, without communication among themselves. At times even the names of the inhabitants remain the same, and their voices’ accent, and also the features of the faces; but the gods who live beneath names and above places have gone off without a word and outsiders have settled in their place. It is pointless to ask whether the new ones are better or worse than the old, since there is no connection between them, just as the old postcards do not depict Maurilia as it was, but a different city which, by chance, was called Maurilia, like this one. ~ Italo Calvino,

872:All this so that Marco Polo could explain or imagine explaining or be imagined explaining or succeed finally in explaining to himself that what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past it was a past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places. ~ Italo Calvino,

873:Questo degli avvoltoi non è un lavoro che vada subito per il suo verso. Si calano appena la battaglia volge alla fine: ma il campo è seminato di morti tutti catafratti nelle corazze d'acciaio, contro cui i rostri dei rapaci battono senza neanche scalfirli. Appena viene sera, silenziosi, dagli opposti campi, camminando carponi, arrivano gli spogliatori di cadaveri. Gli avvoltoi risaliti a vorticare in cielo, aspettano che abbiano finito. Le prime luci illuminano un campo biancheggiante di corpi tutti ignudi. Gli avvoltoi ridiscendono e cominciano il gran pasto. Ma devono sbrigarsi, perché non tarderanno ad arrivare i becchini, che negano agli uccelli quel che concedono ai vermi. ~ Italo Calvino,

874:The day came when my travels took me to Pyrrha. As soon as I set foot there, everything I had imagined was forgotten; Pyrrha had become what is Pyrrha; and I thought I had always known that the sea is invisible from the city, hidden behind a due of the low, rolling coast; that the streets are long and straight; that the houses are clumped at intervals, not high, and they are separated by open lots with stacks of lumber and with sawmills; that the wind stirs the vanes of the water pumps. From that moment on the name Pyrrha has brought to my mind this view, this light, this buzzing, this air in which a yellowish dust flies: obviously the name means this and could mean nothing but this. ~ Italo Calvino,

875:It was on the fifteenth of June, 1767, that Cosimo Piovasco di Rondò, my brother, sat among us for the last time. And it might have been today, I remember it so clearly. We were in the dining room of our house at Ombrosa, the windows framing the thick branches of the great holm oak in the park. It was midday, the old traditional dinner hour followed by our family, though by then most nobles had taken to the fashion set by the sluggard Court of France, of dining halfway through the afternoon. A breeze was blowing from the sea, I remember, rustling the leaves. Cosimo said: "I told you I don't want any, and I don't!" and pushed away his plateful of snails. Never had we seen such disobedience. ~ Italo Calvino,

876:Anch'io sento il bisogno di rileggere i libri che ho già letto, ma ad ogni rilettura mi sembra di leggere per la prima volta un libro nuovo. Sarò io che continuo a cambiare e vedo cose di cui prima non m'ero accorto? Oppure la lettura è una costruzione che prende forma mettendo insieme un gran numero di variabili e non può ripetersi due volte secondo lo stesso disegno? Ogni volta che cerco di rivivere l'emozione di una lettura precedente, ricavo impressioni diverse e inattese, e non ritrovo quelle di prima. [...] La conclusione a cui sono arrivato è che la lettura è un'operazione senza oggetto; o che il suo vero oggetto è se stessa. Il libro è un supporto accessorio o addirittura un pretesto. ~ Italo Calvino,

877:At times I think of the subject matter of the book to be written as of something that already exists: thoughts already thought, dialogue already spoken, stories already happened, places and settings seen; the book should be simply the equivalent of the unwritten world translated into writing. At other times, on the contrary, I seem to understand that between the book to be written and things that already exist there can be only a kind of complementary relationship: the book should be the written counterpart of the unwritten world; its subject should be what does not exist and cannot exist except when written, but whose absence is obscurely felt by that which exists, in its own incompleteness. ~ Italo Calvino,

878:Lectora ahora eres leída. Tu cuerpo se ve sometido a una lectura sistemática, a través de canales de información táctiles, visuales, del olfato, y no sin la intervención de las pupilas gustativas. [...] No sólo el cuerpo es en ti objeto de lectura: el cuerpo importa en cuanto parte de un conjunto de elementos complicados. Y también tú entre tanto eres objetos de lectura, oh, Lector: la Lectora, ahora pasa revista a tu cuerpo como recorriendo el índice de capítulos […] La lectura que los amantes hacen de sus cuerpos (de ese concentrado de mente y cuerpo de que los amantes se sirven para ir a la cama juntos) difiere de la lectura de las páginas escritas en que no es lineal ~ Italo Calvino,

879:We shared a room, with two child's beds. I looked at his, untouched, and the darkness outside the window where he was, and I turned over between the sheets, experiencing, perhaps for the first time, the joy of being undressed, barefoot, in a warm white bed, and as if at the same time sensing his discomfort, tied up in the rough blanket, his legs laced into their gaiters, unable to turn, the bones aching. It's a feeling that since that night has never left me -the consciousness of how fortunate it is to have a bed, clean sheets, a soft mattress! In that feeling my thoughts, for so many hours directed toward the person who was the object of all our anxieties, closed over me, and so I fell asleep. ~ Italo Calvino,

880:One of the first instincts of parents, after they have brought a child into the world, is to photograph it. Given the speed of growth, it becomes necessary to photograph the child often, because nothing is more fleeting and unmemorable than a six-month-old infant, soon deleted and replaced by one of eight months, and then one of a year,; and all the perfection that, to the eyes of the parents, a child of three may have reached cannot prevent it being destroyed by that of the four-year-old. The photograph album remains the only place where all these fleeting perfections are saved and juxtaposed, each aspiring to an incomparable absoluteness of its own." - from "The Adventure of a Photographer ~ Italo Calvino,

881:Listening to someone read aloud is very different from reading in silence. When you read, you can stop or skip sentences: you are the one who sets the pace. When someone else is reading, it is difficult to make your attention coincide with the tempo of his reading: the voice goes either too fast or too slow. And then, listening to someone who is translating from another language involves a fluctuation, a hesitation over the words, a margin of indecision, something vague, tentative. The text, when you are the reader, is something that is there, against which you are forced to clash; when someone translates it aloud to you, it is something that is and is not there, that you cannot manage to touch. ~ Italo Calvino,

882:Una vocazione di topo di biblioteca che prima non avevo mai potuto seguire […] adesso ha preso il sopravvento, con mia piena soddisfazione, devo dire. Non che sia diminuito il mio interesse per quello che succede, ma non sento più la spinta a esserci in mezzo in prima persona. È soprattutto per via del fatto che non sono più giovane, si capisce. Lo stendhalismo, che era stata la filosofia pratica della mia giovinezza, a un certo punto è finito. Forse è solo un processo del metabolismo, una cosa che viene con l’età, ero stato giovane a lungo, forse troppo, tutt’a un tratto ho sentito che doveva cominciare la vecchiaia, sì proprio la vecchiaia, sperando magari d’allungare la vecchiaia cominciandola prima. ~ Italo Calvino,

883:[The Great Khan' said: 'It is all useless, if the last landing place can only be the infernal city, and it is there that, in ever-narrowing circles, the current is drawing us.' And Polo said: 'The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live everyday, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space. ~ Italo Calvino,

884:[The Great Khan] said: 'It is all useless, if the last landing place can only be the infernal city, and it is there that, in ever-narrowing circles, the current is drawing us.' And Polo said: 'The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live everyday, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space. ~ Italo Calvino,

885:Today each of you is the object of the other's reading, each reads in the other the unwritten story. Tomorrow, Reader and Other Reader, if you are together, if you lie down in the same bed like a settled couple, each will turn on the lamp at the side of the bed and sink into his or her book; two parallel readings will accompany the approach of sleep; first you, then you will turn out the light; returning from separated universes, you will find each other fleetingly in the darkness, where all separations are erased, before divergent dreams draw you again, one to one side, and one to the other. But do not wax ironic on this prospect of conjugal harmony: what happier image of a couple could you set against it? ~ Italo Calvino,

886:Forse, in fondo, il primo libro è il solo che onta, forse bisognerebbe scrivere quello e basta, il grande strappo lo dai solo in quel momento, l'occasione di esprimerti si presente solo una volta, il nodo che porti dentro o lo sciogli quella volta o mai più. Forse la poesia è possibile solo in momento della vita che per i più coincide con l'estrema giovinezza.Passato quel momento, che tu ti sia espresso o no (e non lo saprai se non dopo cento, centocinquant'anni; i contemporanei non possono essere buoni giudici), di lì in poi i giochi sono fatti, non tornerai che a fare il verso agli altri o a te stesso, non riuscirai più a dire una parola vera, insostituibile.. [Presentazione a Il sentiero dei nidi di ragno] ~ Italo Calvino,

887:Ci si mette a scrivere di lena, ma c’è un’ora in cui la penna non gratta che polveroso inchiostro, e non vi scorre più una goccia di vita, e la vita è tutta fuori, fuori dalla finestra, fuori di te, e ti sembra che mai più potrai rifugiarti nella pagina che scrivi, aprire un altro mondo, fare il salto. Forse è meglio così: forse quando scrivevi con gioia non era miracolo né grazia: era peccato, idolatria, superbia. Ne sono fuori, allora? No, scrivendo non mi sono cambiata in bene: ho solo consumato un po’d’ansiosa incosciente giovinezza. Che mi varranno queste pagine scontente? Il libro, il voto, non varrà più di quanto tu vali. Che si salvi l’anima scrivendo non è detto. Scrivi, scrivi, e già la tua anima è persa. ~ Italo Calvino,

888:You fasten your seatbelt. The plane is landing. To fly is the opposite of traveling: you cross a gap in space, you vanish into the void, you accept not being in any place for a duration that is itself a kind of void in time; then you reappear, in a place and in a moment with no relation to the where and the when in which you vanished. Meanwhile, what do you do? How do you occupy this absence of yourself from the world and of the world from you? You read; you do not raise your eyes from the book between one airport and the other, because beyond the page there is the void, the anonymity of stopovers, of the metallic uterus that contains you and nourishes you, of the passing crowd always different and always the same. ~ Italo Calvino,

889:We phone each other because it's only in these long-distance calls, this groping for each other along cables of buried copper, cluttered relays, the whirling contact points of clogged selector switches, only in this probing the silence and waiting for an echo that one prolongs that first call from afar, that cry that went up when the first great crack of the continental drift yawned beneath the feet of a human couple, when the depths of the ocean opened up to separate them, while, torn precipitously apart, one on one bank and one on the other, the couple strove with their cries to stretch out a bridge of sound that might keep them together yet, cries that grew ever fainter until the roar of the waves overwhelmed all hope. ~ Italo Calvino,

890:È uno speciale piacere che ti dà il libro appena pubblicato, non è solo un libro che porti con te ma la sua novità, che potrebbe essere anche solo quella dell’oggetto uscito ora dalla fabbrica, la bellezza dell’asino di cui anche i libri s’adornano, che dura finché la copertina non comincia a ingiallire, un velo di smog a depositarsi sul taglio, il dorso a sdrucirsi agli angoli, nel rapido autunno delle biblioteche. No, tu speri sempre d’imbatterti nella novità vera, che essendo stata novità una volta, continui a esserlo per sempre. Avendo letto il libro appena uscito, ti approprierai di questa novità dal primo istante, senza dover poi inseguirla, rincorrerla. Sarà questa la volta buona? Non si sa mai. Vediamo come comincia. ~ Italo Calvino,

891:Başını kaldırırsan, bir aydınlık göreceksin. Başının üzerinde, doğmakta olan gün, göğü aydınlatıyor: Yüzüne esen, yaprakları kımıldatan rüzgârdır. Yeniden dışarıdasın, köpekler havlıyor, kuşlar uyanıyor, renkler yeryüzüne dönüyor, şeyler yeniden uzayı dolduruyor, canlı varlıklar gene yaşam işaretleri veriyorlar. Hiç kuşkusuz, sen de varsın, burada ortada, dört bir yandan yükselen gürültüler kaynaşması içinde, hareketin uğultusu içinde, pistonların vuruşu içinde, çarkların gıcırtısı içinde. Bir yerlerden, toprağın bir kıvrımından şehir uyanıyor, giderek artan çarpma, vurma, gıcırdama sesleriyle. Artık bir gümbürtü, bir uğultu, bir gürleme bütün boşluğu kaplıyor, bütün seslenmeleri, iç çekişleri, hıçkırıkları içinde eritiyor... ~ Italo Calvino,

892:That mesh of leaves and twigs of fork and froth, minute and endless, with the sky glimpsed only in sudden specks and splinters, perhaps it was only there so that my brother could pass through it with his tomtit’s thread, was embroidered on nothing, like this thread of ink which I have let run on for page after page, swarming with cancellations, corrections, doodles, blots and gaps, bursting at times into clear big berries, coagulating at others into piles of tiny starry seeds, then twisting away, forking off, surrounding buds of phrases with frameworks of leaves and clouds, then interweaving again, and so running on and on and on until it splutters and bursts into a last senseless cluster of words, ideas, dreams, and so ends. ~ Italo Calvino,

893:All’uomo che cavalca lungamente per terreni selvatici viene desiderio d’una città. Finalmente giunge a Isidora, città dove i palazzi hanno scale a chiocciola incrostate di chiocciole marine, dove si fabbricano a regola d’arte cannocchiali e violini, dove quando il forestiero è incerto tra due donne ne incontra sempre una terza, dove le lotte dei galli degenerano in risse sanguinose tra gli scommettitori. A tutte queste cose egli pensava quando desiderava una città.Isidora è dunque la città dei suoi sogni: con una differenza. La città sognata conteneva lui giovane; a Isidora arriva in tarda età. Nella piazza c’è il muretto dei vecchi che guardano passare la gioventù; lui è seduto in fila con loro. I desideri sono già ricordi. ~ Italo Calvino,

894:... the scent emanating from her skin not only because she was born with a glandular constitution suited to giving off that scent but also because of everything she has eaten in her life and the brands of soap she has used, in other words because of what is called, in quotes, culture, and also her way of walking and of sitting down which comes to her from the way she has moved among those who move in the cities and houses and streets where she's lived, all this but also the things she has in her memory, after having seen them perhaps just once and perhaps at the movies, and also the forgotten things which still remain recorded somewhere in the back of the neurons like all the psychic trauma a person has to swallow from infancy on. ~ Italo Calvino,

895:And so it is that in order to speak of our own times, I have had to make a long detour, by way of Ovid’s fragile Medusa and Montale’s pitch-black Lucifer. It’s hard for a novelist to convey his idea of lightness with examples drawn from the events of contemporary life without making it the unattainable object of an endless quest. Yet Milan Kundera has done just that, with clarity and immediacy. His novel Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí (The Unbearable Lightness of Being, 1981) is in fact a bitter declaration of the Ineluctable Weight of Living—living not only with the desperate and all-pervading state of oppression that was the fate of his unlucky country, but with the human condition shared also by us, however much luckier we may be. For ~ Italo Calvino,

896:When a man rides a long time through wild regions he feels the desire for a city. Finally he comes to Isidora, a city where the buildings have spiral staircases encrusted with spiral seashells, where perfect telescopes and violins are made, where the foreigner hesitating between two women always encounters a third, where cockfights degenerate into bloody brawls among the bettors. He was thinking of all these things when he desired a city. Isidora, therefore, is the city of his dreams: with one difference. The dreamed-of city contained him as a young man; he arrives at Isidora in his old age. In the square there is the wall where the old men sit and watch the young go by; he is seated in a row with them. Desires are already memories. ~ Italo Calvino,

897:Começa-se a escrever com todo o ânimo, mas chega uma altura em que a pena não risca mais que uma tinta poeirenta e não escorre nem uma gota de vida. E a vida está toda lá fora, para além da janela, longe de ti, e parece que nunca mais poderás refugiar-te na página que escreveste, abrir um outro mundo e lançar-te nele. Talvez seja melhor assim; talvez, quando escrevia com alegria, não fosse milagre nem graça, mas pecado, idolatria, soberba. Então, estou fora? Não, escrevendo não me tornei melhor, apenas dissipei, um pouco, a ansiosa e inconsciente juventude. Que me valerão estas páginas descontentes? O livro, o voto, não valerão mais que tu. Nunca se disse que escrevendo se salva a alma. Escreve, escreve, e a tua alma já está perdida. ~ Italo Calvino,

898:Perché una volta che avete cominciato, [...] non c’è nessuna ragione che vi fermiate. Il passo tra la realtà che viene fotografata in quanto ci appare bella e la realtà che ci appare bella in quanto è stata fotografata, è brevissimo. ][...] Basta che cominciate a dire di qualcosa: “Ah che bello, bisognerebbe proprio fotografarlo!” e già siete sul terreno di chi pensa che tutto ciò che non è fotografato è perduto, che è come se non fosse esistito, e che quindi per vivere veramente bisogna fotografare quanto più si può, e per fotografare quanto più si può bisogna: o vivere in modo quanto più fotografabile possibile, oppure considerare fotografabile ogni momento della propria vita. La prima via porta alla stupidità, la seconda alla pazzia. ~ Italo Calvino,

899:In ogni caso, San Giorgio compie la sua impresa davanti ai nostri occhi, sempre chiuso nella sua corazza, senza rivelarci nulla di sé: la psicologia non fa per l'uomo d'azione. Caso mai potremmo dire che la psicologia è tutta dalla parte del drago, coi suoi rabbiosi contorcimenti: il nemico il mostro il vinto hanno un pathos che l'eroe vincitore non si sogna d'avere (o si guarda bene dal mostrare). Di qui a dire che il drago è la psicologia, il passo è breve: anzi, è la psiche, è il fondo oscuro di se stesso che San Giorgio affronta, un nemico che già ha fatto strazio di molti giovani e giovinette, un nemico interno che diventa oggetto di estraneità esecranda. È la storia d'un'energia proiettata nel mondo o il diario d'una introversione? ~ Italo Calvino,

900:The moment that counts most for me is the one that precedes reading. At times a title is enough to kindle in me the desire for a book that perhaps does not exist. At times it is the incipit of the book, the first sentences.... In other words: if you need little to set the imagination going, I require even less: the promise of reading is enough.” “For me, on the other hand, it is the end that counts,” a seventh says, “but the true end, final, concealed in the darkness, the goal to which the book wants to carry you. I also seek openings in reading,” he says, nodding toward the man with the bleary eyes, “but my gaze digs between the words to try to discern what is outlined in the distance, in the spaces that extend beyond the words ‘the end. ~ Italo Calvino,

901:Lovers' reading of each other's bodies (of that concentrate of mind and body which lovers use to go to bed together) differs from the reading of written pages in that it is not linear. It starts at any point, skips, repeat itself, goes backward, insists, ramifies in simultaneous and divergent messages, converges again, has moments of irritation, turns the page, finds its place, gets lost. A direction can be recognized in it, a route to an end, since it tends toward a climax, and with this end in view it arranges rhythmic phases, metrical scansions, recurrence of motives. But is the climax really the end? Or is the race toward that end opposed by another drive which works in the opposite direction, swimming against moments, recovering time? ~ Italo Calvino,

902:Si fotografías a Pierluca mientras levanta un castillo de arena, no hay razón para no fotografiarlo mientras llora porque el castillo se ha desmoronado, y después mientras la niñera lo consuela mostrándole una concha en medio de la playa. Basta empezar a decir de algo: <<¡Ah! Qué bonito, habría que fotografiarlo">>, y ya estás en el terreno de quien piensa que todo lo que no se fotografía se pierde, es como si no hubiera existido, y por lo tanto, para vivir verdaderamente hay que fotografiar todo lo que se pueda, y para fotografiarlo todo es preciso: o bien vivir de la manera más fotografiable posible, o bien considerar fotografiable cada momento de la propia vida. La primera vía lleva a la estupidez, la segunda lleva a la locura. ~ Italo Calvino,

903:1. The classics are those books about which you usually hear people saying: ‘I’m rereading…’, never ‘I’m reading…’ At least this is the case with those people whom one presumes are ‘well read‘; it does not apply to the young, since they are at an age when their contact with the world, and with the classics which are part of that world, is important precisely because it is their first such contact. The iterative prefix ‘re-’ in front of the verb ‘read’ can represent a small act of hypocrisy on the part of people ashamed to admit they have not read a famous book. To reassure them, all one need do is to point out that however wide-ranging any person’s formative reading may be, there will always be an enormous number of fundamental works that one has not read. ~ Italo Calvino,

904:What makes Argia different from other cities is that it has earth instead of air. The streets are completely filled with dirt, clay packs the rooms to the ceiling, on every stair another stairway is set in negative, over the roofs of the houses hang layers of rocky terrain like skies with clouds. We do not know if the inhabitants can move about the city, widening the worm tunnels and the crevices where roots twist: the dampness destroys people’s bodies and they have scant strength; everyone is better off remaining still, prone; anyway, it is dark. From up here, nothing of Argia can be seen; some say, “It’s down below there,” and we can only believe them. The place is deserted. At night, putting your ear to the ground, you can sometimes hear a door slam. ~ Italo Calvino,

905:I was living and dying in all the fibers of what is chewed and digested and in all the fibers that absorb the sun, consuming and digesting. Under the thatched arbor of a restaurant on a river-bank, where Olivia had waited for me, our teeth began to move slowly, with equal rhythm, and our eyes stared into each other's with the intensity of serpents'—serpents concentrated in the ecstasy of swallowing each other in turn, as we were aware, in our turn, of being swallowed by the serpent that digests us all, assimilated ceaselessly in the process of ingestion and digestion, in the universal cannibalism that leaves its imprint on every amorous relationship and erases the lines between our bodies and sopa de frijoles, huachinango a la vera cru-zana, and enchiladas. ~ Italo Calvino,

906:There is the moment when the silence of the countryside gathers in the ear and breaks into a myriad of sounds:a croaking and squeaking, a swift rustle in the grass, a plop in the water, a pattering on earth and pebbles, and high above all, the call of the cicada, The sounds follow one another, and the ear eventually discerns more and more of them -just as fingers unwinding a ball of wool feel each fiber interwoven with progressively thinner and less palpable threads, The frogs continue croaking in the background without changing the flow of sounds, just as light does not vary from the continues winking of stars, But at every rise or fall of the wind every sound changes and is renewed. All that remains in the inner recess of the ear is a vague murmur: the sea. ~ Italo Calvino,

907:When a body succeeds in emitting or in reflecting luminous vibrations in a distinct and recognizable order--I thought--what does it do with these vibrations? Put them in its pocket? No, it releases them on the first passer-by. And how will the latter behave in the face of vibrations he can't utilize and which, taken in this way, might even be annoying? Hide his head in a hole? No, he'll thrust it out in that direction until the point most exposed to the optic vibrations becomes sensitized and develops the mechanism for exploiting them in the form of images. In short, I conceived of the eye-encephalon link as a kind of tunnel dug from the outside by the force of what was ready to become image, rather than from within by the intention of picking up any old image. ~ Italo Calvino,

908:I think that my first impulse arises from a hypersensitivity or allergy. It seems to me that language is always used in a random, approximate, careless manner, and this distresses me unbearably. Please don't think that my reaction is the result of intolerance towards my neighbor: the worst discomfort of all comes from hearing myself speak. That's why I try to talk as little as possible. If I prefer writing, it is because I can revise each sentence until I reach the point where - if not exactly satisfied with my words - I am able at least to eliminate those reasons for dissatisfaction that I can put a finger on. Literature - and I mean the literature that matches up to those requirements - is the promised land in which language becomes what it really ought to be. ~ Italo Calvino,

909:Ma come stabilire il momento esatto in cui comincia una storia? Tutto è sempre cominciato già da prima, la prima riga della prima pagina d'ogni romanzo rimanda a qualcosa che è già successo fuori dal libro. Oppure la vera storia è quella che comincia dieci o cento pagine più avanti e tutto ciò che precede è solo un prologo. Le vite degli individui della specie umana formano un intreccio continuo, in cui ogni tentativo di separare un pezzo di vissuto che abbia un senso separatamente dal resto - per esempio, l'incontro di due persone che diventerà decisivo per entrambi - deve tener conto che ciascuno dei due porta con sé un tessuto di ambienti fatti altre persone, e che dall'incontro deriveranno a loro volta altre storie che si separeranno dalla loro storia comune. ~ Italo Calvino,

910:Non che t’aspetti qualcosa di particolare. Sei uno che per principio non s’aspetta più niente da niente. Ci sono tanti, più giovani di te o meno giovani, che vivono in attesa di esperienze straordinarie; dai libri, dalle persone, dai viaggi, dagli avvenimenti, da quello che il domani tiene in serbo. Tu no. Tu sai che il meglio che ci si può aspettare è di evitare il peggio. Questa è la conclusione a cui sei arrivato, nella vita personale come nelle questioni generali e addirittura mondiali. E coi libri? Ecco, proprio perché lo hai escluso in ogni altro campo, credi che sia giusto concederti ancora questo piacere giovanile dell’aspettativa in un settore ben circoscritto come quello dei libri, dove può andarti male o andarti bene, ma il rischio della delusione non è grave. ~ Italo Calvino,

911:Questo non è un esercito, vedi, da dir loro: questo è il dovere. Non puoi parlare di dovere qui, non puoi parlare di ideali: patria, libertà, comunismo. Non ne vogliono sentir parlare di ideali, gli ideali son buoni tutti ad averli, anche dall'altra parte ne hanno di ideali. Non hanno bisogno di ideali, di miti, di evviva da gridare. Qui si combatte e si muore così, senza gridare evviva. [...] Perché combattono, allora? Non hanno nessuna patria, né vera n é inventata. Eppure tu sai che c'è coraggio, che c'è furore anche in loro. È l'offesa della loro vita, il buio della loro strada, il sudicio della loro casa, le parole oscene imparate fin da bambini, la fatica di dover essere cattivi. E basta un nulla, un passo falso, un impennamento dell'anima e ci si trova dall'altra parte. ~ Italo Calvino,

912:Don't be amazed if you see my eyes always wandering. In fact, this is my way of reading, and it is only in this way that reading proves fruitful to me. If a book truly interests me, I cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought that the text suggests to it, or a feeling, or a question, or an image, goes off on a tangent and springs from thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it. The stimulus of reading is indispensable to me, and of meaty reading, even if, of every book, I manage to read no more than a few pages. But those few pages already enclose for me whole universes, which I can never exhaust. ~ Italo Calvino,

913:In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven’t Read, which were frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you. But you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn’t Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. ~ Italo Calvino,

914:No se asombre de verme siempre vagando con los ojos. En realidad este es mi modo de leer, y solo así la lectura me resulta fructífera. Si un libro me interesa realmente, no logro seguirlo más que unas cuantas líneas sin que mi mente, captando un pensamiento que el texto le propone, o un sentimiento, o un interrogante, o una imagen, se salga por la tangente y salte de pensamiento en pensamiento, de imagen en imagen, por un itinerario de razonamientos y fantasías que siento la necesidad de recorrer hasta el final, alejándome del libro hasta perderlo de vista. El estímulo de la lectura me es indispensable, y de una lectura sustanciosa, aunque solo consiga leer unas cuantas páginas de cada libro. Pero ya esas páginas encierran para mí universos enteros, a cuyo fondo no consigo llegar. ~ Italo Calvino,

915:But how to establish the exact moment in which a story begins? Everything has already begun before, the first line of the first page of every novel refers to something that has already happened outside the book. Or else the real story is the one that begins ten or a hundred pages further on, and everything that precedes it is only a prologue. The lives of individuals of the human race form a constant plot, in which every attempt to isolate one piece of living that has a meaning separate from the rest—for example, the meeting of two people, which will become decisive for both— must bear in mind that each of the two brings with himself a texture of events, environments, other people, and that from the meeting, in turn, other stories will be derived which will break off from their common story. ~ Italo Calvino,

916:a pawn in a very complicated game, a little cog in a huge gear, so little that it should not even be seen: in fact, it was established that I would go through here without leaving any traces; and instead, every minute I spend here I am leaving more traces. I leave traces if I do not speak with anyone, since I stick out as a man who won't open his mouth; I leave traces if I speak with someone because every word spoken is a word that remains and can crop up again later, with quotation marks or without. Perhaps this is why the author piles supposition on supposition in long paragraphs without dialogue, a thick, opaque layer of lead where I may pass unnoticed, disappear. I am not at all the sort of person who attracts attention, I am an anonymous presence against an even more anonymous background. ~ Italo Calvino,

917:And yet the city is not dead: the machines, the engines, the turbines continue to hum and vibrate, every Wheel's cogs are caught in the cogs of other wheels, trains run on tracks and signals on wires; and no human is there any longer to send or receive, to charge or discharge. The machines, which have long known they could do without men, have finally driven them out; and after a long exile, the wild animals have come back to occupy the territory wrested from the forest: foxes and martens wave their soft tails over the control panels starred with manometers and levers and gauges and diagrams; badgers and dormice luxuriate on batteries and magnetos. Man was necessary; now he is useless. For the world to receive information from the world and enjoy it, now computers and butterflies suffice. ~ Italo Calvino,

918:Now the situation is different, I admit: I have a wristwatch, I compare the angle of its hands with the angle of all the hands I see; I have an engagement book where the hours of my business appointments are marked down; I have a chequebook on whose stubs I add and subtract numbers. At Penn Station I get off the train, I take the subway, I stand and grasp the strap with one hand to keep my balance while I hold the newspaper up in the other, folded so I can glance over the figures of the stock market quotations: I play the game, in other words, the game of pretending there's an order in the dust, a regularity in the system, or an interpretation of different systems, incongruous but still measurable, so that every graininess of disorder coincides with the faceting of an order which promptly crumbles. ~ Italo Calvino,

919:Reading a classic must also surprise us, when we compare it to the image we previously had of it. That is why we can never recommend enough a first-hand reading of the text itself, avoiding as far as possible secondary bibliography, commentaries, and other interpretations. Schools and universities should hammer home the idea that no book which discusses another book can ever say more than the original book under discussion; yet they actually do everything to make students believe the opposite. There is a reversal of values here which is very widespread, which means that the introduction, critical apparatus, and bibliography are used like a smokescreen to conceal what the text has to say and what it can only say if it is left to speak without intermediaries who claim to know more than the text itself. ~ Italo Calvino,

920:If the end of the world could be localized in a precise spot, it would be the meteorological observatory of Pëtkwo: a corrugated-iron roof that rests on four somewhat shaky poles and houses, lined up on a shelf, some recording barometers, hygrometers, and thermographs, with their rolls of lined paper, which turn with a slow clockwork ticking against an oscillating nib. The vane of an anemometer at the top of a tall antenna and the squat funnel of a pluviometer complete the fragile equipment of the observatory, which, isolated on the edge of an escarpment in the municipal garden, against the pearl-gray sky, uniform and motionless, seems a trap for cyclones, a lure set there to attract waterspouts from the remote tropical oceans, offering itself already as the ideal relict of the fury of the hurricanes. ~ Italo Calvino,

921:What drives you two girls to cut from the mobile continuum of your day these temporal slices, the thickness of a second? Tossing the ball back and forth, you are living in the present, but the moment the scansion of the frames is insinuated between your acts, it is no longer the pleasure of the game that motivates you but rather that of seeing yourselves again in the future, of rediscovering yourselves in twenty years’ time, on a piece of yellowed cardboard (yellowed emotionally, even if modern printing procedures will preserve it unchanged). The taste for the spontaneous, natural, lifelike snapshot kills spontaneity, drives away the present. Photographed reality immediately takes on a nostalgic character, of joy fled on the wings of time, a commemorative quality, even if the picture was taken the day before yesterday. ~ Italo Calvino,

922:Then, all of a sudden, those pea-green lawns where the first scarlet poppies were flowering, those canary-yellow fields which striped the tawny hills sloping down to a sea full of azure glints, all seemed so trivial to me, so banal, so false, so much in contrast with Ayl's person, with Ayl's world, with Ayl's idea of beauty, that I realized her place could never have been out here. And I realized, with grief and fear, that I had remained out here, that I would never again be able to escape those gilded and silvered gleams, those little clouds that turned from pale blue to pink, those green leaves that yellowed every autumn, and that Ayl's perfect world was lost forever, so lost I couldn't even imagine it any more, and nothing was left that could remind me of it, even remotely, nothing except perhaps that cold wall of gray stone. ~ Italo Calvino,

923:What is more natural than that a solidity, a complicity, a bond should be established between Reader and Reader, thanks to the book? You can leave the bookshop content, you, a man who thought that the period where you could still expect something from life had ended. You are bearing with you two different expectations, and both promise days of pleasant hopes; the expectation contained in the book - of a reading experience you are impatient to resume - and the expectation contained in that telephone number - of hearing again the vibrations, a times treble and at times smoldering, of that voice, when it will answer your first phone call in a while, in fact tomorrow, with the fragile pretext of the book, to ask her if she likes it or not, to tell her how many pages you have read or not read, to suggest to her that you meet again... ~ Italo Calvino,

924:This is how Raimbaut saw him, as with quick assured movements he arranged the pine cones in a triangle, then in squares on the sides of the triangle, and obstinately compared the pine cones on the shorter sides of the triangle with those of the square of the hypotenuse. Raimbaut realised that all this moved by ritual, convention, formulas, and beneath it there was ... what? He felt a vague sense of discomfort come over him at knowing himself to be outside all these rules of a game. But then his wanting to avenge his father's death, his ardor to fight, to enroll himself among Charlemagne's warriors—wasn't that also a ritual to prevent plunging into the void, like this raising and setting of pine cones by Sir Agilulf? Oppressed by the turmoil of such unexpected questions, young Raimbaut flung himself to the ground and burst into tears. ~ Italo Calvino,

925:In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven't Read, which are frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you...And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You'll Wait Till They're Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out in Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody's Read So It's As If You Had Read Them, Too. ~ Italo Calvino,

926:How well I would write if I were not here! If between the white page and the writing of words and stories that take shape and disappear without anyone's ever writing them there were not interposed that uncomfortable partition which is my person! Style, taste, individual philosophy, subjectivity, cultural background, real experience, psychology, talent, tricks of the trade: all the elements that make what I write recognizable as mine seem to me a cage that restricts my possibilities. If I were only a hand, a severed hand that grasps a pen and writes... Who would move this hand? The anonymous throng? The spirit of the times? The collective unconscious? I do not know. It is not in order to be the spokesman for something definable that I would like to erase myself. Only to transmit the writable that waits to be written, the tellable that nobody tells. ~ Italo Calvino,

927:It's not that you expect anything in particular from this particular book. You're the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. There are plenty, younger than you or less young, who live in the expectation of extraordinary experiences: from books, from people, from journeys, from events, from what tomorrow has in store. But not you. You know that the best you can expect is to avoid the worst. This is the conclusion you have reached, in your personal life and also in general matters, even international affairs. What about books? Well, precisely because you have denied it in every other field, you believe you may still grant yourself legitimately this youthful pleasure of expectation in a carefully circumscribed area like the field of books, where you can be lucky or unlucky, but the risk of disappointment isn't serious. ~ Italo Calvino,

928:The splendor of the salmon canapés radiant with mayonnaise disappears, swallowed by the dark shopping bags of the customers. Certainly every one of these men and women knows exactly what he wants, heads straight for his objective with a decisiveness admitting no hesitancy; and rapidly he dismantles mountains of vol-au-vents, white puddings, cervelats. Mr. Palomar would like to catch in their eyes some reflection of those treasures' spell, but the faces and actions are only impatient and hasty, of people concentrated on themselves, nerves taut, each concerned with what he has and what he does not have. Nobody seems to him worthy of the Pantagruelic glory that unfolds in those cases, on the counters. A greed without joy or youth drives them; and yet a deep, atavistic bond exists between them and those foods, their consubstance, flesh of their flesh. ~ Italo Calvino,

929:Có một lằn ranh: một bên là những người làm ra sách, bên kia là những người đọc sách. Em muốn mãi là một trong những người đọc sách, cho nên em luôn luôn cẩn thận giữ mình bên phía của mình. Nếu không niềm vui đọc vô tư lự sẽ chấm dứt, hay ít nhất là biến thành cái khác, không phải những gì em muốn. Lằn ranh ấy, nó mơ hồ, dễ bị xóa đi: Thế giới những người dính dáng tới sách theo nghĩa chuyên nghiệp ngày càng đông và có xu hướng tự nhập vào làm một với thế giới những người đọc sách. Dĩ nhiên độc giả cũng ngày càng đông hơn, song dường như những kẻ dùng sách này đặng làm ra sách khác đang ngày càng đông hơn những ai chỉ thích đọc sách và chỉ thế thôi. Em biết rằng nếu vượt qua ranh giới đó, dù chỉ như một ngoại lệ, do tình cờ, em tất có nguy cơ hòa lẫn vào cơn triều đang dâng này; vì vậy em từ chối bước chân vào một nhà xuất bản, dù chỉ trong vài phút. ~ Italo Calvino,

930:Ombrosa non c’è più. Guardando il cielo sgombro, mi domando se è davvero esistita. Quel frastaglio di rami e foglie, biforcazioni, lobi, spiumii, minuto e senza fine, e il cielo a sprazzi irregolari e ritagli, forse c’era solo perché ci passasse mio fratello con suo leggero passo di codibugnolo, era un ricamo fatto di nulla che assomiglia a questo filo d’inchiostro, come l’ho lasciato correre per pagine e pagine, zeppo di cancellature, di rimandi, di sgorbi nervosi, di macchie, di lacune, che a momenti si sgrana in grossi acini chiari, a momenti si infittisce in segni minuscoli come semi puntiformi, ora si ritorce su se stesso, ora si biforca, ora collega grumi di frasi con contorni di foglie o di nuvole, e poi si intoppa, e poi ripiglia a attorcigliarsi, e corre e corre e si sdipana e avvolge un ultimo grappolo insensato di parole idee sogni ed è finito. ~ Italo Calvino,

931:Ludmilla, now you are being read. Your body is being subjected to a systematic reading, through channels of tactile information, visual, olfactory, and not without some intervention of the taste buds. Hearing also has its role, alert to your gasps and your trills. It is not only the body that is, in you, the object of raeding: the body matters insofar as it is part of a complex of elaborate elements, not all visible and not all present, but manifested in visible and present events: the clouding of your eyes, your laughing, the words you speak, your way of gathering and spreading your hair, your initiatives and your reticences, and all the signs that are on the frontier between you and usage and habits and memory and prehistory and fashion, all codes, all the poor alphabets by which one human being believes at certain moments that he is reading another human being. ~ Italo Calvino,

932:Déjà le Grand Khan cherchait dans son atlas les plans des villes que menacent incubes et malédictions : Enoch, Babylone, Yahoo, Butua, Brave New World. Il dit : — Tout est inutile, si l’ultime accostage ne peut être que la ville infernale, si c’est là dans ce fond que, sur une spirale toujours plus resserrée, va finir le courant. Et Polo : — L’enfer des vivants n’est pas chose à venir ; s’il y en a un, c’est celui qui est déjà là, l’enfer que nous habitons tous les jours, que nous formons d’être ensemble. Il y a deux façons de ne pas en souffrir. La première réussit aisément à la plupart : accepter l’enfer, en devenir une part au point de ne plus le voir. La seconde est risquée et elle demande une attention, un apprentissage, continuels : chercher et savoir reconnaître qui et quoi, au milieu de l’enfer, n’est pas l’enfer, et le faire durer, et lui faire de la place. ~ Italo Calvino,

933:In France they start to read Balzac at school, and judging by the number of editions in circulation people apparently continue to read him long after the end of their schooldays. But if there were an official survey on Balzac’s popularity in Italy, I am afraid he would figure very low down the list. Fans of Dickens in Italy are a small elite who whenever they meet start to reminisce about characters and episodes as though talking of people they actually knew. When Michel Butor was teaching in the United States a number of yean ago, he became so tired of people asking him about Émile Zola, whom he had never read, that he made up his mind to read the whole cycle of Rougon-Macquart novels. He discovered that it was entirely different from how he had imagined it: it turned out to be a fabulous, mythological genealogy and cosmogony, which he then described in a brilliant article. ~ Italo Calvino,

934:Why me?' he said. 'That's how all men answer. And all men have a knot on their shoes, something they don't know how to do; an inability that binds them to others. Society depends on this asymmetry between people these days: a dovetailing of skills and competence. But the Flood? If the Flood came and one needed a Noah? Not so much a just man as a man able to bring along the few things it would take to start again. You see, you don't know how to tie your shoes, somebody else doesn't know how to plane wood, someone else again has never read Tolstoy, someone else doesn't know how to sow grain and so on. I've been looking for him for years, and, believe me, it's hard, really hard; it seems people have to hold each other by the hand like the blind man and the lame who can't go anywhere without each other, but argue just the same. It means if the Flood comes we'll all die together. ~ Italo Calvino,

935:Amedeo loved thick tomes, and in tackling them he felt the physical pleasure of undertaking a great task. Weighing them in his hand, thick, closely printed, squat, he would consider with some apprehension the number of pages, the length of the chapters, then venture into them, a bit reluctant at the beginning, without any desire to perform the initial chore of remembering the names, catching the drift of the story; then he would entrust himself to it, running along the lines, crossing the grid of the uniform page, and beyond the leaden print the flame and fire of battle appeared, the cannonball that, whistling through the sky, fell at the feet of Prince Andrei, and the shop filled with engravings and statues where Frederic Moreau, his heart in his mouth, was to meet the Arnoux family. Beyond the surface of the page you entered a world where life was more alive than here on this side… ~ Italo Calvino,

936:My return was sweet, my home refound, but my thoughts were filled only with grief at having lost her, and my eyes gazed at the Moon, for ever beyond my reach, as I sought her. And I saw her. She was there where I had left her, lying on a beach directly over our heads, and she said nothing. She was the colour of the Moon; she held the harp at her side and moved one hand now and then in slow arpeggios. I could distinguish the shape of her bosom, her arms, her thighs, just as I remember them now, just as now, when the Moon has become that flat, remote circle, I still look for her as soon as the first silver appears in the sky, and the more it waxes, the more clearly I imagine I can see her, her or something of her, but only her, in a hundred, a thousand different vistas, she who makes the Moon the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them. ~ Italo Calvino,

937:Quem comanda o conto não é a voz, é o ouvido." p.139 "Mesmo em Raisam, cidade triste, corre um fio invisível que liga um ser vivo a outro por um instante e a seguir se desfaz, e depois torna a estender-se entre pontos em movimento desenhando novas rápidas figuras de modo que a cada segundo a cidade infeliz contém uma cidade feliz que nem sequer sabe que existe." p.151 "E Polo: - O inferno dos vivos não é uma coisa que virá a existir; se houver um, é o que já está aqui, o inferno que habitamos todos os dias, que nós formamos aos estarmos juntos. Há dois modos para não o sofrermos. O primeiro torna-se fácil para muita gente: aceitar o inferno e fazer parte dele a ponto de já não o vermos. O segundo é arriscado e exige uma atenção e uma aprendizagem contínuas: tentar e saber reconhecer, no meio do inferno, quem e o que não é inferno, e fazê-lo viver, e dar-lhe lugar." p.166 ~ Italo Calvino,

938:The city does not consist of this, but of relationships between the measurements of its space and the events of its past: the height of a lamppost and the distance from the ground of a hanged usurper’s swaying feet; the line strung from the lamppost to the railing opposite and the festoons that decorate the course of the queen’s nuptial procession; the height of that railing and the leap of the adulterer who climbed over it at dawn; the tilt of a guttering and a cat’s progress along it as he slips into the same window; the firing range of a gunboat which has suddenly appeared beyond the cape and the bomb that destroys the guttering; the rips in the fish net and the three old men seated on the dock mending nets and telling each other for the hundredth time the story of the gunboat of the usurper, who some say was the queen’s illegitimate son, abandoned in his swaddling clothes there on the dock. ~ Italo Calvino,

939:The iguana room of the Jardin des Plantes, with its illuminated cases, where dozing reptiles are hidden among branches and rocks and sand of the forest or the desert of their origin, reflects the order of the world, whether it be the reflection on earth of the sky of ideas or the external manifestation of the secret of the nature of creation, of the norm concealed in the depths of that which exists. Is it this atmosphere, more than the reptiles in themselves, that obscurely attracts Mr. Palomar? A damp, soft warmth soaks the air like a sponge; a sharp stink, heavy, rotten, forces him to hold his breath; shadow and light lie stagnant in a motionless mixture of days and nights: are these the sensations of a man who peers out beyond the human? Beyond the glass of every cage there is the world as it was before man, or as it will be, to show that the world of man is not eternal and is not unique. ~ Italo Calvino,

940:Arrivando a ogni nuova città il viaggiatore ritrova un suo passato che non sapeva più d’avere: l’estraneità di ciò che non sei più o non possiedi più t’aspetta al varco nei luoghi estranei e non posseduti.Marco entra in una città; vede qualcuno in una piazza vivere una vita o un istante che potevano essere suoi; al posto di quell’uomo ora avrebbe potuto esserci lui se si fosse fermato nel tempo tanto tempo prima, oppure se tanto tempo prima a un crocevia invece di prendere una strada avesse preso quella opposta e dopo un lungo giro fosse venuto a trovarsi al posto di quell’uomo in quella piazza. Ormai, da quel suo passato vero o ipotetico, lui è escluso; non può fermarsi; deve proseguire fino a un’altra città dove lo aspetta un altro suo passato, o qualcosa che forse era stato un suo possibile futuro e ora è il presente di qualcun altro. I futuri non realizzati sono solo rami del passato: rami secchi. ~ Italo Calvino,

941:As Raimbaut dragged a dead man along he thought, ‘Oh corpse, I have come rushing here only to be dragged along by the heels like you. What is this frenzy that drives me, this mania for battle and for love, when seen from the place where your staring eyes gaze and your flung-back head knocks over stones? It’s that I think of, oh corpse, it’s that you make me think of: but does anything change? Nothing. No other days exist but these of ours before the tomb, both for us the living and for you the dead. May it be granted me not to waste them, not to waste anything of what I am, of what I could be: to do deeds helpful to the Frankish cause: to embrace, to be embraced by, proud Bradamante. I hope you spent your days no worse, oh corpse. Anyway to you the dice have already shown their numbers. For me they are still whirling in the box. And I love my own disquiet, corpse, not your peace. ~ Italo Calvino,

942:After a seven days' march through woodland, the traveler directed toward Baucis cannot see the city and yet he has arrived. The slender stilts that rise from the ground at a great distance from one another and are lost above the clouds support the city. You climb them with ladders. On the ground the inhabitants rarely show themselves: having already everything they need up there, they prefer not to come down. Nothing of the city touches the earth except those long flamingo legs on which it rests and, when the days are sunny, a pierced, angular shadow that falls on the foilage. "There are three hypotheses about the inhabitants of Baucis: that they hate the earth; that they respect it so much they avoid all contact; that they love it as it was before they existed and with spyglasses and telescopes aimed downward they never tire of examining it, leaf by leaf, stone by stone, ant by ant, contemplating with fascination their own absence. ~ Italo Calvino,

943:For the person who wants to capture everything that passes before his eyes, [...] the only coherent way to act is to snap at least one picture a minute, from the instant he opens his yes in the morning to when he goes to sleep. This is the only way that he rolls of exposed film will represent a faithful diary of our days, with nothing left out. If I were to start taking pictures, I'd see this thing through, even if it meant losing my mind. But the rest of you still insist on making a choice. What sort of choice? A choice in the idyllic sense, apologetic, consolatory, at peace with nature, the fatherland, the family. Your choice isn't only photographic; it is a choice of life, which leads you to exclude dramatic conflicts, the knots of contradiction, the great tensions of will, passion, aversion. So you think you are saving yourselves from madness, but you are falling into mediocrity, into hebetude." - from "The Adventure of a Photographer ~ Italo Calvino,

944:Il signor Palomar, continuando a osservare le giraffe in corsa, si rende conto d'una complicata armonia che comanda quel trepestio disarmonico, d'una proporzione interna che lega tra loro le più vistose sproporzioni anatomiche, d'una grazia naturale che vien fuori da quelle movenze sgraziate. L'elemento unificatore è dato dalle macchie del pelo, disposte in figure irregolari ma omogenee, dai contorni netti e angolosi; esse si accordano come un esatto equivalente grafico ai movimenti segmentati dell'animale. Più che di macchie si dovrebbe parlare d'un manto nero la cui uniformità è spezzata da nervature chiare che s'aprono seguendo un disegno a losanghe: una discontinuità di pigmentazione che già annuncia la discontinuità dei movimenti. A questa punto la bambina del signor Palomar, che si è stancata da un pezzo di guardare le giraffe, lo trascina verso la grotta dei pinguini. Il signor Palomar, cui i pinguini dànno angoscia, la segue a malincuore... ~ Italo Calvino,

945:- ...Porque, uma vez que você começou - perorava -, não há nenhuma razão para parar. O passo entre a realidade que é fotografada na medida em que nos parece bonita e a realidade que nos parece bonita na medida em que foi fotografada é curtíssimo. Se você fotografa Pierluca enquanto ele está fazendo o castelo de areia, não há razão para não fotografá-lo enquanto está chorando porque o castelo desmoronou, e depois enquanto a ama o consola fazendo-o encontrar no meio da areia uma casquinha de concha. É só você começar a dizer a respeito de alguma coisa: "Ah, que bonito, que tinha era que tirar uma foto!", e já está no terreno de quem pensa que tudo o que não é fotografado é perdido, que é como se não tivesse existido, e que então para viver de verdade é preciso fotografar o mais que se possa, e para fotografar o mais que se possa é preciso: ou viver de um modo o mais fotografável possível, ou então considerar fotografáveis todos os momentos da própria vida. ~ Italo Calvino,

946:The clock is Shandy’s first symbol: under its influence, he is conceived and his misfortunes begin, which are the same thing according to this sign of time. Death is hidden in clocks, as Belli said, along with the unhappiness of individual life, of this fragment, of this thing that is divided, disintegrated, deprived of wholeness—death, which is time, the time of individuation, of separation, the abstract time that rolls toward its end. Tristram Shandy doesn’t want to be born because he doesn’t want to die. Any means, any weapon, can be used to save oneself from death and time. If a straight line is the shortest distance between two fatal, inescapable points, then digressions lengthen that line—and if these digressions become so complex, tangled, tortuous, and so rapid as to obscure their own tracks, then perhaps death won’t find us again, perhaps time will lose its way, perhaps we’ll be able to remain concealed in our ever-changing hiding places.   These ~ Italo Calvino,

947:It can also be useful to politics, enabling that science to discover how much of it is no more than verbal construction, myth, literary tops. Politics, like literature, must above all know itself and distrust itself. As a final observation, I should like to add that it is impossible today for anyone to feel innocent, if in whatever we do or say we can discover a hidden motive - that of a white man, or a male, or the possessor of a certain income, or a member of a given economic system, or a sufferer from a certain neurosis - this should not induce in us either a universal sense of guilt or an attitude of universal accusation. When we become aware of our disease or of our hidden motives, we have already begun to get the better of them. What matters is the way in which we accept our motives and live through the ensuing crisis. This is the only chance we have of becoming different from the way we are - that is, the only way of starting to invent a new way of being. ~ Italo Calvino,

948:Since then I have learned many things, and above all the way in which dinosaurs conquer. First I had believed that disappearing had been, for my brothers, the magnanimous acceptance of a defeat; now I knew that the more the dinosaurs disappear, the more they extend their dominion, and over forests far more vast than those that cover the continents: in the labyrinth of the survivor's thoughts. From the semidarkness of fears and doubts of now ignorant generations, the Dinosaurs continued to extend their necks, to raise their taloned hoofs, and when the last shadow of their image had been erased, their name went on, superimposed on all meanings, perpetuating their presence in relations among living beings. Now, when the name too had been erased, they would become one thing with the mute and anonymous molds of thought, through which thoughts take on form and substance: by the New Ones, and by those who would come after the New Ones, and those who would come even after them. ~ Italo Calvino,

949:You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice—they won’t hear you otherwise—“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone. Find the most comfortable position: seated, stretched out, curled up, or lying flat. Flat on your back, on your side, on your stomach. In an easy chair, on the sofa, in the rocker, the deck chair, on the hassock. In the hammock, if you have a hammock. On top of your bed, of course, or in the bed. You can even stand on your hands, head down, in the yoga position. With the book upside down, naturally. ~ Italo Calvino,

950:Stai per cominciare a leggere il nuovo romanzo Se una notte d’inverno un viaggiatore di Italo Calvino. Rilassati. Raccogliti. Allontana da te ogni altro pensiero. Lascia che il mondo che ti circonda sfumi nell’indistinto. La porta è meglio chiuderla; di là c’è sempre la televisione accesa. Dillo subito, agli altri: «No, non voglio vedere la televisione!» Alza la voce, se no non ti sentono: «Sto leggendo! Non voglio essere disturbato!» Forse non ti hanno sentito, con tutto quel chiasso; dillo più forte, grida: «Sto cominciando a leggere il nuovo romanzo di Italo Calvino!» O se non vuoi non dirlo; speriamo che ti lascino in pace. Prendi la posizione più comoda: seduto, sdraiato, raggomitolato, coricato. Coricato sulla schiena, su un fianco, sulla pancia. In poltrona, sul divano, sulla sedia a dondolo, sulla sedia a sdraio, sul pouf. Sull’amaca se ne hai una. Sul letto, naturalmente, o dentro il letto. Puoi anche metterti a testa in giù, in posizione yoga. Col libro capovolto, si capisce. ~ Italo Calvino,

951:Once the process of falsification is set in motion, it won't stop. We're in a country where everything that can be falsified has been falsified: paintings in museums, gold ingots, bus tickets. The counterrevolution and the revolution fight with salvos of falsification: the result is that nobody can be sure what is true and what is false, the political police simulate revolutionary actions and the revolutionaries disguise themselves as policemen." And who gains by it, in the end?" It's too soon to say. We have to see who can best exploit the falsifications, their own and those of the others: whether it's the police or our organization." The taxi driver is pricking up his ears. You motion Corinna to restrain herself from making unwise remarks. But she says, "Don't be afraid. This is a fake taxi. What really alarms me, though, is that there is another taxi following us." Fake or real?" Fake, certainly, but I don't know whether it belongs to the police or to us. ~ Italo Calvino,

952:If you choose to believe me, good. Now I will tell you how Octavia, the spider-web city, is made. There is a precipice between two steep mountains: the city is over the void, bound to the two crests with ropes and chains and catwalks. You walk on the little wooden ties, careful not to set your foot in the open spaces, or you cling to the hempen strands. Below there is nothing for hundreds and hundreds of feet: a few clouds glide past; farther down you can glimpse the chasm's bed. This is the foundation of the city: a net which serves as passage and as support. All the rest, instead of rising up, is hung below: rope ladders, hammocks, houses made like sacks, clothes hangers, terraces like gondolas, skins of water, gas jets, spits, baskets on strings, dumb-waiters, showers, trapezes and rings for children's games, cable cars, chandeliers, pots with trailing plants. Suspended over the abyss, the life of Octavia's inhabitants is less uncertain than in other cities. They know the net will only last so long. ~ Italo Calvino,

953:Du hast offenbar die Gewohnheit, mehrere Bücher gleichzeitig zu lesen, dir für die verschiedenen Stunden des Tages verschiedene Lektüren zu wählen. Auch für die verschiedenen Ecken deiner immerhin doch recht kleinen Wohnung: Es gibt Bücher für deinen Nachtisch, andere finden ihren Platz neben dem Sessel, in der Küche oder im Bad. Dies könnte ein wichtiger Zug sein zur Ergänzung deines Porträts: Dein Geist hat innere Wände, mit denen du verschiedene Zeiten voneinander abtrennen kannst, um darin je nachdem innezuhalten oder vorwärtszustürmen und dich abwechselnd auf verschiedene Kanäle zu konzentrieren. Genügt das bereits, um sagen zu können, daß du gern mehrere Leben gleichzeitig leben würdest? Oder sie gar schon lebst? Daß du dein Leben mit einer Person oder in einer bestimmten Umgebung abtrennst von deinem Leben mit anderen oder woanders? Daß du bei jeder neuen Erfahrung von vornherein eine Enttäuschung mit einkalkulierst, die nicht kompensiert werden kann, es sei denn durch die Summe aller Enttäuschungen? ~ Italo Calvino,

954:In the streets of Cecilia, an illustrious city, I met once a goatherd, driving a tinkling flock along the walls. "Man blessed by heaven," he asked me, stopping, "can you tell me the name of the city in which we are?" "May the gods accompany you!" I cried. "How can you fail to recognise the illustrious city of Cecilia?" "Bear with me," that man answered. "I am a wandering herdsman. Sometimes my goats and I have to pass through cities; but we are unable to distinguish them. Ask me the names of the grazing lands: I know them all, the Meadow between the Cliffs, the Green Slope, the Shadowed Grass. Cities have no name for me: they are places without leaves, separating one pasture from another, and where the goats are frightened at street corners and scatter. The dog and I run to keep the flock together." "I am the opposite of you," I said. "I recognise only cities and cannot distinguish what is outside them. In uninhabited places each stone and each clump of grass mingles, in my eyes, with every stone and clump. ~ Italo Calvino,

955:... Lần nào Agilulfo cũng lưỡng lự giây lát, tự hỏi nên ứng xử như kẻ biết áp đặt sự tôn trọng thẩm quyền chỉ bằng sự hiện diện của mình, hay là ứng xử như ai đó, thấy mình đang ở cái chỗ không có lý do để ở, thì lui bước, kín đáo, coi như không hiện diện. Trong tình trạng lưỡng lự như thế, chàng dừng lại, trầm ngâm: không thể bày tỏ thái độ này cũng chẳng thái độ kia; chàng cảm thấy mình chỉ làm phiền mọi người, và chàng mong muốn thực hiện điều gì đó để mở bất kỳ một mối quan hệ nào với đồng loại, chẳng hạn, hô to những mệnh lệnh, những lời mắng mỏ bề trên, hoặc cười hô hố và tuôn ra những câu chửi thề kiểu giữa đám bạn nhậu với nhau. Thế mà chàng chỉ lí nhí dăm ba lời chào hỏi không thể hiểu được, với vẻ dè dặt che đậy tính cao ngạo, hay là một sự cao ngạo bị sửa lưng bởi tính dè dặt, rồi tiếp tục bước đi; song chàng vẫn tưởng rằng họ đã ngỏ lời với mình vào giây phút cuối cùng, thế là chàng bèn hơi quay đầu lại, thốt lên: "Vậy à?", nhưng ngay sau đó, chàng tin chắc, họ đã không nói với mình, và bỏ đi như thể lẩn trốn. ~ Italo Calvino,

956:The city of Leonia refashions itself every day: every morning the people wake between fresh sheets, wash with just-unwrapped cakes of soap, wear brand-new clothing, take from the latest model refrigerator still unopened tins, listening to the last-minute jingles from the most up-to-date radio. On the sidewalks, encased in spotless plastic bags, the remains of yesterday's Leonia await the garbage truck. Not only squeezed tubes of toothpaste, blown-out light bulbs, newspapers, containers, wrappings, but also boilers, encyclopedias, pianos, porcelain dinner services. It is not so much by the things that each day are manufactured, sold, bought, that you can measure Leonia's opulence, but rather by the things that each day are thrown out to make room for the new. So you begin to wonder if Leonia's true passion is really , as they say, the enjoyment of new things, and not, instead, the joy of expelling, discarding, cleansing itself of a recurrent impurity. The fact is that street cleaners are welcomed like angels. ~ Italo Calvino,

957:Chi tu sia, Lettore, quale sia la tua età, lo stato civile, la professione, il reddito, sarebbe indiscreto chiederti. Fatti tuoi, veditela un po’ tu. Quello che conta è lo stato d’animo con cui ora, nell’intimità della tua casa, cerchi di ristabilire la calma perfetta per immergerti nel libro, allunghi le gambe, le ritrai, le riallunghi. Ma qualcosa è cambiato, da ieri. La tua lettura non è più solitaria: pensi alla Lettrice che in questo momento sta aprendo anche lei il libro, ed ecco che al romanzo da leggere si sovrappone un possibile romanzo da vivere, il seguito della tua storia con lei, o meglio: l’inizio di una possibile storia. Ecco come sei già cambiato da ieri, tu che sostenevi di preferire un libro, cosa solida, che sta lì, ben definita, fruibile senza rischi, in confronto all’esperienza vissuta, sempre sfuggente, discontinua, controversa. Vuol dire che il libro è diventato uno strumento, un canale di comunicazione, un luogo d’incontro? Non per ciò la lettura avrà meno presa su di te: anzi, qualcosa s’aggiunge ai suoi poteri. ~ Italo Calvino,

958:Why not admit that my dissatisfaction reveals an excessive ambition, perhaps a megalomaniac delirium? For the writer who wants to annul himself in order to give voice to what is outside him, two paths open: either write a book that could be the unique book, that exhausts the whole in its pages; or write all books, to pursue the whole through its partial images. The unique book, which contains the whole, could only be the sacred text, the total world revealed. But I do not believe totality can be contained in language; my problem is what remains outside, the unwritten, the unwritable. The only way left me is that writing of all books, writing the books of all possible authors. If I think I must write one book, all the problems of how this book should be and how it should not be block me and keep me from going forward. If, on the contrary, I think that I am writing a whole library, I feel suddenly lightened: I know that whatever I write will be integrated, contradicted, balanced, amplified, buried by the hundreds of volumes that remain for me to write. ~ Italo Calvino,

959:In Maurilia, the traveler is invited to visit the city and, at the same time, to examine some old postcards that show it as it used to be: the same identical square with a hen in the place of the bus station, a bandstand in the place of the overpass, two young ladies with white parasols in the place of the munitions factory. If the traveler does not wish to disappoint the inhabitants, he must praise the postcard city and prefer it to the present one, though he must be careful to contain his regret at the changes within definite limits: admitting that the magnificence and prosperity of the metropolis Maurilia, when compared to the old, provincial Maurilia, cannot compensate for a certain lost grace, which, however, can be appreciated only now in the old postcards, whereas before, when that provincial Maurilia was before one’s eyes, one saw absolutely nothing graceful and would see it even less today, if Maurilia had remained unchanged; and in any case the metropolis has the added attraction that, through what it has become, one can look back with nostalgia at what it was. ~ Italo Calvino,

960:Non voleva lasciarsi prendere dallo squallore dell'ambiente, e per far ciò si concentrava sullo squallore dei loro arnesi elettorali--quella cancelleria, quei cartelli, il libriccino ufficiale del regolamento consultato a ogni dubbio dal presidente, già nervoso prima di cominciare--perché questo era per lui uno squallore ricco, ricco di segni, di significati, magari in contrasto uno con l'altro. La democrazia si presentava ai cittadini sotto queste spoglie dimesse, grige, disadorne; ad Amerigo a tratti ciò pareva sublime, nell'Italia da sempre ossequiente a ciò che è pompa, fasto, esteriorità, ornamento; gli pareva finalmente la lezione d'una morale onesta e austera; e una perpetua silenziosa rivincita sui fascisti, su coloro che la democrazia avevano creduto di poter disprezzare proprio per questo suo squallore esteriore, per questa sua umile contabilità, ed erano caduti in polvere con tutte le loro frange e i loro fiocchi, mentre essa, col suo scarno cerimoniale di pezzi di carta ripiegati come telegrammi, di matite affidate a dita callose o malferme, continuava la sua strada. ~ Italo Calvino,

961:In the lives of emperors there is a moment which follows pride in the boundless extension of the territories we have conquered, and the melancholy and relief of knowing we shall soon give up any thought of knowing and understanding them. There is a sense of emptiness that comes over us at evening, with the odor of the elephants after the rain and the sandalwood ashes growing cold in the braziers, a dizziness that makes rivers and mountains tremble on the fallow curves of the planispheres where they are portrayed, and rolls up, one after the other, the despatches announcing to us the collapse of the last enemy troops, from defeat to defeat, and flakes the wax of seals of obscure kings who beseech our armies’ protection, offering in exchange annual tributes of precious metals, tanned hides, and tortoise shell. It is the desperate moment when we discover that this empire, which had seemed to us the sum of all wonders, is an endless, formless ruin, that corruption’s gangrene has spread too far to be healed by our scepter, that the triumph over enemy sovereigns has made us the heirs of their long undoing. ~ Italo Calvino,

962:When anyone from seaboard or country caught leprosy, they left relatives and friends and went to Pratofungo to spend the rest of their lives waiting for the disease to devour them. There were rumours of great jollifications to greet each new arrival; from afar songs and music were to be heard coming from the lepers' houses till night-fall. Many things were said of Pratofungo, although no healthy person had ever been there; but all rumours were agreed in saying that life there was a perpetual party. Before becoming a leper colony the village had been a great place for prostitutes and visited by sailors of every race and religion; and the women there, it seemed, still kept the licentious habits of those times. The lepers did no work on the land. except for a vine-yard of strawberry grapes whose juice kept them the whole year round in a state of simmering tipsiness. The lepers spent most of their time playing strange instruments of their own invention, such as harps with little bells attached to the string, and singing in falsetto, and painting eggs with daubs of every colour as if for a perpetual Easter. ~ Italo Calvino,

963:Valdrada’s inhabitants know that each of their actions is, at once, that action and its mirror-image, which possesses the special dignity of images, and this awareness prevents them from succumbing for a single moment to chance and forgetfulness. Even when lovers twist their naked bodies, skin against skin, seeking the position that will give one the most pleasure in the other, even when murderers plunge the knife into the black veins of the neck and more clotted blood pours out the more they press the blade that slips between the tendons, it is not so much their copulating or murdering that matters as the copulating and murdering of the images, limpid and cold in the mirror. At times the mirror increases a thing’s value, at times denies it. Not everything that seems valuable above the mirror maintains its force when mirrored. The twin cities are not equal, because nothing that exists or happens in Valdrada is symmetrical: every face and gesture is answered, from the mirror, by a face and gesture inverted, point by point. The two Valdradas live for each other, their eyes interlocked; but there is no love between them. ~ Italo Calvino,

964:And yet, in Raissa, at every moment there is a child in a window who laughs seeing a dog that has jumped on a shed to bite into a piece of polenta dropped by a stonemason who has shouted from the top of the scaffolding, "Darling, let me dip into it," to a young servant-maid who holds up a dish of ragout under the pergola, happy to serve it to the umbrella-maker who is celebrating a successful transaction, a white lace parasol bought to display at the races by a great lady in love with an officer who has smiled at her taking the last jump, happy man, and still happier his horse, flying over the obstacles, seeing a francolin flying in the sky, happy bird freed from its cage by a painter happy at having painted it feather by feather, speckled with red and yellow in the illumination of that page in the volume where the philosopher says: "Also in Raissa, city of sadness, there runs an invisible thread that binds one living being to another for a moment, then unravels, then is stretched again between moving points as it draws new and rapid patterns so that at every second the unhappy city contains a happy city unaware of its own existence. ~ Italo Calvino,

965:I explored the literature of tree-climbing, not extensive, but so exciting. John Muir had swarmed up a hundred-foot Douglas Spruce during a Californian windstorm, and looked out over a forest, 'the whole mass of which was kindled into one continuous blaze of white sun-fire!' Italo Calvino had written his The Baron in the Trees, Italian editionmagical novel, The Baron in the Trees, whose young hero, Cosimo, in an adolescent huff, climbs a tree on his father's forested estate and vows never to set foot on the ground again. He keeps his impetuous word, and ends up living and even marrying in the canopy, moving for miles between olive, cherry, elm, and holm oak. There were the boys in B.B.'s Brendan Chase, who go feral in an English forest rather than return to boarding-school, and climb a 'Scotch pine' in order to reach a honey buzzard's nest scrimmed with beech leaves. And of course there was the realm of Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin: Pooh floating on his sky-blue balloon up to the oak-top bee's nest, in order to poach some honey; Christopher ready with his pop-gun to shoot Pooh's balloon down once the honey had been poached.... ~ Robert Macfarlane,

966:2. The classics are those books which constitute a treasured experience for those who have read and loved them; but they remain just as rich an experience for those who reserve the chance to read them for when they are in the best condition to enjoy them. For the fact is that the reading we do when young can often be of little value because we are impatient, cannot concentrate, lack expertise in how to read, or because we lack experience of life. This youthful reading can be (perhaps at the same time) literally formative in that it gives a form or shape to our future experiences, providing them with models, ways of dealing with them, terms of comparison, schemes for categorising them, scales of value, paradigms of beauty: all things which continue to operate in us even when we remember little or nothing about the book we read when young. When we reread the book in our maturity, we then rediscover these constants which by now form part of our inner mechanisms though we have forgotten where they came from. There is a particular potency in the work which can be forgotten in itself but which leaves its seed behind in us. The definition which we can now give is ~ Italo Calvino,

967:Resta-nos esclarecer a parte que nesse golfo fantástico cabe ao imaginário indireto, ou seja, o conjunto de imagens que a cultura nos fornece, seja ela cultura de massa ou outra forma de tradição. Esta questão suscita de imediato uma outra: que futuro estará reservado à imaginação individual nessa que se convencionou chamar a "civilização da imagem"? O poder de evocar imagens [i]in absentia[/i] continuará a desenvolver-se numa humanidade cada vez mais inundada pelo dilúvio das imagens pré-fabricadas? Antigamente a memória visiva de um individuo estava limitada ao patrimônio de suas experiências diretas e a um reduzido repertório de imagens refletidas pela cultura; a possibilidade de dar forma a mitos pessoais nascia do modo pelo qual os fragmentos dessa memória se combinavam entre si em abordagens inesperadas e sugestivas. Hoje somos bombardeados por uma tal quantidade de imagens a ponto de não podermos distinguir mais a experiência direta daquilo que vimos há poucos segundos na televisão. Em nossa memória se depositam, por estratos sucessivos, mil estilhaços de imagens, semelhantes a um depósito de lixo, onde é cada vez menos provável que uma delas adquira relevo ~ Italo Calvino,

968:I, too, feel the need to reread the books I have already read," a third reader says, "but at every rereading I seem to be reading a new book, for the first time. Is it I who keep changing and seeing new things of which I was not previously aware? Or is reading a construction that assumes form, assembling a great number of variables, and therefore something that cannot be repeated twice according to the same pattern? Every time I seek to relive the emotion of a previous reading, I experience different and unexpected impressions, and do not find again those of before. At certain moments it seems to me that between one reading and the next there is a progression: in the sense, for example, of penetrating further into the spirit of the text, or of increasing my critical detachment. At other moments, on the contrary, I seem to retain the memory of the readings of a single book one next to another, enthusiastic or cold or hostile, scattered in time without a perspective, without a thread that ties them together. The conclusion I have reached is that reading is an operation without object; or that its true object is itself. The book is an accessory aid, or even a pretext. ~ Italo Calvino,

969:And the principal tenet of Pasternak’s thought—that Nature and History do not belong to two different orders but form a continuum in which human lives find themselves immersed and by which they are determined—can be articulated better through narration than through theoretical propositions. In this way these reflections become one with the broad canvas of all the humanity and nature in the novel, they do not dominate or suffocate it. The result is that, as happens with all genuine storytellers, the book’s meaning is not to be sought in the sum of the ideas enunciated but in the totality of its images and sensations, in the flavour of life, in its silences. And all the ideological proliferations, these discussions which constantly flare up and die down, about nature and history, the individual and politics, religion and poetry, as though resuming old conversations with friends long gone, create a deep echo chamber for the strictly humble events the characters undergo, and come forth (to adopt a beautiful image used by Pasternak for the revolution) ‘like a sigh which has been held back too long’. Pasternak has breathed into his whole novel a desire for the kind of novel which no longer exists. ~ Italo Calvino,

970:You’ve come about your manuscript? It’s with the reader; no, I’m getting that wrong, it’s been read, very interesting, of course, now I remember! Remarkable sense of language, heartfelt denunciation, didn’t you receive our letter? We’re very sorry to have to tell you, in the letter it’s all explained, we sent it some time ago, the mail is so slow these days, you’ll receive it of course, our list is overloaded, unfavorable economic situation. Ah, you see? You’ve received it. And what else did it say? Thanking you for having allowed us to read it, we will return it promptly. Ah, you’ve come to collect the manuscript? No, we haven’t found it, do just be patient a little longer, it’ll turn up, nothing is ever lost here, only today we found a manuscript we’d been looking or these past ten years, oh, not another ten years, we’ll find yours sooner, at least let’s hope so, we have so many manuscripts, piles this high, if you like we’ll show them to you, of course you want your own, not somebody else’s, that’s obvious, I mean we preserve so many manuscripts we don’t care a fig about, we’d hardly throw away yours which means so much to us, no, not to publish it, it means so much for us to give it back to you. ~ Italo Calvino,

971:Sections in the bookstore - Books You Haven't Read - Books You Needn't Read - Books Made for Purposes Other Than Reading - Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong to the Category of Books Read Before Being Written - Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered - Books You Mean to Read But There Are Others You Must Read First - Books Too Expensive Now and You'll Wait 'Til They're Remaindered - Books ditto When They Come Out in Paperback - Books You Can Borrow from Somebody - Books That Everybody's Read So It's As If You Had Read Them, Too - Books You've Been Planning to Read for Ages - Books You've Been Hunting for Years Without Success - Books Dealing with Something You're Working on at the Moment - Books You Want to Own So They'll Be Handy Just in Case - Books You Could Put Aside Maybe to Read This Summer - Books You Need to Go with Other Books on Your Shelves - Books That Fill You with Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified - Books Read Long Ago Which It's Now Time to Re-read - Books You've Always Pretended to Have Read and Now It's Time to Sit Down and Really Read Them ~ Italo Calvino,

972:Isaura, city of the thousand wells, is said to rise over a deep, subterranean lake. On all sides, wherever the inhabitants dig long vertical holes in the ground, they succeed in drawing up water, as far as the city extends, and no father. Its green border repeats the dark outline of the buried lake; an invisible landscape conditions the visible one; everything that moves in the sunlight is driven by the lapping wave enclosed beneath the rock's calcareous sky. Consequently, two forms of religion exist in Isaura. The city's gods, according to some people, live in the depths, in the black lake that feeds the underground streams. According to others, the gods live in the buckets that rise, suspended from a cable, as they appear over the edge of the wells, in the revolving pulleys, in the windlasses of the norias, in the pump handles, in the blades of the windmills that draw the water up from the drillings, in the trestles that support the twisting probes, in the reservoirs perched on stilts over the roofs, in the slender arches of the aqueducts, in all the columns of water, the vertical pipes, the plungers, the drains, all the way up to the weathercocks that surmount the airy scaffoldings of Isaura, a city that moves entirely upward. ~ Italo Calvino,

973:With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You’ll Wait Till They’re Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Had Read Them, Too. Eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out: the Books You’ve Been Planning To Read For Ages, the Books You’ve Been Hunting For Years Without Success, the Books Dealing With Something You’re Working On At The Moment, the Books You Want To Own So They’ll Be Handy Just In Case, the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer, the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves, the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified. Now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but still calculable in a finite number; but this relative relief is then undermined by the ambush of the Books Read Long Ago Which It’s Now Time To Reread and the Books You’ve Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It’s Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them. ~ Italo Calvino,

974:You fasten your seatbelt. The plane is landing. To fly is the opposite of traveling: you cross a gap in space, you vanish into the void, you accept not being in any place for a duration that is itself a kind of void in time; then you reappear, in a place and in a moment with no relation to the where and the when in which you vanished. Meanwhile, what do you do? How do you occupy this absence of yourself from the world and of the world from you?" You read; you do not raise your eyes from the book between one airport and the other, because beyond the page there is the void, the anonymity of stopovers, of the metallic uterus that contains you and nourishes you, of the passing crowd always different and always the same. You might as well stick with this other abstraction of travel, accomplished by the anonymous uniformity of typographical characters: here, too, it is the evocative power of the names that persuades you that you are flying over something and not nothingness. You realize that it takes considerable heedlessness to entrust yourself to unsure instruments, handled with approximation; or perhaps this demonstrates and invincible tendency to passivity, to regression, to infantile dependence. (But are you reflecting on the air journey or on reading?) ~ Italo Calvino,

975:Al llegar a cada nueva ciudad el viajero encuentra un pasado suyo que ya no sabia que tenia: la extrañeza de los que no eres o no posees mas, te espera al paso en los lugares extraños y no poseidos. Marco [Polo] entra en una ciudad: ve a alguien que vive en una plaza una vida o un instante que podrian ser suyos; en el lugar de aquel hombre ahora hubiera podido estar el si se hubiese detenido en el tiempo mucho tiempo antes, o bien si mucho tiempo antes, en una encrucijada, en vez de tomar por un camino hubiese tomado por el opuesto y al cabo de una larga vuelta hubiera ido a encontrarse en el luhar de aquel hombre en aquella plaza. En adelante, de aquel pasado suyo verdadero o hipotetico, el queda excluido; no puede detenerse; debe continuar hasta otra ciudad donde lo espera otro pasado suyo, o algo que quizas habia sido un posible futuro y ahora es el presente de algun otro. Los futuros no realizados son solo ramas del pasado: ramas secas. -¿Viajas para revivir tu pasado?-era en ese momento la pregunta del Kan, que podia tambien formularse asi: ¿Viajas para encontrar tu futuro? Y la respuesta de Marco: -El otro lado es un espejo en negativo. El viajero reconoce lo poco que es suyo al descubrir lo mucho que no ha tenido y no tendra. ~ Italo Calvino,

976:Ancora confuso era lo stato delle cose nel mondo, nell'Evo in cui questa storia si svolge. Non era raro imbattersi in nomi e pensieri e forme e istituzioni cui non corrispondeva nulla d'esistente. E d'altra parte il mondo pullulava di oggetti e facoltà e persone che non avevano nome nè distinzione dal resto. Era un'epoca in cui la volontà e l'ostinazione d'esserci, di marcare un'impronta, di fare attrito con tutto ciò che c'è, non veniva usata interamente, dato che molti non se ne facevano nulla - per miseria o ignoranza o perchè invece tutto riusciva loro bene lo stesso - e quindi una certa quantità ne andava persa nel vuoto. Poteva pure darsi allora che in un questa volontà e coscienza di sè, così diluita, si condensasse, facesse grumo, come l'impercettibile pulviscolo acquoreo si condensa in fiocchi di nuvole, e questo groppo, per caso o per istinto, s'imbattesse in un nome e in un casato, come allora ne esistevano spesso di vacanti, in un grado nell'organico militare, in un insieme di mansioni da svolgere e di regole stabilite; e - sopratutto - in un'armatura vuota, chè senza quella, coi tempi che correvano, anche un uomo che c'è rischiava di scomparire, figuriamoci uno che non c'è... Così aveva cominciato a operare Agilulfo dei Guildiverni e a procacciarsi gloria. ~ Italo Calvino,

977:This is why, rather than go on talking, I felt the need to transform the things to be said into a cone of light hurled at a hundred miles an hour, to transform myself into this cone of light moving over the superhighway, because it is certain that such a signal can be received and understood by her without being lost in the ambiguous disorder of secondary vibrations, just as I, to receive and understand the things she has to say to me, would like them to be only (rather, I would like her to be only) this cone of light I see advancing on the superhighway at a speed (I'm guessing, at a glance) of eighty or ninety. What counts is communicating the indispensable, skipping all the superfluous, reducing ourselves to essential communication, to a luminous signal that moves in a given direction, abolishing the complexity of our personalities and situations and facial expressions, leaving them in the shadowy container that the headlights carry behind them and conceal. The Y I love is really that moving band of luminous rays, and all the rest of her can remain implicit; and the me that she can love, the me that has the power of entering that circuit of exaltation which is her affective life, in the flashing of this pass which, through love of her and with a certain risk, I am now attempting. ~ Italo Calvino,

978:At that hour of dawn Agilulf always needed to apply himself to some precise exercise: counting objects, arranging them in geometric patterns, resolving problems of arithmetic. It was the hour in which objects lose the consistency of shadow that accompanies them during the night and gradually reacquire colors, but seem to cross meanwhile an uncertain limbo, faintly touched, just breathed on by light; the hour in which one is least certain of the world's existence. He, Agilulf, always needed to feel himself facing things as if they were a massive wall against which he could pit the tension of his will, for only in this way did he manage to keep a sure consciousness of himself. But if the world around was instead melting into the vague and ambiguous, he would feel himself drowning in that morbid half light, incapable of allowing any clear thought or decision to flower in that void. In such moments he felt sick, faint; sometimes only at the cost of extreme effort did he feel himself able to avoid melting away completely. It was then he began to count: trees, leaves, stones, laces, pine cones, anything in front of him. Or he put them in rows and arranged them in squares and pyramids. Applying himself to this exact occupation helped him overcome his malaise, absorb his discontent and disquiet, reacquire his usual lucidity and composure. ~ Italo Calvino,

979:I haven’t said it yet, but it seemed implied, that cinema for me was the American one, current Hollywood productions. “My” period goes roughly from The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (Henry Hathaway, 1935) with Gary Cooper and Mutiny on the Bounty (Frank Lloyd, 1935) with Charles Laughton and Clark Gable, to the death of Jean Harlow (which I relived many years later like the death of Marilyn Monroe, in an era more aware of the neurotic power of every symbol), with lots of comedies in between, the mystery-romances with Myrna Loy and William Powell and the dog Asta, the musicals of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, the crime pictures of Chinese detective Charlie Chan and the horror films of Boris Karloff. I didn’t remember the names of the directors as well as the names of the actors, except for a few like Frank Capra, Gregory La Cava, and Frank Borzage, who represented the poor rather than the millionaires, usually with Spencer Tracy: they were the good-natured directors from the Roosevelt era; I learned this later; back then I consumed everything without distinguishing between them too much. American cinema in that moment consisted of a collection of actors’ faces without equal before or after (at least it seemed that way to me) and the adventures were simple mechanisms to get these faces together (sweethearts, character actors, extras) in different combinations. ~ Italo Calvino,

980:Mettere al mondo un figlio ha un senso solo se questo figlio è voluto, coscientemente e liberamente dai due genitori. Se no è un atto animalesco e criminoso. Un essere umano diventa tale non per il casuale verificarsi di certe condizioni biologiche, ma per un atto di volontà e d’amore da parte degli altri. Se no, l’umanità diventa – come in larga parte già è – una stalla di conigli. Ma non si tratta più della stalla «agreste», ma d’un allevamento «in batteria» nelle condizioni d’artificialità in cui vive a luce artificiale e con mangime chimico. Solo chi – uomo e donna – è convinto al cento per cento d’avere la possibilità morale e materiale non solo d’allevare un figlio ma d’accoglierlo come una presenza benvenuta e amata, ha il diritto di procreare; se no, deve per prima cosa far tutto il possibile per non concepire e se concepisce (dato che il margine d’imprevedibilità continua a essere alto) abortire non è soltanto una triste necessità, ma una decisione altamente morale da prendere in piena libertà di coscienza «…». Nell’aborto chi viene massacrato, fisicamente e moralmente, è la donna; anche per un uomo cosciente ogni aborto è una prova morale che lascia il segno, ma certo qui la sorte della donna è in tali sproporzionate condizioni di disfavore in confronto a quella dell’uomo, che ogni uomo prima di parlare di queste cose deve mordersi la lingua tre volte. ~ Italo Calvino,

981:There was a town where everything was forbidden. Now, since the only thing that wasn’t forbidden was the game tip-cat, the town’s subjects used to assemble on meadows behind the town and spend the day there playing tip-cat. And as the laws forbidding things had been introduced one at a time and always with good reason, no one found any cause for complaint or had any trouble getting used to them. Years passed. One day the constables saw that there was no longer any reason why everything should be forbidden and they sent messengers to inform their subjects that they could do whatever they wanted. The messengers went to those places where the subjects were wont to assemble. ‘Hear ye, hear ye,’ they announced, ‘nothing is forbidden any more.’ The people went on playing tip-cat. ‘Understand?’ the messengers insisted. ‘You are free to do what you want.’ ‘Good,’ replied the subjects. ‘We’re playing tip-cat.’ The messengers busily reminded them of the many wonderful and useful occupations they had once engaged in and could now engage in once again. But the subjects wouldn’t listen and just went on playing, stroke after stroke, without even stopping for a breather. Seeing that their efforts were in vain, the messengers went to tell the constables. ‘Easy,’ the constables said. ‘Let’s forbid the game of tip-cat.’ That was when the people rebelled and killed the lot of them. Then without wasting time, they got back to playing tip-cat. ~ Italo Calvino,

982:You fling the book on the floor, you would hurl it out of the window, even out of the closed window, through the slats of the Venetian blinds; let them shred its incongruous quires, let sentences, words, morphemes, phonemes gush forth, beyond recomposition into discourse; through the panes, and if they are of unbreakable glass so much the better, hurl the book and reduce it to photons, undulatory vibrations, polarized spectra; through the wall, let the book crumble into molecules and atoms passing between atom and atom of the reinforced concrete, breaking up into electrons, neutrons, neutrinos, elementary particles more and more minute; through the telephone wires, let it be reduced to electronic impulses, into flow of information, shaken by redundancies and noises, and let it be degraded into a swirling entropy. You would like to throw it out of the house, out of the block, beyond the neighborhood, beyond the city limits, beyond the state confines, beyond the regional administration, beyond the national community, beyond the Common Market, beyond Western culture, beyond the continental shelf, beyond the atmosphere, the biosphere, the stratosphere, the field of gravity, the solar system, the galaxy, the cumulus of galaxies, to succeed in hurling it beyond the point the galaxies have reached in their expansion, where space-time has not yet arrived, where it would be received by nonbeing, or, rather, the not-being which has never been and will never be, to be lost in the most absolutely guaranteed undeniable negativity. ~ Italo Calvino,

983:He hopes at least after pulling himself up from one branch to another he will be able to see farther, discover where the roads lead; but the foliage beneath him is dense, the ground is soon out of sight, and if he raises his eyes toward the top of the tree he is blinded by The Sun, whose piercing rays make the leaves gleam with every colour against the light. However, the meaning of those two children seen in the tarot should also be explained: they must indicate that, looking up, the young man has realized he is no longer alone in the tree; two urchins have preceeded him, scrambling up the boughs. They seem twins: identical, barefoot, golden blond. At this point the young man spoke, asked: “what are you two doing here?” or else: “how far is it to the top?” And the twins replied, indicating with confused gesticulation toward something seen on the horizon of the drawing, beneath the sun’s rays: the walls of a city. But where are these walls located, with respect to the tree? The Ace of Cups portrays, in fact, a city, with many towers and spires and minarets and domes rising above the walls. And also palm fronds, pheasants’ wings, fins of blue moonfish which certainly jut from the city’s gardens, aviaries, aquariums, among which we can imagine the two urchins, chasing each other and vanishing. And this city seems balanced on top of a pyramid, which could also be the top of a great tree; in other words, it would be a city suspended on the highest branches like a bird’s nest, with hanging foundations like the aerial roots of certain plants. ~ Italo Calvino,

984:Despina can be reached in two ways: by ship or by camel. The city displays one face to the traveler arriving overland and a different one to him who arrives by sea. When the camel driver sees, at the horizon of the tableland, the pinnacles of the skyscrapers come into view, the radar antennae, the white and red wind-socks flapping, the chimneys belching smoke, he thinks of a ship; he knows it is a city, but he thinks of it as a vessel that will take him away from the desert, a windjammer about to cast off, with the breeze already swelling the sails, not yet unfurled, or a steamboat with its boiler vibrating in the iron keel; and he thinks of all the ports, the foreign merchandise the cranes unload on the docks, the taverns where crews of different flags break bottles over one another’s heads, the lighted, ground-floor windows, each with a woman combing her hair. In the coastline’s haze, the sailor discerns the form of a camel’s withers, an embroidered saddle with glittering fringe between two spotted humps, advancing and swaying; he knows it is a city, but he thinks of it as a camel from whose pack hang wine-skins and bags of candied fruit, date wine, tobacco leaves, and already he sees himself at the head of a long caravan taking him away from the desert of the sea, toward oases of fresh water in the palm trees’ jagged shade, toward palaces of thick, whitewashed walls, tiled courts where girls are dancing barefoot, moving their arms, half-hidden by their veils, and half-revealed. Each city receives its form from the desert it opposes; and so the camel driver and the sailor see Despina, a border city between two deserts. ~ Italo Calvino,

985:In Chloe, a great city, the people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping. A girl comes along, twirling a parasol on her shoulder, and twirling slightly also her rounded hips. A woman in black comes along, showing her full age, her eyes restless beneath her veil, her lips trembling. At tattooed giant comes along; a young man with white hair; a female dwarf; two girls, twins, dressed in coral. Something runs among them, an exchange of glances link lines that connect one figure with another and draws arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene: a blind man with a cheetah on a leash, a courtesan with an ostrich-plume fan, an ephebe, a Fat Woman. And thus, when some people happen to find themselves together, taking shelter from the rain under an arcade, or crowding beneath an awning of the bazaar, or stopping to listen to the band in the square, meetings, seductions, copulations, orgies are consummated among them without a word exchanged, without a finger touching anything, almost without an eye raised. A voluptuous vibration constantly stirs Chloe, the most chaste of cities. If men and women began to live their ephemeral dreams, every phantom would become a person with whom to begin a story of pursuits, pretenses, misunderstandings, clashes, oppressions, and the carousel of fantasies would stop. ~ Italo Calvino,

986:I ask you to come down to earth," said the Baron in a calm, rather faint voice, "and to take up the duties of your station!" "I have no intention of obeying you, my Lord Father," said Cosimo. "I am very sorry." They were ill at ease, both of them, bored. Each knew what the other would say. "And what about your studies? Your devotions as a Christian?" said the father. "Do you intend to grown up like an American Savage?" Cosimo was silent. These were thoughts he had not yet put to himself and had no wish to. Then he exclaimed: "Just because I'm a few yards higher up, does it mean that good teaching can't reach me?" This was an able reply too, though it diminished, in a way, the range of his gesture; a sign of weakness. His father realized this and became more pressing. "Rebellion cannot be measured by yards," said he. "Even when a journey seems no distance at all, it can have no return." Now was the moment for my brother to produce some other noble reply, perhaps a Latin maxim, but at that instant none came into his head, though he knew so many by heart. Instead he suddenly got bored with all this solemnity, and shouted: "But from the trees I can piss farther," a phrase without much meaning, but which cut the discussion short. As though they had heard the phrase, a shout went up from the ragamuffins around Porta Capperi. The Baron of Rondo's horse shied, the Baron pulled the reins and wrapped himself more tightly in his cloak, ready to leave. Then he turned, drew an arm out of his cloak, pointed to the sky, which had suddenly become overcast with black clouds, and exclaimed: "Be careful, son, there's Someone who can piss on us all!"... ~ Italo Calvino,

987:-Você avança com a cabeça voltada para trás? - ou então: - O que você vê está sempre às suas costas? - ou melhor: - A sua viagem só se dá no passado? Tudo isso para que Marco Polo pudesse explicar ou imaginar explicar ou ser imaginado explicando ou finalmente conseguir explicar a si mesmo que aquilo que ele procurava estava diante de si, e, mesmo que se tratasse do passado, era um passado que mudava à medida que ele prosseguia a sua viagem, porque o passado do viajante muda de acordo com o itinerário realizado, não o passado recente ao qual cada dia que passa acrescenta um dia, mas um passado mais remoto. Ao chegar a uma nova cidade, o viajante reencontra um passado que não lembrava existir: a surpresa daquilo que você deixou de ser ou deixou de possuir revela-se nos lugares estranhos, não nos conhecidos. Marco entra numa cidade; vê alguém numa praça que vive uma vida ou um instante que poderiam ser seus; ele podia estar no lugar daquele homem se tivesse parado no tempo tanto tempo atrás, ou então se tanto tempo atrás numa encruzilhada tivesse tomado uma estrada em vez de outra e depois de uma longa viagem se encontrasse no lugar daquele homem e naquela praça. Agora, desse passado real ou hipotético, ele está excluído; não pode parar; deve prosseguir até uma outra cidade em que outro passado aguarda por ele, ou algo que talvez fosse um possível futuro e que agora é o presente de outra pessoa. Os futuros não realizados são apenas ramos do passado: ramos secos. - Você viaja para reviver o seu passado? - era, a esta altura, a pergunta do Khan, que podia ser formulada da seguinte maneira: - você viaja para reencontrar o seu futuro? E a resposta de Marco: - Os outros lugares são espelhos em negativo. O viajante reconhece o pouco que é seu descobrindo o muito que não teve e o que não terá. (p. 31-32) ~ Italo Calvino,

988:Já logo na vitrine da livraria, identificou a capa com o título que procurava. Seguindo essa pista visual, você abriu caminho na loja, através da densa barreira dos Livros Que Você Não Leu que, das mesas e prateleiras, olham-no de esguelha tentando intimidá-lo. Mas você sabe que não deve deixar-se impressionar, pois estão distribuídos por hectares e mais hectares os Livros Cuja Leitura É Dispensável, os Livros Para Outros Usos Que Não a Leitura, os Livros Já Lidos Sem Que Seja Necessário Abri-los, pertencentes que são à categoria dos Livros Já Lidos Antes Mesmo De Terem Sido Escritos. Assim, após você ter superado a primeira linha de defesas, eis que cai sobre sua pessoa a infantaria dos Livros Que, Se Você Tivesse Mais Vidas Para Viver, Certamente Leria De Boa Vontade, Mas Infelizmente Os Dias Que Lhe Restam Para Viver Não São Tantos Assim. Com movimentos rápidos, você os deixa para trás e atravessa as falanges dos Livros Que Tem A Intenção De Ler Mas Antes Deve Ler Outros, dos Livros Demasiado Caros Que Podem Esperar Para Ser Comprados Quando Forem Revendidos Pela Metade do Preço, dos Livros Idem Quando Forem Reeditados Em Coleções De Bolso, dos Livros Que Poderia Pedir Emprestados A Alguém, dos Livros Que Todo Mundo Leu E É Como Se Você Também Os Tivesse Lido. Esquivando-se de tais assaltos, você alcança as torres do fortim, onde ainda resistem os Livros Que Há Tempos Você Pretende Ler, os Livros Que Procurou Durante Vários Anos Sem Ter Encontrado, os Livros Que Dizem Respeito A Algo Que O Ocupa Neste Momento, os Livros Que Deseja Adquirir Para Ter Por Perto Em Qualquer Circunstância, os Livros Que Gostaria De Separar Para Ler Neste Verão, os Livros Que Lhe Faltam Para Colocar Ao Lado De Outros Em Sua Estante, os Livros Que De Repente Lhe Inspiram Uma Curiosidade Frenética E Não Claramente Justificada. ~ Italo Calvino,

989:There were years when I went to the movies almost every day, sometimes even twice a day, and they were the years between 1936 and the war, around the time of my adolescence. Those were years in which cinema was my world. It’s been said many times before that cinema is a form of escape, it’s a stock phrase intended to be a condemnation, and cinema certainly served that purpose for me back then. It satisfied a need for disorientation, for shifting my attention to another place, and I believe it’s a need that corresponds to a primary function of integration in the world, an essential phase in any kind of development. Of course there are other more substantial and personal ways of creating a different space for yourself: cinema was the easiest method and it was within reach, but it was also the one that instantly carried me farthest away. I went to the cinema in the afternoon, secretly fleeing from home, or using study with a classmate as an excuse, because my parents left me very little freedom during the months when school was in session. The urge to hide inside the cinema as soon as it opened at two in the afternoon was the proof of true passion. Attending the first screening had a number of advantages: the half-empty theater, it was like I had it all to myself, would allow me to stretch out in the middle of the third row with my legs on the back of the seat in front of me; the hope of returning home without anyone finding out about my escape, in order to receive permission to go out once again later on (and maybe see another film); a light daze for the rest of the afternoon, detrimental to studying but advantageous for daydreaming. And in addition to these explanations that were unmentionable for various reasons, there was another more serious one: entering right when it opened guaranteed the rare privilege of seeing the movie from the beginning and not from a random moment toward the middle or the end, because that was what usually happened when I got to the cinema later in the afternoon or toward the evening. ~ Italo Calvino,

990:In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven't Read, which were frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you. But you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn't Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You'll Wait Till They're Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody's Read So It's As If You Had Read Them, Too. Eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out: the Books You've Been Planning To Read For Ages, the Books You've Been Hunting For Years Without Success, the Books Dealing With Something You're Working On At The Moment, the Books You Want To Own So They'll Be Handy Just In Case, the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer, the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves, the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified, Now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but still calculable in a finite number; but this relative relief is then undermined by the ambush of the Books Read Long Ago Which It's Now Time To Reread and the Books You've Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It's Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them. ~ Italo Calvino,

991:A volte il fare uno scherzo cattivo lascia un gusto amaro, e Pin si trova solo a girare nei vicoli, con tutti che gli gridano improperii e lo cacciano via. Si avrebbe voglia d’andare con una banda di compagni, allora, compagni cui spiegare il posto dove fanno il nido i ragni, o con cui fare battaglie con le canne, nel fossato. Ma i ragazzi non vogliono bene a Pin: è l’amico dei grandi, Pin, sa dire ai grandi cose che li fanno ridere e arrabbiare, non come loro che non capiscono nulla quando i grandi parlano. Pin alle volte vorrebbe mettersi coi ragazzi della sua età, chiedere che lo lascino giocare a testa e pila, e che gli spieghino la via per un sotterraneo che arriva fino in piazza Mercato. Ma i ragazzi lo lasciano a parte, e a un certo punto si mettono a picchiarlo; perché Pin ha due braccine smilze smilze ed è il più debole di tutti. Da Pin vanno alle volte a chiedere spiegazioni su cose che succedono tra le donne e gli uomini; ma Pin comincia a canzonarli gridando per il carrugio e le madri richiamano i ragazzi: – Costanzo! Giacomino! Quante volte te l’ho detto che non devi andare con quel ragazzo cosi maleducato! Le madri hanno ragione: Pin non sa che raccontare storie d’uomini e donne nei letti e di uomini ammazzati o messi in prigione, storie insegnategli dai grandi, specie di fiabe che i grandi si raccontano tra loro e che pure sarebbe bello stare a sentire se Pin non le intercalasse di canzonature e di cose che non si capiscono da indovinare. E a Pin non resta che rifugiarsi nel mondo dei grandi, dei grandi che pure gli voltano la schiena, dei grandi che pure sono incomprensibili e distanti per lui come per gli altri ragazzi, ma che sono più facili da prendere in giro, con quella voglia delle donne e quella paura dei carabinieri, finché non si stancano e cominciano a scapaccionarlo. Ora Pin entrerà nell’osteria fumosa e viola, e dirà cose oscene, improperi mai uditi a quegli uomini fino a farli imbestialire e a farsi battere, e canterà canzoni commoventi, struggendosi fino a piangere e a farli piangere, e inventerà scherzi e smorfie cosi nuove da ubriacarsi di risate, tutto per smaltire la nebbia di solitudine che gli si condensa nel petto le sere come quella". ~ Italo Calvino,

992:My mother delayed my enrollment in the Fascist scouts, the Balilla, as long as possible, firstly because she did not want me to learn how to handle weapons, but also because the meetings that were then held on Sunday mornings (before the Fascist Saturday was instituted) consisted mostly of a Mass in the scouts' chapel. When I had to be enrolled as part of my school duties, she asked that I be excused from the Mass; this was impossible for disciplinary reasons, but my mother saw to it that the chaplain and the commander were aware that I was not a Catholic and that I should not be asked to perform any external acts of devotion in church. In short, I often found myself in situations different from others, looked on as if I were some strange animal. I do not think this harmed me: one gets used to persisting in one's habits, to finding oneself isolated for good reasons, to putting up with the discomfort that this causes, to finding the right way to hold on to positions which are not shared by the majority. But above all I grew up tolerant of others' opinions, particularly in the field of religion, remembering how irksome it was to hear myself mocked because I did not follow the majority's beliefs. And at the same time I have remained totally devoid of that taste for anticlericalism which is so common in those who are educated surrounded by religion. I have insisted on setting down these memories because I see that many non-believing friends let their children have a religious education 'so as not to give them complexes', 'so that they don't feel different from the others.' I believe that this behavior displays a lack of courage which is totally damaging pedagogically. Why should a young child not begin to understand that you can face a small amount of discomfort in order to stay faithful to an idea? And in any case, who said that young people should not have complexes? Complexes arise through a natural attrition with the reality that surrounds us, and when you have complexes you try to overcome them. Life is in fact nothing but this triumphing over one's own complexes, without which the formation of a character and personality does not happen. ~ Italo Calvino,

993:Già nella vetrina della libreria hai individuato la copertina col titolo che cercavi. Seguendo questa traccia visiva ti sei fatto largo nel negozio attraverso il fitto sbarramento di Libri Che Non Hai Letto che ti guardavao accigliati dai banchi e dagli scaffali cercando d'intimidirti. Ma tu sai che non devi lasciarti mettere in soggezione, che tra loro s'estendono per ettari ed ettari i Libri Che Puoi Fare A Meno Di Leggere, i Libri Fatti Per Altri Usi Che La Lettura, i Libri Già Letti Senza Nemmeno Bisogno D'Aprirli In Quanto Appartenenti Alla Categoria Del Già Letto Prima Ancora D'Essere Stato Scritto. E così superi la prima cinta dei baluardi e ti piomba addosso la fanteria dei Libri Che Se Tu Avessi Più Vite Da Vivere Certamente Anche Questi Li Leggeresti Volentieri Ma Purtroppo I Giorni Che Hai Da Vivere Sono Quelli Che Sono. Con rapida mossa li scavalchi e ti porti in mezzo alle falangi dei Libri Che Hai Intenzione Di Leggere Ma Prima Ne Dovresti Leggere Degli Altri, dei Libri Troppo Cari Che Potresti Aspettare A Comprarli Quando Saranno Rivenduti A Metà Prezzo, dei Libri Idem Come Sopra Quando Verranno Ristampati Nei Tascabili, dei Libri Che Potresti Domandare A Qualcuno Se Te Li Presta, dei Libri Che Tutti Hanno Letto Dunque E' Quasi Come Se Li Avessi Letti Anche Tu. Sventando questi attacchi, ti porti sotto le torri del fortilizio, dove fanno resistenza i Libri Che Da Tanto Tempo Hai In Programma Di Leggere, i Libri Che Da Anni Cercavi Senza Trovarli, i Libri Che Riguardano Qualcosa Di Cui Ti Occupi In Questo Momento, i Libri Che Vuoi Avere Per Tenerli A Portata Di Mano In Ogni Evenienza, i Libri Che Potresti Mettere Da Parte Per Leggerli Magari Quest'Estate, i Libri Che Ti Mancano Per Affiancarli Ad Altri Libri Nel Tuo Scaffale, i Libri Che Ti Ispirano Una Curiosità Improvvisa, Frenetica E Non Chiaramente Giustificabile. Ecco che ti è stato possibile ridurre il numero illimitato di forze in campo a un insieme certo molto grande ma comunque calcolabile in un numero finito, anche se questo relativo sollievo ti viene insidiato dalle imboscate dei Libri Letti Tanto Tempo Fa Che Sarebbe Ora Di Rileggerli e dei Libri Che Hai Sempre Fatto Finta D'Averli Letti Mentre Sarebbe Ora Ti Decidessi A Leggerli Davvero. ~ Italo Calvino,

994:Ya en el escaparate de la librería localizaste la portada con el título que buscabas. Siguiendo esa huella visual te abriste paso en la tienda a través de la tupida barrera de los Libros Que No Has Leído que te miraban ceñudos desde mostradores y estanterías tratando de intimidarte. Pero tú sabes que no debes dejarte acoquinar, que entre ellos se despliegan hectáreas y hectáreas de los Libros Que Puedes Prescindir De Leer, de los Libros Hechos Para Otros Usos Que La Lectura, de los Libros Ya Leídos Sin Necesidad Siquiera De Abrirlos Pues Pertenecen A La Categoría De Lo Ya Leído Antes Aun De Haber Sido Escrito. Y así superas el primer cinturón de baluartes y te cae encima la infantería de los Libros Que Si Tuvieras Más Vidas Que Vivir Ciertamente Los Leerías También De Buen Grado Pero Por Desgracia Los Días Que Tienes Que Vivir Son Los Que Son. Con rápido movimiento saltas sobre ellos y caes entre las falanges de los Libros Que Tienes Intención De Leer Aunque Antes Deberías Leer Otros, de los Libros Demasiado Caros Que Podrías Esperar A Comprarlos Cuando Los Revendan A Mitad De Precio, de los Libros Idem De Idem Cuando Los Reediten En Bolsillo, de los Libros Que Podrías Pedirle A Alguien Que Te Preste, de los Libros Que Todos Han Leído, Conque Es Casi Como Si Los Hubieras Leído También Tú. Eludiendo estos asaltos, llegas bajo las torres del fortín, donde ofrecen resistencia. los Libros Que Hace Mucho Tiempo Tienes Programado Leer, los Libros Que Buscabas Desde Hace Años Sin Encontrarlos, los Libros Que Se Refieren A Algo Que Te Interesa En Este Momento, los libros Que Quieres Tener Al Alcance De La Mano Por Si Acaso, los Libros Que Podrías Apartar Para Leerlos A Lo Mejor Este Verano, los Libros Que Te Faltan Para Colocarlos Junto A Otros Libros En Tu Estantería, los Libros Que Te Inspiran Una Curiosidad Repentina, Frenética Y No Claramente Justificable. Hete aquí que te ha sido posible reducir el número ilimitado de fuerzas en presencia a un conjunto muy grande, sí, pero en cualquier caso calculable con un número finito, aunque este relativo alivio se vea acechado por las emboscadas de los Libros Leídos Hace Tanto Tiempo Que Sería Hora De Releerlos y de los Libros Que Has Fingido Siempre Haber Leído Mientras Que Ya Sería Hora De Que Te Decidieses A Leerlos De Veras. ~ Italo Calvino,

995:Furthermore, Professor Uzzi-Tuzii had begun his oral translation as if he were not quite sure he could make the words hang together, going back over every sentence to iron out the syntactical creases, manipulating the phrases until they were not completely rumpled, smoothing them, clipping them, stopping at every word to illustrate its idiomatic uses and its commutations, accompanying himself with inclusive gestures as if inviting you to be content with approximate equivalents, breaking off to state grammatical rules, etymological derivations, quoting the classics. but just when you are convinced that for the professor philology and erudition mean more than what the story is telling, you realize the opposite is true: that academic envelope serves only to protect everything the story says and does not say, an inner afflatus always on the verge of being dispersed at contact with the air, the echo of a vanished knowledge revealed in the penumbra and in tacit allusions. Torn between the necessity to interject glosses on multiple meanings of the text and the awareness that all interpretation is a use of violence and caprice against a text, the professor, when faced by the most complicated passages, could find no better way of aiding comprehension than to read them in the original, The pronunciation of that unknown language, deduced from theoretical rules, not transmitted by the hearing of voices with their individual accents, not marked by the traces of use that shapes and transforms, acquired the absoluteness of sounds that expect no reply, like the song of the last bird of an extinct species or the strident roar of a just-invented jet plane that shatters the sky on its first test flight. Then, little by little, something started moving and flowing between the sentences of this distraught recitation,. The prose of the novel had got the better of the uncertainties of the voice; it had become fluent, transparent, continuous; Uzzi-Tuzii swam in it like a fish, accompanying himself with gestures (he held his hands open like flippers), with the movement of his lips (which allowed the words to emerge like little air bubbles), with his gaze (his eyes scoured the page like a fish's eyes scouring the seabed, but also like the eyes of an aquarium visitor as he follows a fish's movement's in an illuminated tank). ~ Italo Calvino,

996:Već u izlogu knjižare uočio si korice s naslovom koji tražiš. Slijedeći taj vidljivi trag, probio si se knjižarom kroz gustu baražnu vatru Knjiga Koje Nisi Pročitao, a koje su te namršteno gledale s pultova i polica nastojeći da te postide. Ali, ti znaš da ne smiješ dopustiti da te zbune i da se ondje hektarima i hektarima prostiru Knjige Koje Možeš I Ne Pročitati, Knjige Koje Služe Drugoj Svrsi, A Ne čitanju, Knjige Koje Si Pročitao A Da Ih Nisi Morao Ni Otvoriti Jer Pripadaju Kategoriji Onoga Što Je Pročitano Još Prije Nego Što Je Napisano. Tako prolaziš prvi pojas utvrda, i na tebe se sručuje pješadija Knjiga Koje Bi, Da Imaš Više Života, Također Rado Pročitao, Ali, Na Žalost, Dana Koje Ti Je Dano Proživjeti Ima Toliko Koliko Ih Ima. Brzo ih prelaziš i upadaš usred falange Knjiga Koje Namjeravaš Pročitati, Ali Prethodno Moraš Pročitati Druge, Knjige Koje Su Preskupe, Pa Se Nadaš Kupiti Ih Kad Se Budu Prodavale U Pola Cijene, Knjiga Idem Kao Gore, Kad Ih Tiskaju U Džepnom Izdanju, Knjiga Za Koje Bi Nekoga Morao Zamoliti Da Ti Ih Posudi, Knjiga Koje Su Svi Pročitali, Pa Je, Dakle, Gotovo Isto Kao Da Si Ih I Sam Pročitao. Izbjegavši tim nasrtajima, dolaziš u podnožje tvrđave, gdje se još upiru Knjige Koje Odavno Planiraš Pročitati, Knjige Koje Si Godinama Tražio A Nisi Ih Našao, Knjige Koje Govore o Nečemu Čime Se Trenutno Baviš, Knjige Koje Želiš Imati Da Bi Ti Bile Pri Ruci Za Svaki Slučaj, Knjige Koje Bi Mogao Staviti Na Stranu Da Ih Možda Pročitaš Na Ljeto, Knjige Koje Ti Nedostaju Da Bi Ih Stavio Do Drugih Knjiga Na Svojoj Polici, Knjige Koje Te Ispunjavaju Iznenadnom Pomamnom I Ne Sasvim Opravdanom Znatiželjom. Eto, uspio si neograničen broj snaga na bojnom polju svesti na količinu koja je, doduše velika, ali ipak prestavlja konačan broj, premda ti to relativno olakšanje kao zamku iz zasjede namještaju Knjige Koje Si Davno Pročitao, Pa Bi Bilo Vrijeme Da Ih Pročitaš Opet, i Knjige Za Koje Si Uvijek Tvrdio Da Si Ih Pročitao, Pa Bi Bilo Vrijeme Da Ih Pročitaš Doista. Oslobađaš se u hitroj cik-cak liniji i jednim skokom prodireš u tvrđavu Noviteta Kojima Te Privlači Autor Ili Tema. I u unutrašnjosti utvrde možeš praviti breše u redovima neprijatelja, dijeleći ih na Novitete Kojima Autori Ili Teme Nisu Novi (za tebe ili apsolutno), i Novitete Kojima Su Autori Ili Teme Potpuno Nepoznati (barem tebi)... ~ Italo Calvino,

997:All of a sudden (in 1938 I think), in order to extend its autarchy to the domain of cinema, Italy decreed an embargo on American films. It wasn’t a question of censorship: as usual the censors granted or denied permission to individual films, and nobody saw the ones that didn’t get it and that was it. In spite of the awkward anti-Hollywood propaganda campaign that accompanied the measure (right around that time the regime began to conform to Hitler’s racism), the true reason for the embargo was supposed to be commercial protectionism, in order to make room in the market for Italian (and German) productions. For this reason the four largest American production and distribution companies—Metro, Fox, Paramount, Warner—(I’m still relying on memory, trusting the accuracy of the registration of my trauma), whereas films by other American companies like RKO, Columbia, Universal, United Artists (which had also been distributed before then by Italian companies) continued to arrive until 1941, that is until Italy found itself at war with the United States. I was still granted some sporadic satisfaction (in fact, one of the greatest: Stagecoach [John Ford, 1939]) but my collector’s voracity suffered a fatal blow. Compared to all of the prohibitions and obligations that fascism had imposed on us, and to the even more severe ones that it continued to enforce in those years before and then during the war, the veto on American films was certainly a minor or small loss, and I wasn’t foolish enough not to know it. Yet it was the first to affect me directly, and I hadn’t known any years other than those of fascism nor had I felt any needs other than those that the environment in which I lived could suggest and satisfy. It was the first time a right I enjoyed had been taken from me: more than a right, a dimension, a world, a space in my mind; and I felt this loss as cruel oppression which embodied all the forms of oppression that I’d heard about or seen other people suffer. If I can still talk about it today like a lost privilege it’s because something disappeared like that from my life, never to return again. So many things had changed after the war was over: I’d changed, cinema had become something else, something different in itself and in relation to me. My biography as a spectator resumed, but it was that of another spectator who wasn’t just a spectator anymore. ~ Italo Calvino,

998:Mai nei miei viaggi m'ero spinto fino a Adelma. Era l'imbrunire quando vi sbarcai. Sulla banchina il marinaio che prese al volo la cima e la legò alla bitta somigliava a uno che era stato soldato con me, ed era morto. Era l'ora del mercato del pesce all'ingrosso. Un vecchio caricava una cesta di ricci su un carretto; credetti di riconoscerlo; quando mi voltai era sparito in un vicolo, ma avevo capito che somigliava a un pescatore che, già vecchio quando io ero bambino, non poteva più essere tra i vivi. Mi turbò la vista d'un malato di febbri rannicchiato per terra con una coperta sulla testa: mio padre pochi giorni di morire aveva gli occhi gialli e la barba ispida come lui tal quale. Girai lo sgaurdo; non osavo fissare più nessuno in viso. Pensai: "Se Adelma è una città che vedo in sogno, dove non s'incontrano che morti, il sogno mi fa paura. Se Adelma è una città vera, abitata dai vivi, basterà continuare a fissarli perché le somiglianze si dissolvano e appaiano facce estranee, apportatrici d'angoscia. In un caso o nell'altro è meglio che non isista a guardarli." Un' erbivendola pesava una verza sulla stadera e la metteva in un paniere appeso a una cordicella che una ragazza calava da un balcone. La ragazza era uguale a una del mio paese che era impazzita d'amore e s'era uccisa. L'erbivendola alzò il viso: era mia nonna. Pensai: "Si arriva a un momento della vita in cui tra la gente che si è conosciuta i morti sono più dei vivi. E la mente su rifiuta di accettare altre fisionomie, altre espressioni: su tutte le facce nuove che incontra, imprime i vecchi calchi, per ognuna trova la maschera che s'adatta di più". Gli scaricatori salivano le scale in fila, curvi sotto damigiane e barili; le facce erano nascoste da cappucci di sacco; "Ora si tirano su e li riconosco", pensavo, con impazienza e paura. Ma non staccavo gli occhi da loro; per poco che girassi lo sguardo sulla folla che gremiva quelle straducole, mi vedevo assalito da facce inaspettate, riapparse da lontano, che mi fissavano come per farsi riconoscere, come per riconoscermi, come se mi avessero riconosciuto. Forse anch'io assomigliavo per ognuno di loro a qualcuno che era morto. Ero appena arrivato ad Adelma e già ero uno di loro, ero passato dalla loro parte, confuso in quel fluttuare d'occhi, di rughe, di smorfie. Pensai: "Forse Adelma è la città cui si arriva morendo e in cui ognuno ritrova le persone che ha conosciuto. E' segno che sono morto anch'io". Pensai anche: "E' segno che l'aldilà non è felice". ~ Italo Calvino,

999:Will they achieve a uniformity in censorship methods among the various regimes?” “Not uniformity. They will create a system in which the methods support and balance one another in turn....” The Director General invites you to examine the planisphere hanging on the wall. The varied color scheme indicates: the countries where all books are systematically confiscated; the countries where only books published or approved by the State may circulate; the countries where existing censorship is crude, approximate, and unpredictable; the countries where the censorship is subtle, informed, sensitive to implications and allusions, managed by meticulous and sly intellectuals; the countries where there are two networks of dissemination: one legal and one clandestine; the countries where there is no censorship because there are no books, but there are many potential readers; the countries where there are no books and nobody complains about their absence; the countries, finally, in which every day books are produced for all tastes and all ideas, amid general indifference. “Nobody these days holds the written word in such high esteem as police states do,” Arkadian Porphyrich says. “What statistic allows one to identify the nations where literature enjoys true consideration better than the sums appropriated for controlling it and suppressing it? Where it is the object of such attentions, literature gains an extraordinary authority, inconceivable in countries where it is allowed to vegetate as an innocuous pastime, without risks. To be sure, repression must also allow an occasional breathing space, must close an eye every now and then, alternate indulgence with abuse, with a certain unpredictability in its caprices; otherwise, if nothing more remains to be repressed, the whole system rusts and wears down. Let’s be frank: every regime, even the most authoritarian, survives in a situation of unstable equilibrium, whereby it needs to justify constantly the existence of its repressive apparatus, therefore of something to repress. The wish to write things that irk the established authorities is one of the elements necessary to maintain this equilibrium. Therefore, by a secret treaty with the countries whose social regime is opposed to ours, we have created a common organization, with which you have intelligently agreed to collaborate, to export the books banned here and import the books banned there.” “This would seem to imply that the books banned here are allowed there, and vice versa....” “Not on your life. The books banned here are superbanned there, and the books banned there are ultrabanned here. But from exporting to the adversary regime one’s own banned books and from importing theirs, each regime derives at least two important advantages: it encourages the opponents of the hostile regime and it establishes a useful exchange of experience between the police services.” “The ~ Italo Calvino,

1000:La città di Leonia rifà se stessa tutti i giorni: ogni mattina la popolazione si risveglia tra lenzuola fresche, si lava con saponette appena sgusciate dall'involucro, indossa vestaglie nuove fiammanti, estrae dal più perfezionato frigorifero barattoli di latta ancora intonsi, ascoltando le ultime filastrocche che dall'ultimo modello d'apparecchio. Sui marciapiedi, avviluppati in tersi sacchi di plastica, i resti di Leonia d'ieri aspettano il carro dello spazzaturaio. Non solo i tubi di dentifricio schiacciati, lampadine fulminate, giornali, contenitori, materiali d'imballaggio, ma anche scaldabagni, enciclopedie, pianoforti, servizi di porcellana: più che dalle cose di ogni giorno vengono fabbricate vendute comprate, l'opulenza di Leonia si misura dalle cose che ogni giorno vengono buttate via per far posto alle nuove. Tanto che ci si chiede se la vera passione di Leonia sia davvero come dicono il godere delle cose nuove e diverse, o non piuttosto l'espellere, l'allontanare da sé, il mondarsi d'una ricorrente impurit à. Certo è che gli spazzaturai sono accolti come angeli, e il loro compito di rimuovere i resti dell'esistenza di ieri è circondato d'un rispetto silenzioso, come un rito che ispira devozione, o forse solo perché una volta buttata via la roba nessuno vuole più averci da pensare. Dove portino ogni giorno il loro carico gli spazzaturai nessuno se lo chiede: fuori dalla città, certo; ma ogni anno la città s'espande, e gli immondezzai devono arrestrare più lontano; l'imponenza del gettito aumenta e le cataste s'inalzano, si stratificano, si dispiegano su un perimetro più vasto. Aggiungi che più l'arte di Leonia eccelle nel fabbricare nuovi materiali, più la spazzatura migliora la sua sostanza, resiste al tempo, alle intemperie, a fermantazioni e combustioni. E' una fortezza di rimasugli indistruttibili che circonda Leonia, la sovrasta da ogni lato come un acrocoro di montagne. Il risultato è questo: che più Leonia espelle roba più ne accumula; le squame del suo passato si saldano in una corazza che non si può togliere; rinnovandosi ogni giorno la città conserva tutta se stessa nella sola forma definitiva: quella delle spazzature d'ieri che s'ammucchiano sulle spazzature dell'altroieri e di tutti i suoi giorni e anni e lustri. Il pattume di Leonia a poco a poco invaderebbe il mondo, se sullo sterminato immondezzaio non stessero premendo, al di là dell'estremo crinale, immondezzai d'altre città, che anch'esse respingono lontano da sé le montagne di rifiuti. Forse il mondo intero, oltre i confini di Leonia, è ricoperto da crateri di spazzatura, ognuno con al centro una metropoli in eruzione ininterrotta. I confini tra le città estranee e nemiche sono bastioni infetti in cui i detriti dell'una e dell'altra si puntellano a vicenda, si sovrastano, si mescolano. Più ne cresce l'altezza, più incombe il pericolo delle frane: basta che un barattolo, un vecchio pneumatico, un fiasco spagliato rotoli dalla parte di Leonia e una valanga di scarpe spaiate, calendari d'anni trascorsi, fiori secchi sommergerà la città nel proprio passato che invano tentava di respingere, mescolato con quello delle altre città limitrofe, finalmente monde: un cataclisma spianerà la sordida catena montuosa, cancellerà ogni traccia della metropoli sempre vestita a nuovo. Già dalle città vicine sono pronti coi rulli compressori per spianare il suolo, estendersi nel nuovo territorio, ingrandire se stesse, allontanare i nuovi immondezzai. ~ Italo Calvino,

   1 Psychology

1.05 - THE HOSTILE BROTHERS - ARCHETYPES OF RESPONSE TO THE UNKNOWN, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology   At this point another recent critical observation comes to hand, from Italo Calvinos posthumous Norton   lectures, also a paradox, but an exhilarating one: Literature remains alive only if we set ourselves immeasurable