Edward Abbey citáty

americká, 1927 - 1989

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Citáty (7)

„Pokud je nejlepším přítelem člověka jeho pes, tak se ten pes dostal do potíží.“

[from Desert Solitaire] *Wilderness*. The word itself is music. *Wilderness*, *wilderness*. … We scarcely know what we mean by the term, though the sound of it draws all whose nerves and emotions have not yet been irreparably stunned, deadened, numbed by the caterwauling of commerce, the sweating scramble for profit and domination.

[from Desert Solitaire] My *God*! I’m thinking, what incredible *shit* we put up with most of our lives—the *domestic* routine (same old wife every night), the stupid and useless and degrading *jobs*, the *insufferable* arrogance of elected officials, the crafty *cheating* and the *slimy* advertising of the businessmen, the tedious wars in which we kill our buddies instead of our *real* enemies back home in the capital, the foul, diseased and *hideous* cities and towns we live in, the constant *petty* tyranny of automatic washers and automobiles and TV machines and telephones— ah, *Christ*!, (…) what *intolerable* garbage and what utterly *useless crap* we bury ourselves in day by day, while patiently enduring at the same time the creeping strangulation of the clean white *collar* and the rich but *modest* four in hand garrote!)

[from Desert Solitaire] Now when I write of paradise I mean *Paradise*, not the banal Heaven of the saints. When I write ”paradise” I mean not only apple trees and golden women but also scorpions and tarantulas and flies, rattlesnakes and Gila monsters, sandstorms, volcanos and earthquakes, bacteria and bear, cactus, yucca, bladderweed, ocotillo and mesquite, flash floods and quicksand, and yes—disease and death and the rotting of the flesh. Paradise is not a garden of bliss and changeless perfection where the lions lie down like lambs (what would the eat?) and the angels and cherubim and seraphim rotate in endless idiotic circles, like clockwork, about an equally inane and ludicrous—however roseate—Unmoved Mover. (…) That particular painted fantasy of a realm beyond time and space which Aristotle and the Church Fathers tried to palm off on us has meet, in modern times, only neglect and indifference, passing on into the oblivion it so richly deserved, while the Paradise of which I write and wish to praise is with us yet, the here and now, the actual, tangible, dogmatically real earth on which we stand.

Pokud je nejlepším přítelem člověka jeho pes, tak se ten pes dostal do potíží.“

Růst pouze pro růst je ideologie rakovinné buňky.

Strach ze smrti pramení ze strachu ze života. Ten, kdo žije naplno, je připraven kdykoli zemřít.