“It is on a day like this one, a little later, a little earlier, that you discover, without surprise, that something is wrong, that, without mincing words, you don't know how to live, that you will never know.”
(Perec, A Man Asleep, tr. A. Leak)
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georges perec, brief notes on the art and manner of arranging one's books
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Georges Perec and his Cat Duchat [photographed by Anne de Brunhoff, 1978]
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Frédéric Honeteau, Georges Perec, Paris, 1955.
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her şeye ancak belirli bir mesafe koyarak katlanabiliyordum.
thomas bernhard - sarsıntı
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"Kim ki yorulmadan uzağa, daha uzağa koşmaya gönüllüdür ancak onu kurtarabiliriz."
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Georges Perec, Life A User’s Manual, Preamble
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The Man Who Sleeps (1974)
it is a life without surprises
you sleep
you walk
you continue to live
like a laboratory rat abandoned in its maze
by some absentminded scientists
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I have no childhood memories...
...For years, I took comfort in such an absence of history: its objective crispness, its apparent obviousness, its innocence protected me; but what did they protect me from, if not precisely from my history, the story of my living, my real story, my own story, which presumably was neither crisp nor objective, nor apparently obvious, nor obviously innocent?
Georges Perec, W, or the Memory of Childhood, trans. David Bellos
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"Indifference is futile. It really does not matter whether you wish or you do not wish. You can play pinball or not play pinball, someone, in any case, will come along and slip a twenty centime coin into the slot. You can believe, if you want, that by eating the same meal every day you are making a decisive gesture. But your refusal is futile. Your neutrality is meaningless. Your inertia is just as vain as your anger."
— Georges Perec, A Man Asleep
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“L’infelicità non ti è piombata addosso di colpo, non si è abbattuta su di te all’improvviso; si è piuttosto infiltrata, insinuata lentamente, quasi soavemente. Ha impregnato minuziosamente la tua vita, i tuoi gesti, le tue ore e la tua stanza, come una verità a lungo camuffata, come un’evidenza negata; tenace e paziente, tenue, accanita, si è impadronita delle crepe sul soffitto, delle rughe sul tuo viso nello specchio incrinato, delle carte da gioco distese sulla panca; si è infilata nella goccia d’acqua dell’acquaio sul pianerottolo, è risuonata ogni quarto d’ora al campanile di Saint-Roch.”
Georges Perec - Un uomo che dorme
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