"Cognitively we don’t know and will never discover what occasions the cause of our existence, we don’t know the purpose of our existence and we don’t know why we have to disappear from here once we have been placed here, I don’t know, why I have to live this fragmentary existence, which happened to be my lot, instead of a life that perhaps does exist somewhere. Why did I get this lot? This sex, this body, this awareness, this geographic setting, this fate, this language, this history, this rented room?"
@2 days ago with 23 notes
#this rented room
Imre Kertész, from Kaddish for an Unborn Child
I can’t find good excerpts in English. I wish I could post a lot from Gályanapló (Galley Boat-Log) or Valaki más: a változás krónikája (Someone Other: The Cronicle of the Changing). Imre Kertész, a writer who changed my life, yesterday announced he won’t write anymore.