The silence. which seems to whisper ineffable poetry. and the harmonious movements of that choreography. which traces paths not passable by language. transport him to an ecstatic state. Once in his house. he will write. shaken. a text about that event. That essay would have inscrib the figure of the fateful. Auster remembers: «(…) the terrible thing about that night. what continues to haunt you. is that just when you were finishing your composition (…). your father was dying in the arms of his girlfriend. The macabre trigonometry of destiny. Just when you were coming back to life. your father’s life was coming to an end. (p. 218). “The macabre trigonometry of destiny”: the metaphysical disconsolation of the human creature convert into literature.
Nothingness Thinking About
Tremendous. the metaphysical disconsolation of the human creature convert into literature. Tremendous. the metaphysical disconsolation of the human creature convert into literature. Tremendous. Starting from a quote from Joubert. Auster reflects on old age and death. which is nothing more than thinking about decrepitude and deterioration. emptiness and nothingness. The French business lead author had said: “You have to die inspiring love (if you can).” (p. 209). How can we leave this world inspiring love. awakening gratitude among those around us; How. to avoid the detachment and even the rejection that a decrepit body. eaten away by years and illness. could provoke in those around it?
Procreation and the
There’s not much to say except this: “You can’t prict what will happen when the day comes when you go to b for the last time. but if you don’t suddenly disappear like your father and mother.If you can . (p. 210). Not only Winter Diary begins with Auster seeing himself at the age of six getting out of b. barefoot. to look out the window – the window of life –. feeling the cold of the ground. And it also ends like this. now at sixty-four years old. Not only looking at himself. standing China Phone Numbers in front of the window. with his bare feet once again on the coldness of the ground. watching the snow fall. but now already crossing the final threshold on the way to the train station. Not only decline – the winter of his life – and asking a question of terrible and forceful conciseness:
