Review of Keep the Aspidistra Flying

Entry date: March 31st, 2009
- This book was published in 1936 and written from 1934 to 1935.
- George Orwell only lived 46 and a half years (5 June, 1903 – 21 January, 1950).
- An English author and considered one of England's best chroniclers of the 20th century.
- His gravestone bore the simple epitaph: "Here lies Eric Arthur Blair, born 25 June 1903, died 21 January 1950"; no mention is made on the gravestone of his more famous pen-name.
- Buried in Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire in All Saints' Churchyard
Note to self: something to visit when visiting England in the future: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sutton_Courtenay

------> DK's note: What a great intro to a book......... meant to prick at your emotions and agitate you by replacing a positive connatation with a negative one (or what most people would consider negative); and especially rearranging words from a holy book that says you will have eternal damnation if you manipulate words within it. Speaking of course of the disciple John's words in Revelation 21:19 - "And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book".... if this is truly the case though then one could likely find 90% of all the greatest authors somewhere between the 7th and 9th circles of Dante's black burning abyss, which would be such a ridiculous notion if there is indeed a God, since these writers were probably some of the most honest men and women that ever walked the planet. So saying this is the absolute truth would obviously be obsurd, unless (assuming there is a god) that God himself is a sadistic asshole. In any case, the words that Orwell has exchanged are genius and have pure truth in them in a capitalist regime:

"Though I speak with the tongue of men and of angels, and have not money, I am become a sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though i have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that i could remove mountains, and have not money, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor and though i give my body to be burned, and have not money, it profiteth me nothing. Money suffereth long, and is kind; money envieth not; money vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave unseemingly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.... And now abideth faith, hope money, these three; but the greatest of these is money. "
1 Corinthians 13 (adapted version)

------> DK's note: Background of when i read this for future reference for myself - Have not read any of George Orwell's works for a very long time and the only other book I've read from him was 'Animal Farm'. Apparently he was strongly against any form of regime involving totaliltarianism even though he was closely confidentially observed by British Intelligence as a potential Communist. This book in particular i found in a used bookstore in Peurto Natales where one can exchange any used book for another + 1000 Chilean pesos. The bookstore was called 'Cafe Book' and was 1 block from Baquadano near the central Plaza (was given instructions to find it from Kate, a friendly Canadian volunteer from Ontario at the Hostal Patagonia who just finished her 2 month volunteer program at the Torres del Paines). After looking at literally every title of all the used books they had in the store, I decided on this one because it was the only author worth reading. All the other books were Danielle Steele and other equivalent shit of that nature. I think if one burned all of her books on earth then then world would incrementally be a better place. The other 2 that i had found earlier that week were the Pullitzer Prize winning fiction novel Lonesome Dove and the classic Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne, but both disappeared off the shelf by the time i was ready to exchange. Similar to A Farewell to Arms (which I exchanged for this one), this novel was written in between the two World Wars. The interesting commonalities one finds when reading literature during this period, especially from the greats, is that there is a consistent theme when comparing various authors who are completely unrelated. They always focus around the topic of Socialism/Communism vs. Capitialism. And it is also very interesting to see that it is always the same outcome. The 'good-natured' characters and 'naturally-caring' characters always somehow take it up the ass in the end because obviously they are on the Socialist side of things within a Capitalist regime; which history has told us that the resultant absolute truism is that it leads to a useless existence if you follow it down to its extreme. To anyone whom rejects this notion, let the empirical evidence that has unveiled itself over the last 2000 years be the proof of this notion to see if it stands on its own merits. Pure socialists should reject the concept of money because that should never be the incentive in the first place if they truly believe in the nature of mankind to always be in the act of serving another without any compensate in return except to expect and almost know that another will give the same in return. How naive Communism was and is. Marx was a great man and probably extremely well natured and probably very giving.... but good in theory, of course. He would've likely regretted his Manifesto if he realized how many instances of useless existence it caused in the end (although its not the end yet). Perhaps this entire debate of humanity will always go on; through literature, movies, government, media, religion......It reminds me of Magneto vs. Professor X, Black vs. white in chess which is of course the greatest game of truth on earth, Klingons vs. the Starfleet, The Empire vs. the Rebel fleet, Galileo vs. the Church, philanthropy vs. private business, US vs. Russia, the NFLs system of revenue sharing vs. the MLB's system of representation by population. Communism is euphoria. But it obviously does not coincide with the laws of humanity. Again the proof of this is every single regime has fallen under it. Also, of course.... which is why im even writing these stupid ideas.... is that this was Orwell's point in his book.... In capitalism, ignoring money in its absolute extreme leads down a very dark path.... useless existence and eventually human destruction. One other note; this book reminded me very much of Rand's works except that Orwell follows the single path of 1 useless individual in society who is extremely idealistic, where Rand, through Roark, focuses on almost the exact opposite. Both lead to the exact same conclusion and the authors were correct.... which is why they continue to live on and deserved to be remembered. Through merit.

DK's SUMMARY: Gordon Comstock wishes above everything else to be able to become a poet by not 'selling out' his soul and treasured goal to the money-god. His parents' generation had a total of 10 siblings on the father's-Comstock side of the family, although not a single one had any offspring with the exception of his father, who bore 2 children; himself and his sister Julia. They were all raised just below the middle class, so enough to get by but never to be wealthy enough to be considered successful. Julia, because she was kindly and good-natured supported her brother when their parents passed away and she was so poor that she was unable to get married and was now to old to do so. Gordon was able to get a 'decent' education but not at a school like Oxford or Cambridge. With his education he desired to write and be able to make a living off his poems. He had one published called 'Mice', which he had gotten excited over for nothing because it eventually went nowhere. He intentionally did not take high paying jobs because he did not want to focus on money; he actually ends up quiting a job as a copyright at a prestigious advertising company called the New Albion. He could barely afford food, after he paid rent in his miserable filthy little apartment. Before he quit the New Albion he had started courting a girl named Rosemary. He was always extremely self-conscious about not having enough money and was constantly thinking about how little he had. He was paranoid that the entire world was against him and that Rosemary didn't love him enough to sleep with him because he had no money, which initially one could argue was true because she was worrying about whether she could marry him and raise a child with him. He owns an apidistra which apparently is extremely difficult to kill and an unattractive plant. This imagery parallels his own life as he looks at himself as a weed, but he thinks he can outlast the plant by holding out against money longer than the plant can outlive him. He works at a bookstore on a very small wage upon his own request after resigning from the New Albion. He continues to court Rosemary and remains very insecure about letting her pay for anything. After finally receiving a check from an American company for one of the poems that he submitted he spends all of it on one night without any control because he is so happy. He takes out his best friend Ravelston and Rosemary to an exquisite dinner at the Madigliani with expensive wine. He then becomes drunk and tries to pressure Rosemary to sleep with him. She is very offended and runs off home. He then continues that night to drink more and then eventually takes 2 prostitutes to a hotel room later that night. He can't perform because of his drunken state and the girls take his money. He wanders out on the street and gets arrested after punching a police sergeant in the face. Bailed out the next day by Ravelston, he gets evicted and fired from his job. He stays on Ravelston's couch hating his existence and hating money and hating that he has to 'sponge' off Ravelston with no choice. He tries to find a job but is unsuccessful and really at this point he doesnt care if he finds one or not. Rosemary sees him from time to time and tries to convince him to back to the New Albion, but he refuses to try because he thinks its against everything he believes in. When she realizes how offended he gets over the subject she doesnt discuss it with him anymore to respect his beliefs. He eventually leaves Ravelston's place and finds another lower paying job at another bookstore and then moves out to a filthier place with shared bathrooms and litter everywhere. Gordon now doesnt care about writing anymore and just wants to go down deeper and sink into 'the mud' until there is no existence. She cries constantly around him and he becomes indifferent to her crying. She says she cant follow down his path and says she must leave him. He says and thinks because its because he has no money. She obviously thinks this is unfair for him to behave and think this way. She leaves. Later she comes back in the week and says she can't leave him because she loves him too much and then decides to sleep with him and loses her virginity that night in the filthy apartment, she essentially held out for the entire book until the last 20 pages. She becomes pregnant in this act and then Gordon realizes she either needs to go through an abortion or he needs to marry her and find a good paying job, likely go back to the New Albion. He decides after researching at the library what happens in the state of pregnancy and that he has no choice but to care for the baby and Rosemary so he chooses on the latter and goes back to become a writer for advertisements and becomes somewhat successful; much of this is because of his strong grasp for words since this is all he focussed on through his poetry. He also can't stand the thought of having an abortion; it disgusts him. Advertisements are essentially just words at the end of the day so he becomes talented at coming up with slogans and shows signs of promise. He becomes very happy when he starts earning and being able to afford his own place and furniture for himself, Rosemary and for the baby and he realizes that money is great and that at the end of the day allows him to have and experience all that matters in life. They choose, after much discussion and arguing, to have a apidistra in the living room.

Favorite passages:

In all bookshops there goes a savage Darwinian struggle in which the works of living men gravitate to eye level and the works of dead men go up or down - down to Gehenna or up to the throne, but always away from any position where they will be noticed. Down in the bottom shelves the 'classics', the extinct monsters of the Victorian age, were quietly rotting. p12

Religion always sells provided it is sloppy enough. p12

That noxious horn-spectacled refinement! And the money that such refinement means! For after all, what is there behind it, except money? Money for the right kind of education, money for influential friends, money for leisure and peace of mind, money for trips to Italy. Money writes books, money sells them. Give me not righteousness, O Lord, give me money, only money. p 13

Shall we ever again get a writer worth reading? p 17

As Gordon threw away the match his eye fell upon the aspidistra in its grass green pot. It was a peculiarly mangy specimen. It had only seven leaves and never seemed to put forth any new ones. Gordon had a sort of secret fued with the aspidistra. Many a time he had furtively attempted to kill it - starving it of water, grinding hot cigarette-ends against its stem, even mixing salt with its earth. But the beastly things are practically immortal. In almost any circumstances they can preserve a wilting, diseased existence. Gordon stood up and deliberately wiped his kerosiny fingers on the apidistra leaves. p 33

None of the boys had proper professions, because Gran'pa Comstock had been at the greatest pains to drive all of them into professions for which they were totally unsuited. Only one of them - John, Gordon's father - had even braved Gran'pa Comstock to the extent of getting married during the latter's lifetime. It was impossible to imagine any of them making any sort of mark in the world, or creating anything, or destroying anything, or being happy, or vividly unhappy, or fully alive, or even earning a decent income. They just drifted along in an atmosphere of semi-genteel failure. They were one of those depressing families, so common among the middle-middle classes, in which NOTHING EVER HAPPENS. p 43

Since the Comstocks were genteel as well as shabby, it was considered necessary to waste huge sums on Gordon's education. What a fearful thing it is, this incubus of 'education'! It means that in order to send his son to the right kind of school (that is a public school or an imitation of one) a middle-class man is obliged to live for years on end in a style that would be scorned by a jobbing plumber. p46

Gordon, in those days still a believer, used actually to pray that his parents wouldn't come down to school. His father, especially, was the kind of father you couldn't help being ashamed of; a cadaverous, despondent man, with a bad stoop, his clothes dismally shabby and hopelessly out of date. He carried about with him an atmosphere of failure, worry, and boredom. And he had such a dreadful habit, when he was saying good-bye, of tipping Gordon half a crown right in front of the other boys, so that everyone could see that it was only half a crown and not, as it ought to have been, ten bob! Even twenty years afterwards the memory of that school made Gordon shudder.
The first effect of all this was to give him a crawling reverence for money. In those days he actually hated his poverty sticken-relatives - his father and mother, Julia, everybody. He hated them for their dingy homes, their dowdiness, their joyless attitude to life, their endless worrying and groaning over threepences and sixpences. By far the commonest phrase in the Comstock household was, 'We can't afford it'. In those days he longed for money as only a child can long. Why shouldn't one have decent clothes and plenty of sweets and go to the pictures as often as one wanted to? He blamed his parents for their poverty as though they had been poor on purpose. Why couldn't they be like other boys' parents? They PREFERRED being poor, it seemed to him. That is how a child's mind works. p47

It was great fun. Every intelligent boy of sixeteen is a Socialist. At that age one does not see the hook sticking out of the rather stodgy bait. p48

Gordon thought it all out, in the naive selfish manner of a boy. There are two ways to live, he decided. You can be rich, or you can deliberately refuse to be rich. You can possess money, or you can despise money; the one fatal thing is to worship money and fail to get it. He took it for granted that he himself would never be able to make money. It hardly even occured to him that he might have talents which chould be turned to account. That was twhat his schoolmasters had done for him; they had rubbed it into him that he was a seditious little nuisance and not likely to 'succeed' in life. He accepted this. Very well, then, he would refuse the whole business of 'succeeding'; he would make it his especial purpose not to 'succeed'. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven; better to serve in hell than serve in heaven, for that matter. Already, at sixteen, he knew which side he was on. He was against the money-god and all his swinish priesthood. He had declared war on money; but secretly, of course. p 50

He could put up with this meaningless office-life, because he never for an instant thought of it as permanent. Somehow, sometime, God knew how or when, he was going to break free of it. After all, there was always his 'writing'. Some day, perhaps, he might be able to make a living of sorts by 'writing'; and you'd feel you were free of the money-stink if you were a 'writer', would you not? The types he saw all round him, especially the older men, made him squirm. That was what it meant to worship the money-god! To settle down, to Make Good, to sell your soul for a villa and an aspidistra! To turn into the typical little bowler-hatted sneak- Strube's 'little man' - the little docile cit who slips home by six-fifteen to a supper of a cottage pie and stewed tinned pears, half an hour's listening-in to the BBC Symphony Concert p 53

*** POWERFUL PASSAGE.....
The next seven months were devastating. They scared him and almost broke his spirit. He learned what it means to live for weeks on end on bread and margarine, to try to write when you are half starved, to pawn your clothes, to sneak trembling up the stairs when you owe three weeks' rent and your landlady is listening to you. Moreover, in those seven months he wrote practically nothing. The first effect of poverty is that it kills thought. 55
------> DK's note: and it should for someone so stupid as to think you can exist as a pure socialist.

It is in the brain and the soul that lack of money damages you. Mental deadness, spiritual squalor - they seem to descend upon you inescapbly when your income drops below a certain point. Faith, hope, money - only a saint could have the first two without having the third. p63
------> DK's note: if this is not true, give me all your money and everything you will own and earn in the future and see how you live. you will eventualy come to agreement with this statement.

Possibly there were some other, more distantly related Comstocks, for Gran'pa Comstock had been one of a family of twelve. But if any survived they had grown rich and lost touch with their poor relations; for money is thicker than blood. As for Gordon's branch of the family, the combined income of the five of them, allowing for the lump sum that had been paid down when Aunt Charlotte entered the Mental Home, might have been six hundred a year. Their combined ages were two hundred and sixty-three years. None of them had ever been out of England, fought in a war, been in prison, ridden a horse, travelled in an aeroplane, got married, or given birth to a child. There seemed no reason why they should not continue in the same style until they died. Year in, year out, NOTHING EVER HAPPENED, in the Comstock family. p 67
------> DK's note: reminds me of the lameness, indifference, passionless existence of Calgary.
=)


No matter. What do they think? Money, money! Rent, rates, taxes, school bills, season tickets, boots for the children. And the life insurance policy and the skivvy's wages. And, my God, suppose the wife gets in the family way again! And did I laugh loud enough when the boss made that joke yestserday? And the next instalment on the vaccuum cleaner. p71
------> DK's note: isn´t this what we still go through in the year 2009; the same mindless waste of existence amongst everyone... the same repetitive shit day in and day out even 75 years later after this book was written the thoughts of humans are still the same inside one's head.

In the deadly glare of the Neon lights the pavements were densely crowded. Gordon threaded his way, a small shabby figure, with a pale face and unkempt hair. The crowd slid past him; he avoided and was avoided. There is something horrible about London at night; the coldness, the anonymity, the aloofness. Seven million people, sliding to and fro, avoiding contact, barely aware of one another's existence, like fish in an aquarium tank. p 77
------> DK's note: reminds one of NYC at times. Perhaps every major metropolitan area is the same.

How many girls alive wouldn't be manless sooner than take a man who's moneyless. p78
------> DK's note:: Kanye West makes the exact same point 70 years later??

His eyes fell upon the apidistra. Two years he had inhabited this vile room; two mortal years in which nothing had been accomplished. Seven hundred wasted days, all ending in the lonely bed. Snubs, failures, insults, all of them unavenged. Money, money, all is money! Because he had no money the Dorings snubbed him, because he had no money the Primrose had turned down his poem, because he had no money Rosemary wouldn't sleep with him. Social failure, artistic failure, sexual failure - they are all the same. And lack of money is at the bottom of it all. p84

"I didn't mean that". I meant the poems themselves are dead. There's no life in them. Everything i write is like that. Lifeless, gutless. Not necessarily ugly or vulgar; but dead - just dead". The word 'dead' reechoed in his mind, setting up its own train of thought. He added: "My poems are dead because I'm dead. You're dead. We're all dead. Dead people in a dead world". p90
------> DK's note: this is the end result of a purely idealistic socialist in a capitalist regime.


"God knows. All we know is what we don't want. That's what's wrong with us nowadays. We're stuck, like Buridan's donkey. Only there are three alternatives instead of two, and all three of them make us spew. Socials-s only one of them."
"And what are the other two?"
"Oh, i suppose suicide and the Catholic Church". p95
------> DK's note: Buridan's ass is a figurative description of a man of indecision. It refers to a paradoxical situation wherein an ass, placed exactly in the middle between two stacks of hay of equal size and quality, will starve to death since it cannot make any rational decision to start eating one rather than the other. The paradox is named after the 14th century French philosopher Jean Buridan.

Ravelston rubbed his noese reflectively. "It seems to me tha's only another form of suicide".
"In a way. But so's Socialism. At least it's a counsel of despair. But I couldn't commit suiicde, real suicide. It's too meek and mild. I'm not going to give up my share of earth to anyone else. I'd want to do in a few of my enemies first". p 96

Gordon didn't listen. "What rot it is to talk about Socialism or any other ism when women are what they are! The only thing a women ever wants is money; money for a house of her own and two babies and Drage furniture and an apidistra. The only sin they can imagine is not wanting to grab money. No woman ever judges a man by anything except his income. Of course she doesn't put it to herself like that. She says he's such a nice man ' meaning that he's got plenty of money. And if you haven't got money you aren't nice. You're dishonoured, somehow. You've sinned. Sinned against the apidistra." p 101

This woman business! What a bore it is! What a pity we can't cut it right out, or at least be like the animals ' minutes of ferocious lust and months of icy chastity. Take a cock pheasant, for example. He jumps on the hens' backs without so much as a with your leave or by your leave. And no sooner is it over than the whole subject is out of his mind. He hardly even notices his hens any longer; he ignores them, or simply pecks them if they come too near his food. He is not called upon to support his offspring, either. Lucky pheasant! How different from the lord of creation, always on teh hop between his memory and his conscience! p 110
------> DK's note: found this passage hilarious

This woman business! Perhaps you'd feel differently about it if you were married? But he had taken an oath against marriage long ago. Marriage is only a trap set for you by the money-god. You grab the bait; snap goes the trap; and there you are, chained by the leg to some 'good' job till they cart you to Kensal Green. And what a life! p122

"Women! What nonsense they make of all our ideas! Because one can't keep free of women, and every women makes one pay the same price. 'Chuck away your decency and make more money' - thats what women say. 'Chuck away your decency, suck the blacking off the boss's boots, and buy me a better fur coat than the woman next door.' Every man you can see has got some blasted woman hanging round his neck like a mermaid, dragging him down and down - down to some beastly leittle semi-detatched villa in Putney, with hire-purchase furniture and a portable radio and an aspidistra in the window. It's women who make all progress impossible. Not that i believe in progress," he hadded rather unsatisfactorily. p 122
------> DK's note: the idiocy of one who does not believe in progress and a medium for exchange.

She looked up at him an instant longer, and then buried her face in his breast as suddenly as though ducking from a blow. It was because she had burst into tears. She wept against his breast, angry with him, hating him, and yet clinging to him like a child. It was the childish way in which she clung to him, as a mere male breast to weep on that hurt him most. With a sort of self-hatred he remembered the other women who in just this same way had cried against his breast. It seemed the only thing he could do with women, make them cry. p 128
------> DK's note: somehow i can relate frighteningly well to this passage.

It's not easy to make love in a cold climate when you have no money. The 'never the time and the place' motif is not made enough of in novels. p131
------> DK's note: can do nothing but pity this character at this point in the book

But in the end he let himself be persuaded. He had known that he would let himself be persuaded. He stayed onat the flat, and allowed Ravelston to go round to Willowbed Road and pay his rent and recover his two cardboard suitcases; he even allowed Ravelston to 'lend' him a further two pounds for current expenses. His heart sickened while he did it. He was living on Ravelston - sponging on Ravelson. How could there ever be real frendship between them again? Besides, in his heart he didn't want to be helped. He only wanted to be left alone. He was headed for the gutter; better to reach the gutter quickly and get it over. Yet for the time being he stayed, simply because he lacked the courage to do otherwise. p 204

"Will you go back to the New Albion?"
So that was it! Of course he had foreseen it. She was going to start nagging at him like all the others. She was going to add herself to the band of peoplewho worried him and badgered him to 'get on'. But what else could you expect? It was what any women would say. The marvel was that she had never said it before. Go back to the New Albion! It had been the sole significant action of his life, leaving the New Albion. It was his religion, you might say, to keep out of that filthy money-world. Yet at this moment he could not remember with any clarity the motives for which he had left the New Albion. All he knew was that he would never go back, not if the skies fell, and that the argument he foresaw bored him in advance. p207

There were further argements. It was the first time she had eer spoken to him like this. Once again the tears came into her eyes, and once again she fought them back. She had come here swearing to herself that she would not cry. The dreadful thing was that her tears, instead of distresssing him, merely bored him. It was as though he could not care, and yet his very centre there was an inner heart that cared because he could not care. If only she would leave him alone! Alone! Alone! Free from the nagging consciousness of his failure; free to sink, as she had said, down, down into the quiet worlds where money and effort and moral obligation did not exist. Finally he got away from her and went back to the spare bedroom. It was definitely a quarrel - the first really deadly quarrel they had ever had. Whether it was to be final he did not know. Nor did he care, at this moment. He locked the door behind him and lay on the bed smoking a cigarette. He must get out of this place, and quickly! Tomororrow morning he would clear out. No more sponging on Ravelston! No more blackmail to the gods of decency! Down, down, into the mud - down to the street, the workhouse and the jail. It was only there that he could be at peace. p209

But of course, in his inmost heart, he didn't really like having Gordon there. How should he? it was an impossible situation. There was a tension between them all the time. It is always so when one person is living on another. However delicately disguised, charity is still horrible; there is malaise, almost a secret hatred, between the giver and te receiver. Gordeon knew that his friendship with Ravelston would never be the same again. Whatever happened afterwards, the memory of this evil time would be between them. The feeling of his dependent position, of being in the way, unwanted, a nuisance, was with him night and day. p211

Gordon accepted promptly. Mr. Cheeseeman was perhaps faintly disappointed. He had expected an argument, and would have enjoyed crushing Gordon by reminding him that beggars can't be choosers. But Gordon was satisfied. The job would do. There was no trouble about a job like this; no room for ambition, no effort, no hope. Ten bob less - ten bob nearer the mud. It was what he wanted. p215

Yet it was not death, actual physical death, that he wished for. It was a queer feeling that he had. It had been with him ever since that morning when he had woken up in the police cell. The evil, mutinous mood that comes after drunkennes seemed to have set into a habit. That drunken night had marked a period in his life. It had dragged him downward with straeg suddenness. Before, he had fought against the money-code, and yet he had clung to his wretched remnant of decency. But now it was precisely from decency that he wanted to escape. He wanted to go down deep down, into some world where decency no longer mattered; to cut the strings of his self-respect, to submerge himself - to sink, as Rosemary had said. It was all bound up in his mind with the thought of being underground. He liked to think about the lost people, the underground people, tramps, beggars, criminals, prostitutes. It is a good world that they inhabi, down there in their frowzy kips and spikes. p217

To sink! How easy it ought to be, since there are so few competitors! But the strange thing is that often it is harder to sink than to rise. There is always something that drags one upwards. After all, one is never quite alone; there are always friends, lovers, relatives . Everyone Gordonn knew seemed to be writing him letters, pitying him or bullying him. Aunt Angela had written, Uncle Walter had written, Rossemany had written over and over again, Ravelston had wrtten, Julia had written. Even Flaxman had sent a line to wish him luck. p223
------> DK's note: had never really thought of life in this manner. But suppose this is true. That your support system will always try and keep you afloat if you attempt to consciously make a decision to sink your life deeper and deeper into a hellhole.

"The mistake you make, don't you see, is in thinking one can live in a corrupt society without being corrupt oneself. After all, what do you achieve by refusing to make money? You're trying to behave as though one could stand right outside our economic system. But one can't. One's got to change the system, or one changes nothing. One ca0t put things right in a hole-and-corner way, if you take my meaning". p225 by Ravelston

It was a curious fact - rather a shameful fact from a Socialist's point of view - that the thought of Gordon, who had brains and was of gentle birth, lurking in that vile plaec and that almost menial job, worried him more than the thought ten thousand unemplyed in Middlesbrough. Several times, in hope of cheering Gordon up, he wrote asking him to send contribrutions to Antichrist. Gordon never answered. Their friendship was at an end, it seemed to him. The evil time when he had lived on Ravelston had spoiled everything. Charity kills friendship. p 227

"We shall have to get married, I suppose," he said flatly.
"Well, shall we? That's what i came here to ask you."
"But I suppose you want me to marry you, don't you?"
"Not unless YOU want to. I'm not going to tie you down. I know its against your ideas to marry. You must decide for yourself."
"But we've no alternative - if you're really going to have this baby."
"Not necessarily. That's what you've got to decide. Because after all there is another way."
"What way?"
"Oh, you know. A girl at the studio gave me an address. A friend of hers had it done for only five pounds." p 241

He knew it was a dreadful thing they were contemplating - a blasphemy, if that word had any meaning. Yet if it had been put otherwise he might not have recoiled from it. It was the squalid detail of the five pounds that brought it home.
"No fear!," he said. "Whatever happens we're not going to do that. It's disgusting."
"I know it is. But I can't have the baby without being married." p 242

"Of course, you´d like me to go back to the New Albion," he said.
"No, I wouldn't. Not if you don'twant to."
"Yes, you would. After all, it's natural. You want to see me earning a decent income again. In a GOOD job, with four pounds a week and an aspidistra in the window. Wouln't you, now? Own up."
"All right then, yes, I would. But it's only something I'd like to see happening; I'm not going to make you do it. I'd just hate you t o do it if you didn't really want to. I want you to feel free."
"Really and truly free?"
"Yes." p244

Yes, war is coming soon. You can't doubt it when you see the Bovex ads. The electric drills in our streets presage the rattle of the machine guns. Only a little while before the aeroplanes come. Zoom - bang! A few tons of TNT to send our civiliation back to hell where it belongs.
He crossed the road and walked on, southward. A curious thought had struck him. He did not any longer want that war to happen. It was the first time in months - years, perhaps - that he had thought of it and not wanted it. p246

But what about Rosemary? He thought of the kind of life she would live at home, in her parents' house, with a baby and no money; and of the news running through that monstrous family that Rosemary had married some aweful rotter who couldn't even keep her. She ould have the whole lot of them nagging at her together. Besides, there was the baby to think about. The money-god is so cunning. If he only baited his traps with yachts and race-horses, tarts and champagne, how easy it would be to dodge him. It is when he gets at you through your sense of decency that he finds you helpless. p 246

But perhaps it had not been going on quite so long as that. He turned back a page or two and found a print of a six weeks' foetus. A really dreadful thing this time - a thing he could hardly even bear to look at. Strange that our beginnings and endings are so ugly - the unborn as ugly as the dead. This thing looked as if it were dead already. p 249

*** POWERFUL PASSAGE...finally he sees the LIGHT!
He seemed to be walkin faster than usual. There was a peculiar sensation, an actual physical sensation, in his heart, in his limbs, all over his limbs, all over him. What was it? Shame, misery, despair? Rage at being back in the clutch of money? Boredom when he thought of the deadly future? He dragged the sensation forth, faced it, examined it. It was relief.
Yes, that was the truth of it. Now that the thing was done he felt nothing but relife; relief that now at last he head finsihed with dirt, cold, hunger, and loneliness and could get back to decent, fully human life. His resolutions, now that he had broken them, seemed nothing but a frightful weight that he had cast off. Moreoer, he was aware that he was only fulfilling his destiny. In some corner of his mind he had always known that this would happen. He thought of the day when he head given them notice at the New Albion; and Mr Erskine's kind, red, beefish face, gently counselling him not to chuck up a 'good' job for nothing. How bitterly he had sworn, then, that he was done with 'good' jobs for nothing. How bitterly he had sworn, then, that he was done with 'good' job for nothing. How bitterly he had sworn, then, that he was done with 'good' jobs for ever! Yet it was foredoomed that he should come back, and he had known it even then. And it was not merely becase of Rosemary and the baby that he had done it. That was the obvious cause, the precipitating cause, but even without it the end would have been the same; if there had been no baby to think about, something else would have forced his hand. For it was what, in his secret heart, he had desired.
After all he did not lack vitality, and that moneyless existence to which he had condemned himself thrust him ruthlessly out of the stream of life. He looked back over the last two frightful years. He had blasphemed against money, rebelled against money, tried to live like anchorite outside the money-world; and it had brought him not only misery, bt also a frightful emptiness, an inescapable sense of futility. To abjure money is to abjure life. Be not reighteous over much; why shouldst thou die before thy time? Now he was back in the money-world, or soon would be.

Review of A Farewell to Arms

A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
published 1929.

Notes
havent read many of Hemingways works, but he does write in a very simplistic manner. Straightforward and without much emotion. Almost like simplistic poetry. Frustrating to read sometimes because it is so bland, but very quick to read because so easy to understand and often repetitive. Obviously purposely done. The end of that book is probably one of the most powerful ive ever read. Perhaps he is trying to synchronize the massive sins of war with the karma that it spreads afterwards and that there is no escaping it even if you run from it. The ending could also be the ends will never be justified by the means and that there is no forgiveness for a deserter. The book reminded me a lot of Cold Mountain and how one who leaves his duty for his country will be bitten in the ass for doing so in some other way shape or form. Also when Catherine Barkley is having the baby it reminded me of the movie "She's Having a Baby", with Kevin Bacon how he has the epiphone at the end of the movie and starts crying when he realizes he actually does care for his wife and his new born child. The book is written into 5 parts and is told in first person from the point of view of Henry Frederic:
I) When he is in the war and meets Catherine and the introduction to all his fellow soldiers. He is on the front line for the Italians volunteering even though he is American. He can speak fluent Italian and works for the ambulances. He gets injured while eating a piece of cheese in a dugout.
II) When he gets transferred to Milan and starts his recovery of his knee. Is rewarded the silver star and a stripe for an injury. Gets Catherine pregnant in Milan as she attends to him as a nurse at night. They spend many afternoons together as he is getting healed. They attend a horserace and enjoy being alone even in public places.
III) Henry Frederic goes back to the front lines and sees the priest, Rinaldi and others. He is ordered to the front and when there is a retreat everyone gets dispersed. They try and make their way to a safer city and get accused of being a deserter. Or a German defector that speaks Italian so perhaps a spy. Everyone in line gets their brains blown out. He escapes by jumping into the water and going down river down a piece of wood after the Italians start firing at him. He escapes by going onto a train where he in a compartment full of ammunition, guns and the smell of steel.
IV) He heads to milan to figure out where Catherine is. She is in a different Italian city so he seeks her out. He finds her and they end up staying in a hotel until the Italians find out he is there (he goes on a lake trout fishing trip in a boat with the bar owner and plays pool with a very old man). Catherine and him flee to switzerland by the barmens fishing boat and they row all night. She laughs in the boat at him because of the umbrella pops out the opposite way as hes trying to use it as a sail (which was her idea). They get there okay after saying they are there for winter sports. They live in the mountains until she needs to deliver the baby. They are obviously in deeply in love at this point of the book.
V) They head to the city where she is to deliver the baby. Henry comforts her and she wants to get the delivery over with so they can get married and cut her hair short. He grows a long beard. She starts having contractions. Later she asks him to leave the hospital so she can do this on her own. The doctor decides that she needs to have a ceseriun to get the baby out and would only take an hour after she was arleady in labor for quite a long time. They go through with the procedure. the baby isnt crying when he comes out and its a boy thats 5 kg. He later finds out because it was dead. Catherine starts hemmoraghing and later gradually dies. And the book ends.

Hemingway did volunteer as well in the ambulance core in Italy so the book is kind of an autobiography.

Selected interesting points from wiki to remember:
He received the Pulitzer Prize in 1953 for The Old Man and the Sea, and the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954. On July 8, 1918, Hemingway was wounded while delivering supplies to soldiers, which ended his career as an ambulance driver. Although the events of his wounding have been subjected to doubters, it is now conclusively known that he was hit by an Austrian trench mortar shell that left fragments in his legs, and was also hit by a burst of machine-gun fire. His knee was badly wounded, and, amongst the more remarkable features of this incident, he helped staunch the bleeding by stuffing cigarette butts and rolling papers into his multiple wounds. He was later awarded the Silver Medal of Military Valor (medaglia d'argento) from the Italian government for dragging a wounded Italian soldier to safety in spite of his own injuries. He was credited as the first American wounded in Italy during WWI by newspapers at the time but there is debate surrounding the veracity of this claim.

Hemingway received treatment in a Milan hospital run by the American Red Cross. With very little in the way of entertainment, he often drank heavily and read newspapers to pass the time. Here he met Agnes von Kurowsky of Washington, D.C., one of eighteen nurses attending groups of four patients each, who was more than six years his senior. Hemingway fell in love with her, but their relationship did not survive his return to the United States; instead of following Hemingway to America, as originally planned, she became romantically involved with an Italian officer. This left an indelible mark on his psyche and provided inspiration for, and was fictionalized in, one of his early novels, A Farewell to Arms. Hemingway's first story based on this relationship.

Hemingway attempted suicide in the spring of 1961, and received ECT treatment again. On the morning of July 2, 1961, some three weeks short of his 62nd birthday, he died at his home in Ketchum, Idaho, the result of a self-inflicted shotgun wound to the head. Judged not mentally responsible for his final act, he was buried in a Roman Catholic service. Hemingway is believed to have purchased the Boss & Co. shotgun he used to commit suicide through Abercrombie & Fitch, which was then an elite excursion goods retailer and firearm supplier. In a particularly gruesome suicide, he rested the gun butt of the double-barreled shotgun on the floor of a hallway in his home, leaned over it to put the twin muzzles to his forehead just above the eyes, and pulled both triggers. The coroner, at request of the family, did not do an autopsy. Other members of Hemingway's immediate family also committed suicide, including his father, Clarence Hemingway, his siblings Ursula and Leicester, and his granddaughter Margaux Hemingway. Throughout his life, Hemingway had been a heavy drinker, succumbing to alcoholism in his later years. Hemingway possibly suffered from manic depression, and was subsequently treated with electroshock therapy at the Mayo Clinic. He later blamed his memory loss, which he cited as a reason for not wanting to live, upon the ECT sessions.

Hemingways Eulogy (luv how he enjoyed the trout streams):

Best of all he loved the fall
The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods
Leaves floating on the trout streams
And above the hills
The high blue windless skies
Now he will be a part of them forever

--------> DK's note: Hemingway was buried in the cemetery in Ketchum, Idaho, at the north end of town. A memorial was erected in 1966 at another location, overlooking Trail Creek, north of Ketchum. I am an idiot for driving through Idaho in January 2009 after coming back from Vegas and not visiting this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ketchum,_Idaho

My favorite passages in the book:

Suddenly to care very much and to sleep to wake with it sometimes morning and all that had been there gone and everything sharp and hard and clear and sometimes a dispute about a cost. Sometimes still pleasant and fond and warm and breakfast and lunch. Sometimes all niceness gone and glad to get out on the street but always another day starting and then another night. I tried to tell about the night and the difference between the night and the day and how the night was better unless the day was very clean and cold and i could not tell it, as i cannot tell it now. But if you have had it you know. He had not had it but he understood that i had really wanted to go to the Abruzzi but had not gone and we were still friends, with many tastes alike, but with the difference between us. He had always known what i did not know and what, when i learned it, i was able to forget. But i did not know that then, although i learned it later. In the meantime we were all at the mess, the meal was finished and the argument went on. - p 13, Book 1, regarding conversation with priest.

You understand but you do not love God
No
You do not love Him at all? he asked
I am afraid of Him in the night sometimes.
You should love Him
I don't love much.
Yes he said. You do. What you tell me about in the nights. That is not love. That is only passion and lust. When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.
I don't love
You will. I know you will. Then you will be happy.
I'm happy. I've always been happy.
It is another thing. You cannot know about it unless you have it.
Well i said. If i ever get it i will tell you.

The porter came in. He was trying to keep from laughing.
"Is that barber crazy?"
"No, signorino. He made a mistake. He doesn't understand very well and he though i said you an Austrian officer".
"Oh", i said
"Ho, Ho, Ho", the porter laughed. "He was funny. One move from you he said and he would have ____", he drew his forefinger across his throat.
"Ho, Ho, Ho", he tried to keep from laughing. "When I tell him you were not an Austrian. Ho Ho Ho."
"Ho, Ho, Ho", i said bitterly. "How funny if he would cut my throat. Ho, ho, ho."
"No Signorino. No, no. He was so frightened of an Austrian. Ho, ho, ho."
"Ho, ho, ho", i said. "Get the hell out of here!" p84, Book II

"Will you come to our wedding, Fergy?" i said to her once.
"You will never get married."
"We will."
"No, you won't."
"Why not?"
"You'll fight before you'll marry."
"We never fight".
"You've time yet."
"We don't fight."
"You'll die then. Fight or die. That's what people do. They don't marry". p98, Book II

Napolean would've whipped the Austrians on the plains. He never would have fought them in the mountains. He would have let them come down and whipped them around Verona. Still nobody was whipping any one on the Western front. Perhaps wars weren't won any more. Maybe they went on forever. Maybe it was another Hundred Years' War. I put the paper back on the rack and left the club. I went down the steps carefully and walked up the Via Manzoni. p107, Book II


"Go to sleep, darling, and i'll love you no matter how it is."
"You're not really afraid of the rain are you?"
"Not when i'm with you."
"Why are you afraid of it?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me."
"Don't make me."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"All right. I'm afraid of the rain because sometimes I see me dead in it."
"No."
"And sometimes i see you dead in it."
"Thats more likely."
"No, its not, darling. Because i can keep you safe. I know i can. But nobody can help themselves."
"Please stop it. I don't want you to get Scotch and crazy tonight. We won't be together much longer."
"No, but I am Scotch and crazy. But I'll stop it. It's all nonsense."
"Yes its all nonsense."
"Its all nonsense. Its only nonsense. Im not afraid of the rain. Im not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh God i wish i wasn't." She was crying. I comforted her and she stopped crying. But outside it kept on raining. p 113, Book II

She seemed upset and taut.
"Whats the matter, Catherine?"
"Nothing. Nothing's the matter."
"Yes there is."
"No nothing.. Really nothing."
"I know there is. Tell me, darling. You can tell me."
"Its nothing."
"Tell me."
"i don't want to. I'm afraid I'll make you unhappy or worry you."
"No, it won't."
"You're sure? It doesn't worry me but I'm afraid to worry you."
"It won't if it doesn't worry you."
"I don't want to tell."
"Tell it."
"Do i have to?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to have a baby darling. It's almost three months along. You're not worried, are you? Please please don't. You mustn't worry."
"All right."
"is it alright?"
"Of course."
"I did everything. I took everything but it didn't make any difference."
"I'm not worried."
"i could't help it, darling, and i haven't worried about it. You musn't worry or feel badly".
"I only worry about you."
"That's it. That's what you mustn't do. People have babies all the time. Everybody has babies. Its a natural thing."
"You're pretty wonderful."
"No I'm not. But you mustn't mind darling. I'll try and not make trouble for you. I know I've made trouble now. But haven't i been a good girl until now? You never knew it, did you?
"No."
"It will all be like that. You simply must'nt worry. I can see you're worrying. Stop it. Stop it right away. Wouldn't you like a drink, darling? I know a drink always makes you feel cheerful."
"No. I feel cheerful. And you're pretty wonderful."
"No I'm not. But I'll fix everything to be together if you pick out a place to go. It ought to be lovely in October. We'll have a lovely time, darling, and I'll write you every day while you're at the front."
"Where will you be?"
"I don't know yet. But somewhere splendid. I'll look after all that."
We were quiet awhile and did not talk. p124, Book II

"They won't get us", i said. "Because you're too brave. Nothing ever happens to the brave."
"They die of course."
"But only once."
"I don't know. Who said that?"
"The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave but one?"
"Of course. Who said it?"
"i don't know."
"He was probably a coward," she said. "He knew a great deal about cowards but nothing about the brave. The brave dies perhaps two thousand deaths if he's intelligent. He simply doesnt mention them."
"I don't know. It's hard to see inside the head of the brave."
"Yes. Thats how they keep that way." p126, Book II

"But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near." poem by Marvell quoted by Henry to Catherine. p139, Book II

"I don't mean like that. I mean something else. Have you any married friends?"
"Yes," I said.
"I haven't," Rinaldi said. "Not if they love each other."
"Why not?"
"I am the snake. I am the snake of reason."
"You're getting mixed. The apple was reason."
"No, it was the snake." He was more cheerful.
"You are better when you don't think so deeply," i said. p153, Book III

"There he is, gone over with the priest," Rinaldi said. "Where are all the good old priest baiters? where is Cavalcanti? Where is Brundi? where is Cesare? Do i have to bait this priest alone without support?"
"He is a good priest." said the major.
"He is a good priest," said Rinaldi. "But still a priest. I try to make the mess like the old days. I want to make Federico make happy. To hell with you, priest!"
I saw the major look at him and notice that he was drunk. His thin face was white. The line of his hair was very black against the white of his forehead.
"Its all right, Rinaldo", said the priest, "Its all right."
"To hell with you", Rinaldi. " To hell with the whole damn business." He sat back in his chair. p156, Book III

I had not worked that out yet, i said, and we both laughed. "But," i said, in the old days the Austrians were always whipped in the quadrilateral around Verona. They let them come down on to the plain and whipped them there."
"Yes," said Gino. "But those were Frenchmen and you can work out military problems clearly when you are fighting in somebody else's country."
"yes," I agreed. "when it is your own country you cannot use it so scientifically."
"The Russians did, to trap Napolean."
"Yes, but they had plenty of country. If you tried to retreat to trap Napolean in Italy you would find yourself in Brindisi." p164, Book III

Abstract words such as glory, honor and courage, or hallow were obscene beside the concrete names of villages, the numbers of roads, the names of rivers, the numbers of regiments and the dates. p165, Book III

"Don't talk about the war," I said. The war was a long way away. Maybe there wasn't any war. There was no war here. Then i realized it was over for me. But i did not have the feelign that it was realy over. p219 Book IV

We slept when we were tired and if we woke the other one woke too so one was not alone. Often a man wishes to be alone and a girl wishes to be alone to and if they lvoe each other they are jealous of that in each other, but i can truly say we never felt that. We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others. It has only happened to me like that once. I have been alone while i was with many girls and that is the way that you can be most lonely. But we were never lonely and never afriad when we were together. i know that the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started. But with Catherine there was almost no difference in the night except that it was an even better time. If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that wil not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry. p222. one of the best passages in the whole book., Book IV

Count Greffi smiled and turned the glass with his fingers. "i had expected to become more devout as i grow older but somehow i haven't," he said. "It is a great pity."
"Would you like to live after death?" i asked and instantly felt a fool to mention death. (because he was 94 yrs old). But he did not mind the word.
"It would depend on the life. This life is very pleasant. I would like to live forever," he smiled. "I nearly have." p233

"So do I. because its all i have. And to give birthday parties, " he laughed. "You are probably wiser than i am. You do not give birthday parties."
We both drank wine.
"What do you think of the war really?" i asked.
"I think its stupid."
"Who will win it?"
"Italy."
"Why?"
"They are a younger nation."
"Do younger nations win wars?"
"They are apt to for a time."
"Then what happens?"
"They become older nations."
"You said you were not wise."
"Dear boy, that is not wisdom. That is cynicism."
p 233, Book IV

"Hello, you sweet."
"What sort of baby was it?"
"Sh- dont talk," the nurse said.
"A boy, He's long and wide and dark."
"Is he all right?"
"Yes," I said. "He's fine."
I saw the nurse look at me strangely.
"I'm awfully tired," Catherine said. "And I hurt like hell. Are you all right, darling?"
"I'm fine. Don't talk."
"You were lovely to me. Oh darling, I hurt dreadfully. What does he look like?"
"He looks ilke skinned rabbit a puckered-up old man's face."
"You must go out," the nurse said. "Madame Henry must not talk."
"I'll be outside." I kissed Catherine. She was very gray and weak and tired.
"May i speak to you?" I said to the nurse. She came out in the hall with me. I walked a little way down the hall.
"Whats the matter with the baby?" I asked.
"Didn't you know?"
"No."
"He wasn't alive."
"He was dead?"
"They couldnt start him breathing. The cord was caught around his neck or something."
"So he's dead."
"Yes its such a shame. He was such a fine big boy. I thought you knew." p 288, Book V


I sat down on the chair n front of a table where there were nurses' reports hung on clips at the side and looked out of the window. I could see nothing but the dark and the rain falling across the light from the window. So that was it. The baby was dead. That was why the doctor looked so tired. But why had they acted the way they did in the room with him? They supposed he would come around and start breathing probably. I had no religion but i knew he ought to have been baptized. But what if he never breathed at all. He hadn't. He had never been alive. Except in Catherine. I'd felt him kick there often enough. But i hadnt for a week. Maybe he was choked all that time. Poor little kid. I wished the hell I'd been choked like that. No i didn't. Still there would not be all this dying to go through. Now Catherine would die. That was what you did. You died. You did not know what it was about. You never had time to learn. They threw you in and told you the rules and the first time they caught you off base they killed you. Or they killed you gratuitously like Aymo. Or gave you syphilis like Rinaldi. But they killed you in the end. You could count on that. Stay around and they would kill you.
Once in camp i put a log on top of the fire and it was full of ants. As it commenced to burn, the ants swarmed out and went first toward the centre where the fire was, then turned back and ran toward the end. When there were enough on the end they fell off into the fire. Some got out, their bodies burnt and the flattened, and went off not knwoing where they were going. But most of them went toward the fire and then back toward the end and swarmed on the cool end and finally fell into the fire. I remember thinking at the time that it was the end of the world and a splended chance to be a messiah and life the log off the fire and throw it out where the ants cuold get off onto the ground. But i did not do anything but throw a tin cup of water on the log, so that i would have the cup empty to put whiskey in before i added water to it. I think the cup of water on teh burning log only steamed the ants. p 289, Book V

"It is very dangerous." The nurse went into the room and shut the door. I sat outside in the hall. Everything was gone inside of me. I did not think. I could not think. I knew she was giong to die and i prayed that she would not. Don't let her die. Oh, God, please don't let her die. I'll do anything for you if you won't let her die. Please, please please dear God dont let her die. Dear God, don't leter her die, Please please please, dear God, don't let her die. God please make her not die. I'll do anything you say if you don't let her die. You took the baby but dont let her die. That was all right but don't let her die. Please please dear God, don't let her die. p 291

I waited outside in the hall. I waited a long time. the nurse came to the door and came over to me. I'm afraid Mrs Henry is very ill," she said. "I'm afraid for her."
"Is she dead?"
"No, but she is unconscious."
It seems she had one hemmorrhage after another. They couldn't stop it. I went into the room and stayed with Catherine until she died. She was unconscious all the time, and it did not take her very long to die. p 292, book V

Journal Entry from South America

As i write this it is 10:35 pm on March 20th. To give an update on the last few days I was in Valparaiso from the 13th of March to the 18th, 2009. I stayed at the hostal that has the address of 596 Uriola in Conception. As soon as i got off the Tur Bus after paying 4800 pesos i looked for a place that had cheap accomadations. A friendly lady told me there was a place in Conception that charged 5000 pesos per night. So i figured it was reasonable for about 9 USD equivalent. She said to wait for 2 minutes for someone which i later found out was the owner of the hostal. She was carrying a bag with multi package toilet paper in it. So i helped her with it as we walked from Pedro Montt bus terminal to the hostal. (we took the local bus for across Pedro Montt and it dropped us at the bottom of Conception where we walked up the street.) it reminded me of staying in one of the hostals in New Zealand on a hill. i have no idea where because i didnt keep a travel journal on that entire trip. I wish i had but you live you learn. From there i met the hostal owners son and his girlfriend, who was actually pretty good looking where he kind of looked like a slob. I found out i was staying with a Dutch dude in a 6 person dorm, which later got filled with 2 scottish girls and 2 Argentinian cyclists. I stayed at that hostel the longest out of everyone. There was also 2 British girls whom i mistook fr Aussies. The brits love that. The next day i spent wondering around Valpo with Jan (the dutch dude) and went up to visit La Sebastian which was Pablo Nerudas house at the very top of the hill. We walked and shared our background for about 1.5 hours up Almiverez Avenue i think it was called. We passed the museum at first and had to backtrack cuz we had a feeling we passed it. Took about 2 hours to walk through the museum. Was very interesting to read all the handout literature in each room that gave background to who he was and what he did. Winner of the Nobel Prize, advocate of Stalin movement and was pretty much a communist. Wrote only in green ink which is the color of hope. Had a few affairs. While i was in Valpo i read a lot of Don Quixote; i would say approximately 500 pages of the book i completed in this city and eventually finished it when i got back to Santiago later finished about 200 pages in that Bar on Bandera Ave and then another 50 pages in the Plaza De Armas square at that cafe on the SW corner.
Anyways im getting sidetracked. So in valpo i visited the Vina Del Mar and mistook the mini beach as the main beach on the first day but later found out in the evening as i walked the shore from the Sheraton (where i tanned for a bit for free by sneaking in through the lobby to the pack porch and down the stairs so they thought i was a guest) to the main beach area. it was neat to see the surfers trying out the waves in the opening to the little river that goes through the city of Vina. i think they called it a casino for some reason.
The next day i headed there with Jan (day 3) and then basically tanned and read DQ the entire day. Found out that Jan had his bag stolen at knifepoint in some bad community after going up one of the ascenors at 2 PM in the afternoon. he lost his cash, his wallet, his bag, his camera, his guidebook. But not his passport or cash card. Rough day. He stated that i wish i was with him because i knew martial arts. Funny how people automatically assume u can do something. Was funny to see this one latin american couple wrestling on the beach. they were more playful than the couple that was directly beside us. Also the dude of the couple that was right beside us got his bag stolen by some boy who looked about 13 or 14 years old. A New Zealander, who looked very in shape had a good eye and ran after the boy and caught him. I wasnt able to see what happened though. I remember discussing how there wasnt a McDs in Valpo and of course we then saw one in Vina del Mar. Probably a biz opp to open a McDs in Latin America i think. Or even a starbucks as maybe a middle class might develop over time. Who knows. Day 4 went to a coffee shop in Valpo to read DQ again and then headed to Vina del Mar again on the beach by myself and read most of the day. Tried doing situps on the beach and pushups because i found it diffcult to get any exercise since Aconcagua. Day 5 i headed back to santiago on a Pullman bus which i later found was cheaper than Tur Bus because they charged 3000 pesos instead and the buses were actually cleaner. Took 2 hours to get to Santiago and then from there took the train to Santa Ana station and then walked back to the Hotel americano on Compania de Jesus 1906. Again read most of this day after checking in only for one night. Posted all my notes of DQ online. finally finished this damn book. was not an easy read. before i left valpo though i picked up A Farewell to Arms and also bought the Count of Monte Christo at the SW corner in the Libreria in the Plaza de Armas. Im going to try and finish both books by the time im done the W circuit. Ill try and take a lot more notes this time when im doing the W circuit.
Anyways from Hotel americano i left some luggage again there (plastic boots, crampons and such) and then walked down the main road where Santa Ana was to the road where the Aeroporte buses come and go (they are blue buses that go directly to the airport for 1400 pesos really cheap!). I took a bus at some ungodly our like 7 am because my flight left at 10:15 am; so just wanted to be on the safe side of arriving on time. Of course i got there at 8AM. very early. i had to tape my hiking poles when i checked in so it wouldnt puncture other peoples luggage. then i sat and read the count of monte cristo and finished about 180 pages during the whole day on the airplane and on buses. As soon as i landed i took a bus from Punta Arenas (had to go into the city). Then took a bus with Bus Fernandez to Peurto Natales at 630 pm. stopped by Limolat to eat a hamburger since i had to kill 2 hours. Then got into PN about 930 pm. i was gambling on the fact that i would be able to find a hostel in the pitch black night. And of course there they were outside when i got into the city. I whole pack of people trying to sell their hostels. So gamble paid off and went with an old lady to Hotel Patagonia in a free ride to her hostel which i later found out was actually about 15 blocks from the main square which is quite a long distance in such a small city. Anyways makes for a pleasant walk. I met 3 koreans which told me how all the hikes work and the choices of where to enter the park. Most people go from east to west i told him according to the lonely planet which i later find out he did as well. He also said food as very expensive on the mountain and you could drink water from the glaciers. He showed me the route and then talked for a bit (he worked for samsung helping design ships or something, i had mentioned that i help hedge commodities for companies). The other 2 koreans lived in seoul and were graphics designers and editorial designers and were married. The 3rd korean met them on this trip. he was going south and they were going north to peurto montt. The rate was 5000 pesos for one night or 6000 including breakfast. so i chose the breakfast. and also chose to stay 2 nights, since i realized i needed a tent. Today i booked with Bus Gomez for 12,000 pesos return where the return trip is flexible. They will pick me up at 7 am in the morning. Also paid about 8500 for a nice salmon meal. And bought groceries for the next 4 days. i think i will have to buy a meal on the 5th day. it will be great practice. I also want to buy a stove when i get back to canada for cooking outdoors and a pot set and a 1 man tent that is super light and high quality. Read only 40 pages of count of monte cristo today. visited a lot of the adventure shops to look for a one man tent and none of them sold them. So went to rental shop to rent one for 5 days. will cost 30 usd, but at least its a Doite which is the company that Luis might work for this summer so i can tell him about it if its a good tent. so dumb i have to use this one and not buy one. my pack is really heavy also. haha....

Review of the Count of Monte Cristo

Is it coincidence that great writers are always born in the same generation as other great writers? Shakespeare died the same day Cervantes died, Hawthorne and Hemingway were friends, John Locke and Sir Isaac Newton had quite a number of discussions together, Pythagoras begat Socrates who begat Plato who begat Aristotle who begat Alexander the Great..... and in this case Dumas and Hugo happened to be born in the same year and buried in the same cemetery; 2 of the most famous French authors of fiction to have lived.
Interesting that this story resonates with anyone who reads it. The concept of justice or maybe rather injustice is something we know and feel and aren't necessarily taught from birth. We just know something is wrong if and when it occurs. If someone calls another a chink, nip, nigga, wop, mick, charlie, honkie, nazi, kyke, gook.... the natural reaction is to crack something over the other person's skull. Why? does anyone teach us that.... - no its because its a natural human instinct. We are born knowing its wrong especially when we are on the receiving end of such circumstance. Is this not how law was formed in the first place? where a hierarchy of pain that one experiences results in a newly formed documented hierarchy of punishment established by whatever authority is currently in power, whether it be a Moses on a mountain, a king with his own theories inheriting a throne through nepotism, a president or prime-minister elected through the populace. The curtain that covers the blind from the righteousness or truth of human behavior becomes lifted and unviels itself with the passage of time: especially in instances of extreme oppression. Focus your thoughts on every oppressed group of people we can recall in history. It took thousands of years unfortunately, but they eventually got themselves out; blacks out of slavery, scientists out of the church, the Chinese off the railroads, gays and lesbians start coming out of the closet en masse, equality between females and males. Injustice we all know and feel; it does not necessarily need to be taught. Therefore.... when we flip the switch on injustice of course what a great a feeling....... we really start to conclude: here's to you Edmund Dantes for righting everything we know is wrong with the world!!.... and following along the initial path of how everything is linked. Thank you Dumas for being the father and source of our current entertainment of masked vigilantes, which we see in Batman, the Watchmen, the Xmen, the Jedi, Daredevil, the Punisher, Spiderman. Imagination begets imagination.


Favorite passages in the most famous book on vengeance.

"i shall not get any further with these two fools," he murmered. " Dantes will certainly marry that fair damsel, become captain, and have a the laugh over us, unless..." - a livid smile was seen to pass over his lips - "unless i set to work". - Fernand Mondego p 21

"No, my dear fellow, I am not proud, but i am in love, and believe love is more apt to make one blind than pride is" - Edmond Dantes p 21

"Dantes passed through all the various stages of misery that affect a forgotten and forsaken prisoner in his cell. First there was pride born of hope and a consciousness of his innocence; next he was so reduced thathe began to doubt his innocence; finally his pride gave way to entreaty yet it was not God he prayed to, for that is the last resource, but man. The wretched and miserable should turn to their Saviour first, yet they do not hope in Him until all other hope is exhausted" - narrator, Dumas p 72

"Dantes lifted up his eyes to Heaven, joined his hands under the coverlet, and said a prayer of thanks. The piece of iron which had been left him created in him a feeling of gratitude toward God stronger than any he had felt for the greatest blessings in past years." - narrator, Dumas p 78

"From this moment Dantes' happiness knew no bounds; he was not going to be alone any more, and perhaps he might even gain his freedom; anyway, even if he remained a prisoner, he would have a companion, and captivity shared with another is but half captivity. He walked up and down his cell all day long, his heart beating wildly with joy. At moments it almost seemed to choke him. At the least sound he heard he sprang to the door. Once or twice he was seized with fear that they would separate him from thisman whome he knew not, but whom he already loved as a friend." - narrator, Dumas p81

"On two shirts, i have invented a preparation by means of which linen is rendered as smooth and glossy as parchment. i also made some excellent quills which everyone would prefer to the ordinary ones ifonce they were known i made them from the cartilage of the head of those enormous whiting they sometimes give us on fast-days. Formerly there must have been a fireplace in my cell which was doubtless closed up some time before i came. It must have been used for many years, for theinterior was coated with soot. I dissolved some soot in a portion of wine they bring me every sunday, and my ink was made. For notes to which i wished to draw special attention, I pricked my fingeres and wrote with my blood" - Abbe Faria p 86

"Alas, my good friend" said the abbe smiling, "human knowledge is limited, and when i have taught you mathematics, physics, history and the three or four living languages i speak, you will know all that i know. It will not take you more than two years to give you the knowledge I possess."
"Two years?", exclaimed Dantes. "Do you really think you can teach me all these things in two years? what will you teach first? i am anxious to begin. I am thirsting for knowledge".
p 93

"My son", the abbe said, "you are a sailor and a swimmer and should therefore know that a man could not possibly make more than fifty strokes with such a load on his back. I shall stay here till the hour of my deliverance has struck, the hour of my death. But you, my son, flee, escape! You are young, lithe, strong; troublenot about me.... I give you back your word!"
"Very well" said Dantes, "in that case i shall stay here too!" Rising and solemnly stretching one hadn over the old man, he said; "By all that i deem most holy, i swear that i shall not leave you till death takes one of us!"
Faria looked up at this noble-minded, simple young man, and read in the expression on his face, now animated by a feeling of pure devotion, the sincerity of his affection and the loyalty of his oath. p99

"Very pressing indeed", replied the old man, "How do we know that i shall not be seized with the third attack tomorrow or the day after? Remember that then all will be over. Yes it is true. I have often thought with bitter joy of these riches, which are vast enough to make the fortunes of ten families, and which my persecutors will never enjoy. This has been my vengeance, and in the despair of m captivity i have lived on it during the long nights spent in my dungeon. But now that i have forgiven them all, for love of you, now that i see you full of youth and with a bright future before you, now that i think of all thehappiness which will result to you from this disclosure, i tremble at any delay in securing to one so worthy as you the possession of such an enormous treasure." p 101

"But as the flames devoured the paper i held between my fingers, i saw yellowish characters appear as if by magic, an unholy terror seized me. I crushed the paper in my hand and choked the flame. Then i lighted the candle and with inexpressible emotion opened out the crumpled paper. I recognized that a mysterious, sympathetic ink had traced these characters which could only become apparent when placed in contact with heat. A little more than one third of the paper had been consumed by the flames. it was the very paper you read this morning; read it again Dantes, and then i will give you the missing words to make the sense complete." Abbe Faria p 108

"And now my dear boy", said Faria, "sole consolation of my miserable life, whom Heaven sent to me somewhat late in life, yet sent me an invaluable gift for which i am most thankful, at this moment when i must leave you. I wish you all the happiness and prosperity you desire. My son, I give you my blessing."
A violent shock checked the old man's speech. Dantes raised his head; he saw his friend's eyes all flecked with crimson as though a flow of blood had surged up from his chest to his forehead.
"Farewell! farewell!" the old man murmured, clasping the young man's hand convulsively. "Farewell Forget not Monte Cristo!" p 114

The idea of suicide, which had been dispelled by his friend and which he himself had forgotten in his presence, rose again before him like a phantom beside Faria's corpse.
"If i could only die" he said, "I should go where he has gone. But how am i to die? it is quite simple", said he with a smile. "i will stay here, throw myself on the first one who enteres, strangle him, and then i shall be guillotined."
Dantes however, recoiled from such an infamous death, and swiftly passed from despair to an ardent desire for life and liberty. "Die? Oh no!" he cried out, "it would hardly have been worth while to live, to suffer so much and then to die now. No, I desire to live, to fight to the end. I wish to reconquer the happiness that hasbeen taken from me. Before i die, i have my executioners to punish, and possibly also some friends to recompense. Yet they will forget me here and i shall only leave this dungeon in the same way that Faria has done." p 119

"What is the day of the month" he presently asked of Jacopo, the sailor who had saved him and who now sat beside him.
"The 28th of February."
"What year?"
"Have you forgotten, that you ask such a question?"
"i was so frightened last night", replied Dantes, with a smile, "that i have almost lost my memory. What year is it?"
"The year eighteen-twenty-nine," replied Jacopo.
It was fourteen years to the very day since Dantes arrest. He was nineteen when he entered the Chateau d'If; he was thirty-three when he escaped. p 127

Then he turned to the clock again; he no longer counted by minutes, but by seconds. Taking the weapon once more, he opened his mouth with his eyes on the clock. The noise he made in cocking the pistol sent a shiver through him; a cold perspiration broke out on his forehead and he was seized by a mortal anguish.
He heard the outer door creak on its hinges. The inner door opened. The clock was about to strike eleven. Morrel did not turn around.
He put the pistol to his mouth... suddenly he heard a cry... it was his daughters voice. He turned round and saw Julie. The pistol dropped from his hands.
"Father!" cried the girl out of breath and overcome with joy. "You are saved! You are saved"
She threw herself into his arms, at the same time holding out to him a red silk purse.... Julie's Dowry
p189

As Morrel and his son were embracing each other on the quay-side amid the applause of the onlookers, a man whose face was half hidden by a black beard and who had been watching the scene from behind a sentry-box, muttered to himself; "Be happy, noble heart. May you be blessed for all the good you have done and will do hereafter!" ANd with a smile of joy he left his hiding place without being observed descended the steps to the water... p190

"Now farewell to kindness, humanity, gratitude," said he. "Farewell to all the sentiments which rejoice the heart. I have played the part of Providence in recompensing the good, may the god of vengeance now permit me to punish the wicked!" - Dantes p 191

"Pardon me, messieurs but i think i can help you out of the dilemma," said Maximilian. "Monte Cristo is a small island i have often heard mentioned by my fathers old sailors. It is a grain of sand in the middle of the Mediterranean, an atom in the infinite." p 243

At these words there was again discernible in Monte Crist that strange fixed stare, that furtive flush, and that slight trembling of the eyelids which in him denoted emotion. p 245

"Madame, the Count and yourself reward me too generously for a very simple action. To save a man and thereby to spare a fathers agony and a mother's feelings is not to do a noble deed, it is but an act of humanity". - Count of Monte Cristo p259

"... then again, my heart is filled with three great sentiments - sadness, love and gratitude - and with these as companions it is impossible to grow weary". - Haydee, daughter of Ali Pasha p282

"yoth is the flower of which love is the fruit; Happy the gatherer who picks it after watching it slowly mature". - Count of Monte Cristo p283

"It is fortunate that we still have some conscience left, otherwise we should be very unhappy," said Monte Cristo. "After any vigorous action it is conscience that saves us, for it furnishes us with a thaousand and one excuses of which we alone are judges, and however excellent these reasons may by to lull us to sleep, before a tribunal they would most likely avail us little in preserving our lives. Take, for instance, Lady Macbeth. She found an excellent servant in her conscience, for she wanted a throne, not for her husband but for her son. Ah, maternal love is a great virtue and such a powerful motive that it excuses much. But for her conscience, Lady Macbeth would have been very unhappy after Duncan's death." p297

"When i close my eyes, i seem to see once more all that i have ever seen. We have a twofold power of vision, that of the body and that of the mind. Whereas the body may sometimes forget the impressions it has received, the mind never does." - Haydee after explaining her story of her parents betrayal p432

"Oh, Man," muttered d'Avrigny. "The most selfish of all creatures, who believes that the earth turns, the sun shines and the scythe of death reaps for him alone. And have those who have lost their lives lost nothing? Mosnsieur de Saint-Meran, Madame de Saint-Meran, Monsieur Noirtier...." p 464

"...the Count of Monte Cristo is only responsible to the Count of Monte Cristo". p489

"Fool that i am" said the Count of Monte Cristo "that i did not tear outmy heart the day I resolved to revenge myself!" - p496

"But not mine, Mother dear", replied Albert. "I am young and strong and i think i am brave, and i have also learned since yesterday what force of will means. Alas! Mother, there are those who have suffered so much and yethave not succumbed to their sufferings, but instead have built up a new fortune on the ruins of their former happiness. I have learnt this, Mother, and i have seen such men; i know that they have risen with such vigour and glory from the abyss into which their enemies had cast them that they have overthrown thier former conquerors. No, Mother from today I have done with the past, and i will accept nothing from it, not even my name, for you understand, do you not, Mother, that your son couldnot bear the name of a man who should blush before every other man?" p504

Monte Crist uttered a wild cry, which only those can conceive who have heard the roar of a wounded lion.
Never had Morrel beheld such an expression; never had such a dreadful eye flashed before his face, never had the genius of terror, which he had so often seen either on the field of battle or in the murder-infested nights of algeria, shed round him such sinister fires! He shrank back in torror. p 519

The colour rose in Debray's cheecks at the thought of the million francs he had in his pocketbook and unimaginative though he was, he could not help reflecting that a few minutes back there were in that house two women; the one justly dishounered (Mdm Danglers getting divorced), had just left with 1,500,000 frances under her cloak, while the other one, (Mercedes) unjustly smitten, yet superb in her misfortune, considered herself rich with just a few francs. The parallel disturbed his usual politeness, the philosophy of the example overwhelmed him; he stammered a few words of general courtesy and quickly ran down the stairs. p 580

"Really Emmanuel," said Julie, "one could almost imagine that when all these rich people, who were so happy but yesterday, laid the foundations of their wealth, happiness, genius; and like the fairy of our childhood days who had not received an invitation to some christening or wedding, this genius has suddenly appeared to take his vengeance for the neglect." p597

"Madame", replied the Count, taking her two hands, "all that you can tell me in words can never express what i read in your eyes, or the feelings awakened in your heart, as also in mine. Like the benefactors of romances, i would have left without revealing myself to you, but this virtue was beyond me, because i am but a weak and vain man, and because i feel a better man for seeing a look of gratitude, joy and affection in the eyes of my fellow beings. I will leave you now, and i carry my egoism so far as to say; 'Do not forget me, my friends, for you will probably never see me again!" p 599

"Maximillian, the friends we have do not repose under the ground," said the Count; "they are buried deep in our hearts. It has been thus ordained that they may always accompany us. I have two such friends. The one is he who gave me being, and the other is he who brought my intellegence to life. Their spirits are ever with me. When in doubt i consult them, and if i ever do anything that is good, i owe it to them. Consult the voice of your heart, Morrel, and ask it whether you should continue this behavior toward me." p605

"Listen Morrel, and fix your whole mind on what i am going to tell you. I once knew a man who, like you had set all his hopes of happiness upon a women. he was young; he had an old father whom he loved, and a sweetheart whom he adored. He was about to marry her, when suddenly he was overtaken by one of those caprices of fate which would make us doubt in the goodness of God, if He did not reveal Himself later by showing us that all is but a means to an end. This man was deprived of his liberty, of the women he loved, of the future of which he had dreamed and which he beleived was his, and plunged into the depths of a dungeon. He stayed there fourteen years Morrel. Fourteen years!" repeated the Count. "And during those fourteen years he suffered many an ahour of despair. Like you, Morrel, he also thought he was the unhappiest of men and soutght to take his own life".
"Well?" asked Morrel.
"Well, when he was at the height of his despair; God revealed Himself to him through another human being. It takes a long time for the eyes that are swollen with weeping to see clearly, and at first, perhaps, he did not comprehend this infinite mercy, but at length he took patience and waited. One day he miraculously left his tomb, transfigured, rich and powerful. His first cry was for his father, but his father was dead! When his son sought his grave, ten years after his death, even that had disappeared, and no one could say to him; 'there rests in teh Lord the father who so dearly loved you!' That man, therefore, was unhappier than you, for he did not even know where to look for his father's grave."
"But then he still had the women he loved".
"You are wrong, Morrel. This women was faithless. She married one of the persecutors of her betrothed. You see, Morrell, that in this again he was unhappier than you."
"And did this man find consolation?"
"At all events he found peace."
"Is it possible for this man ever to be happy again?"
"He hopes so".
p609

"Tell the angel who is going to watch over you, Morrel, to pray for a man who, like Satan, believed for one moment he was equal to God, bt who now acknowledges in all Christian humility that in God alone is supreme power and infinite wisdom. Her prayers will perhaps soothe the remorse in the depths of his heart. Live and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that until the day comes when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these words: Wait and hope!" p620

Don Quixote

My most favorite passages in Edith Grossmans translation of Don Quixote:

"But tell me, Senores, i f you have considered it: how many more perish in war than profit from it? No doubt you will respond that there is no comparison, that the number of dead cannot be counted, and those who have been rewarded, and survidved can be counted in three digits and never reach a thousand. All of this is the opposite of what happens to lettered men, for with their fees, not to mention the bribes they receive, they have enough to get by, so that even though the hardship of a solder is greater, his reward is much smaller. But one can respond to this by saying that it is easier to reward two thousand lettered men than thiry thousand soldiers, because the first are rewarded by positions that of necessity must be given to those in their profession, and the latter cannot be rewarded except by the very wealth that belongs to the lord they serve...

"Thanks be to God" said the captive, "for the mercies he has received; in my opinion, there is no joy on earth equal to that of regaining freedom one has lost." p 341

"History is like a sacred thing; it must be truthful, and wherever truth is, there God is; but despite this, there are some who write and toss off books as if they were fritters" - Don Quoxote. p 479

"This accounts for the fact that when we see someone finely dressed and wearing rich clothes and with a train of servants, it seems that some force moves and induces us to respect him, although at that moment our memory recalls the lowliness in which we once saw that person; and that shame, whether of poverty or low birth, is in the past and no longer exists, and what is is only what we see in front of us in the present. And if this man, whose earlier lowliness has been erased by the good fortune that has raised him to prosperity, is well-mannered, generous, and courteous with everyone, and does not compete with those who have been noble asince anceient times, you can be sure, that nobody will remember what he was but will revere him for what he is, unless they are envious and no good fortune is safe from envy. - Sancho Panza p 490

"There is no arguing against written proof, because if you cut the deck you dont deal, and a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. And I say that a womans advice is no jewel, and the man who doesnt take it is a fool", said Sancho.
"And I say that as well", responded Don Quixote. "Continue, Sancho my friend, go on, for today you are speaking pearls".
"The fact is", responded Sancho, "that as your grace knows very well were all subject to death, here today and gone tomorrow and the lamb goes as quickly as the sheep and nobody can promise himself more hours of life in this world than the ones God wants to give him, because death is silent, and when she comes knocking at the door of our life, shes always in a hurry, and nothing will stop her, not prayers or struggles or scepters or miters and thats something that everybody hears, something they tell us from the pulpit".

"And so, O Sancho, our actions must not go beyond the limits placed there by the Christian religion, which we profess. We must slay pride by slaying giants; slay envy with generosity and a good heart; anger with serene bearing and tranquility of spirit; gluttony and sleep by eating little and watching always; lust and lasciviousness by maitaining our fealty toward those whome we have made mistresses of our thoughts; sloth by wandering everywhere in the world." - DQ p. 506

"The conqueror enjoys more fame and glory the greater the distinction of the vanquished"

Don Lorenzo said to DQ "it seems to me that your grace has spent time in school: what sciences have you studied?"
"The science of knight errantry." responded DQ "which as good as poetry, perhaps even a little better".
"I dont know that science" replied Don Lorenzo. "i havent heard of it until now."
"It is a science," replied DQ, "that contains all or most of the sciences in the world, because the man who professes it must be a jurist and know the laws distributive and commutative justice so that he may give to each person what is his and what he ought to have; he must be a theologian so that he may know how to explain the Christian law he professes, clearly and distinctly, no matter where he is asked to do so, he must be a physician, and principally an herbalist, so that he may know, in the midst of wastelands and deserts, the herbs that have the virtue to heal wounds, for the knight errant cannot always go looking for someone to heal him; he must be an astrologer, so that he can tell by the stars how many hours of the night have passed, and in what part and climate of the world he finds himself; he must know mathematics, because at every step he will have need of them; and leaving aside the fact that he must be adorned with all the theological and cardianal virtues, and descending to the small details, i say that he must know how to swim as well as they say the fishman Nicolas could swim; he must know how to shoe a horse and repari a saddle and bridle; and returning to what was said before, he must keep his faith in God and in his lady; he must be chast in his thoughts, honest in his words, liberal in his actions, valiant in his deeds, long-suffering in his afflications, charitable with those in need, and , finally, an upholder of Truth, even if it costs him life to defend it. Of all these great and trival parts a good knight erratnt is compsed, and so your grace may judge, Senor Don Lorenzo if the sience learned by the knight who studies and professes it is a shallow one, and if it can be compared to the noblest that are taught in colleges and schools."
"If this is true", replied Don Lorenzo, "i say that this science surpasses all of them." p 570

"If my was would be an is,
not waiting for a will be,
or if at last the time would come
when later is now and here

At last, since all things pass,
the good that Fortune gave me
passed too, though once o ervflowing
and never to me returned
neither scant nor in abundance.
Not for centureies, O Fortune,
have you seen me at your feet;
make me contented once more;
my great good fortune will be
if my was would be an is.

I wish no joy or glory,
neither honor nor victory,
no other triumph or conquest,
but to return to the joy
thats nothing but grief in memory.
If you can return me there
O Fortune, this fiery torment
will ease; do it now, i pray,
not waiting for a will be.

What i ask is the impossible,
for there is no force on earth
that has the power to turn
back time that has passed us by,
to bring back what once was ours.
Time races, it flies, it charges
past, and will never return,
and only a fool would beg
a halt, or if the time would pass,
or if at last the time would come.

I live a life of perplexity,
torn between hoping and fear:
this is a death in life for me;
much better to end my sorrow
and die the death in life for me;
much better to end my sorrow
and die the death of the tomb.
And though my wish is to end
my life, my reason tells me no,
and hands me back my gloomy life
in terror of that after time
when later is now and here.
p 572


I am a god most powerful
in the air and on the land
and the wide, wind driven sea,
and in the fiery pit
and the fearful hell it contains.
Fears something ive never known;
whatever i wish i can do,
thought it may well be impossible;
in the realm of the possible i rule,
and give and take away at will.
p 587

"You do not understand me Sancho; i mean only that he must have made some agreement with the devil to grant this talent to the monkey so that Master Pedro could earn his living, and when he is rich the devil will take his soul, which is precisely what the universal enemy wishes. And what makes me believe this is seeing that the monkey replies only to past or present things, which is as far as the devils knowledge can go; future things cannot be known except through conjecture, and only occasionally, for knowing all times and moments is reserved to God alone, and for Hi there is no past or future: everything is present. AAnd this being true, as it is, it is clear that this monkey speaks in the style of the devil, and i am amazed that he has not been dencounced to the Holy Office, and examined and forced to tell by whoese power he divines" - DQ p 626

"For time which reveals all things, brings everything into the light of day even if it is hidden in the bowels of the earth." - DQ p 628

"Lean against a sturdy trunk if you want good shade" - Sancho p667

"Youre right" said the dutchess, "because nobody is born knowing and bishops are made from men, not stones". p680

"...and be advised, Sancho, that works of charity performed in a lukewarm and halfhearted way have no merit and are worth nothing" - dutchess p 697

"If you happen to bend the staff of justice, let it be with the weight not of a gift, but of mercy. If you judge the case of one of your enemies, put your injury out of your mind and turn your thoughts to the truth of the question..... if a beautiful woman comes to you to plead for justice, turn your eyes from her tears and your ears from her sobs and consider without haste the substance of what she is asking if you do not want your reason to be drowned in her weeping and your goodness in her sighs. If you must punish a man with deeds, do not abuse him with words, for the pain of punishment is enough for the unfortunate man without the addition of malicious speech. Consider the culprit who falls under your jurisdiction as a fallen man subject to the conditions of our depraved nature and to the extent that you can, without doing injury to the opposing party, show him compassion and clemency, because although all the attributes of God are equal, in our view mercy is more brilliant and splended that justice..........be moderate in your sleeping, for the man who does not get up with the sun does not possess the day; and remember, Sancho, that diligence is the mother of good fortune, and sloth her oppsite, never reached the conclusion demanded by good intentions." - advice from DQ to Sancho before he becomes governor. p 732, 734

"everyones equal when they sleep, the great and the small, the poor and the rich" - Sancho p 737

"When i expected to hear news of your negligence and impertinence, Sancho my friend, i have heard about your intelligence, for which i gave special thanks to heaven, which can raise the poor from the dungheap, and make wise men out of fools. They tell me that you govern as if you were a man, and that you are a man as if you were an animal, so humbly do you behave; and i want you to be aware Sancho, that many times it is proper and necessary because of the authority of ones position, to contravene the humility of ones heart, because the admirable qualities in the person who hold high office ought to conform to the demands of the office, not the measures to which his humble state inclines him..........Write to your lord and lady and show them that you are grateful, for ingratitude is the daughter of pride and one of the greatest sins we know, while the person who is grateful to those who have granted him benefits indicates that he will also be grateful to God who has granted and continues to grant him so many." - letter to Sancho after hearing of his success of governor. p793

"I intend to leave this life of leisure very soon, for i was not born to be idle" - DQ p 794

"To believe that the things of this life will endure forver, unchanged, is to believe the impossible; it seems instead that everything goes around, I mean around in a circle: spring pursues summer, summer pursues estio, estio pursues autumn, autumn pursues winter, and winter pursues spring, and in this way time turns around a continuous wheel; only human life races to its end more quickly than time, with no hope for renewal except in the next life, which has no boundaries that limit it." cervantes narraration. p 804

"May Barabas go with you; you belong to him". ' Altisidora p 830

"Freedom Sancho is one of the most precious gifts heaven gave to men; the treasures under the earth and beneath the sea cannot compare to it; for freedom as well as for honor, one can and should risk ones life, while captivity, on the other hand, is the greatest evil that can befall men. I say this Sancho, because you have clearly seen the luxury and abundance we have enjoyed in this castle that we are leaving, but in the midst of those flavorful banquets and those drinks as cool as snow it seemed as if i were suffering the pangs of hunger because i could not enjoy them with freedom i would have had if they had been mine; the obligations to repay the benefits and kindnesses we ahve received are bonds that hobble a free spirit. Fortunate is the man to whom heaven has given a piece of bread with no obligation to thank anyone but heaven itself!". - DQ p832

Then they removed another cloth and it covered the fall of St. Paul from his horse, with all the details that are usually depicted in images of his conversion. It looked so lifelike that one would say that Christ was speaking and Paul responding. "This" said Don Quixote, "was the greatest enemy of the Church of God our Lord had at the time and the greatest defender it will ever have; a knight errant in life, and a steadfast saint in death, a tireless worker in the vineyard of the Lord, a teacher of peoples whose school was heaven and whose profeessor and master was Jesus Christ himself." p834

"You should know Sancho" said DQ "that love shows no restraint, and does not keep within the bounds of reason as it proceeds, and has the same character as death; it attacks noble palaces of kings as well as the poor huts of shepherds and when it takes full possession of a heart, the first thing it does is to take away fear and shame." p 836

"Althought some may say pride is the greatest sin men commit, I say it is ingratitude, for i am guided by the adage that sells hell is filled with the ungrateful. This sin is one i have attempted to flee, as much as it was posible for me to do so, since i first reached the age of reason; if i cannot repay the good deeds done for me with other deeds, in their place i put the desire i have to perform them, and if that is not enough, i proclaim those good deeds far and wide, because the person who tells about and proclaims the good deeds that ahve been performed on his behalf would also recompense them with other deeds if he could, because most of the time those who receive are subordinate to those who give; therefore God is above us all, because He gives to us all, and the gifts of man cannot be compared to those of God, for they are separated by an infinite distance; this paucity and dearth in a certain sesnse, can be made up for by gratitude. And I, grateful for the kindness shown to me here, and not being able to correspond in kind for i am restrained by the narrow limitations of my means, offer what little i can and able to do" DQ p 839

"These are the kinds of books, although there are a good number of them, which ought to be printed, because there are countless sinners, and infinite illumination is needed for so many who are unenlightnend." - DQ p874

"I only understand that while Im sleeping i have no fear or hope or trouble or glory; blessed be whoever invented sleep, the mantle that covers all human thought, the food that satisfies hunger, the water that quenches thirst, the fire that warms the cold, the cold that cools down ardor, and finally the general coin with which all things are bought, the scale and balance that make the shephard equal to the king, and the simple man equal to the wise." - Sancho p904

"you are right Sancho", said DQ "because this painter is like Orbaneja, a painter in Ubeda who when asked what he was painting would respond Whatever comes out. And if he happened to be painting would a rooster he would write beneath it; this is a rooster so that no one would think it was a fox. And that it seems to me Sancho, is how the painter or writer - for it amounts to the same thing - must be who brought out the history of this new DQ ; he painted or wrote whatever came out". p 923