воскресенье, 28 апреля 2013
Дочитала "Жизнь Пи". Немного любимых цитаток.
“Once upon a time there was a banana and it grew. It grew until it was large, firm, yellow and fragrant. Then it fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it.”
He stopped rowing. “What a beautiful story!”
“Thank you.”
“I have tears in my eyes.”
“I have another element,” I said.
“What is it?”
“The banana fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it—and afterwards that person felt better.”
“It takes the breath away!” he exclaimed.
“Thank you.”
читать дальше“If you stumble at mere believability, what are you living for? Isn’t love hard to believe?”
“Mr. Patel—”
“Don’t you bully me with your politeness! Love is hard to believe, ask any lover. Life is hard to believe, ask any scientist. God is hard to believe, ask any believer. What is your problem with hard to believe?”
“We’re just being reasonable.”
“So am I! I applied my reason at every moment. Reason is excellent for getting food, clothing and shelter. Reason is the very best tool kit. Nothing beats reason for keeping tigers away. But be excessively reasonable and you risk throwing out the universe with the bathwater.”
He knew he had gone too far, even by his bestial standards. He had gone too far and now he didn’t want to go on living any more. But he never said ’I’m sorry.’ Why do we cling to our evil ways?
"By the way, how do you explain the meerkat bones in the lifeboat?”
“Yes, the bones of a small animal were—”
“More than one!”
“—of some small animals were found in the lifeboat. They must have come from the ship.”
“We had no meerkats at the zoo.”
“We have no proof they were meerkat bones.”
Mr. Chiba: “Maybe they were banana bones! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
[translation] “Atsuro, shut up!”
I cannot think of a better way to spread the faith. No thundering from a pulpit, no condemnation from bad churches, no peer pressure, just a book of scripture quietly waiting to say hello, as gentle and powerful as a little girl’s kiss on your cheek.
On the day when I estimated it was Mother’s birthday, I sang “Happy Birthday” to her out loud.
At such moments I tried to elevate myself. I would touch the turban I had made with the remnants of my shirt and I would say aloud, “This is God’s hat!”
I would pat my pants and say aloud, “This is God’s attire!” I would point to Richard Parker and say aloud, “This is God’s cat!”
I would point to the lifeboat and say aloud, “This is God’s ark!”
I would spread my hands wide and say aloud, “These are God’s wide acres!”
I would point at the sky and say aloud, “This is God’s ear!”
And in this way I would remind myself of creation and of my place in it.
But God’s hat was always unravelling. God’s pants were falling apart. God’s cat was a constant danger. God’s ark was a jail. God’s wide acres were slowly killing me. God’s ear didn’t seem to be listening.
подлиннееTo be a castaway is to be a point perpetually at the centre of a circle. However much things may appear to change—the sea may shift from whisper to rage, the sky might go from fresh blue to blinding white to darkest black—the geometry never changes. Your gaze is always a radius. The circumference is ever great. In fact, the circles multiply. To be a castaway is to be caught in a harrowing ballet of circles. You are at the centre of one circle, while above you two opposing circles spin about. The sun distresses you like a crowd, a noisy, invasive crowd that makes you cup your ears, that makes you close your eyes, that makes you want to hide. The moon distresses you by silently reminding you of your solitude; you open your eyes wide to escape your loneliness. When you look up, you sometimes wonder if at the centre of a solar storm, if in the middle of the Sea of Tranquillity, there isn’t another one like you also looking up, also trapped by geometry, also struggling with fear, rage, madness, hopelessness, apathy.
We saw a number of whales but none so close up as that first one. I would be alerted to their presence by their spouting. They would emerge a short distance away, sometimes three or four of them, a short-lived archipelago of volcanic islands. These gentle behemoths always lifted my spirits. I was convinced that they understood my condition, that at the sight of me one of them exclaimed, “Oh! It’s that castaway with the pussy cat Bamphoo was telling me about. Poor boy. Hope he has enough plankton. I must tell Mumphoo and Tomphoo and Stimphoo about him. I wonder if there isn’t a ship around I could alert. His mother would be very happy to see him again. Goodbye, my boy. I’ll try to help. My name’s Pimphoo.” And so, through the grapevine, every whale of the Pacific knew of me, and I would have been saved long ago if Pimphoo hadn’t sought help from a Japanese ship whose dastardly crew harpooned her, the same fate as befell Lamphoo at the hands of a Norwegian ship. The hunting of whales is a heinous crime.Я думала привести ещё русские варианты, но я не помечала главы, откуда были взяты цитаты, так что пришлось бы очень долго копаться, чтобы найти их(
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Жизнь Пи
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28.04.2013 в 20:48-
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28.04.2013 в 23:48Ещё отличие в том, что фильм это в первую очередь красивая яркая картинка, и вся история благодаря этому воспринимается как какое-то интересное приключение. В книге же от тебя не скрывают все неудобство и омерзительность положения героя, так что удовольствие от восприятия этого получаешь меньше)
А ещё похоже что любовная линия в начале принадлежит исключительно фильму. Хотя я могу и ошибаться, поскольку читала то место в книге, где она могла бы быть, месяца три назад)