Read Mărturisiri şi anateme by Emil M. Cioran Emanoil Marcu Online

mrturisiri-i-anateme

„În orice carte in care Fragmentul e rege adevarurile si extravagantele merg mana-n mana de la un capat la altul. Cum sa le separam, cum sa stim care este convingere si care capriciu? Cutare gand, fruct al clipei, il precede sau urmeaza pe altul, care, insotind o intreaga existenta, se inalta la rang de obsesie. Cel ce trebuie sa aleaga e cititorul, de vreme ce, nu in puti„În orice carte in care Fragmentul e rege adevarurile si extravagantele merg mana-n mana de la un capat la altul. Cum sa le separam, cum sa stim care este convingere si care capriciu? Cutare gand, fruct al clipei, il precede sau urmeaza pe altul, care, insotind o intreaga existenta, se inalta la rang de obsesie. Cel ce trebuie sa aleaga e cititorul, de vreme ce, nu in putine cazuri, autorul insusi ezita sa se pronunte. Marturisiri si anateme fiind o succesiune de perplexitati, se vor gasi aici intrebari – dar nici un raspuns. De altfel, ce raspuns? Daca ar fi vreunul, l-am cunoaste, spre disperarea impatimitilor stuporii.“Cioran...

Title : Mărturisiri şi anateme
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ISBN : 9732807512
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 176 Pages
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Mărturisiri şi anateme Reviews

  • Szplug
    2019-02-19 02:36

    Solitude: so fulfilling that the merest rendezvous is a crucifixion.It doesn't matter that Cioran didn't pursue his own nihilognostic solution, that he occasionally dialed up the bile til it verged upon the ridiculous—I love the way the man used words in pursuit of his wryly bleak slandering of the universe. Whistling whilst scrubbing, indeed.His essays on Beckett, Fitzgerald, Eliade, Borges, Valéry, and—in a most double-barreled release of reactionary vivification—de Maistre show how sharp that mind was, though it raved where the oxygen was bled to the point of vacuum. Four plus one half of a stellar unit rounded down due to the fact that the dark energy and impish bleakness of his gall are not as fresh for me as they once were.I want to write only in an explosive state, in a fever or under great nervous tension, in an atmosphere of settling accounts, where invectives replace blows and slaps. It usually begins this way: a faint trembling that becomes stronger and stronger, as after an insult one has swallowed without responding.Writing is a provocation, a fortunately false view of reality that sets us above what is and what seems to be...to rival God, even to exceed him by the mere virtue of language: such is the feat of the writer, who, having forsaken his natural condition, has given himself up to a splendid vertigo, always dismaying, sometimes odious.Writing is a vice one can weary of. In truth, I write less and less, and I shall doubtless end up no longer writing at all, no longer finding the least charm in this combat with others and myself.When one attacks a subject, however ordinary, one experiences a feeling of plenitude, accompanied by a touch of arrogance. A phenomenon stranger still: that sensation of superiority when one describes a figure one admires. In the middle of a sentence, how easily one believes oneself the center of the world! Writing and worship do not go together: like it or not, to speak of God is to regard Him from on high. Writings is the creature's revenge, and his answer to a botched creation.

  • Cristina
    2019-02-07 20:55

    Mi-a fost atât de dor de ceva care să nu fie în legătură cu Dreptul. Și mai ales ce dor mi-a fost de domnul Cioran, în profunzimea și simplitatea lui cinică. Sufletul și inima mea, pot reveni la Drept cu o adevărată gură de aer proaspăt luat pe drum spre Cluj, 4 ore jumătate„Crâmpeie, gânduri trecătoare, spui tu. Dar pot fi ele numite trecătoare când este vorba de obsesii, de gânduri a căror esență e tocmai că nu trec?”

  • Jim
    2019-02-03 00:46

    Sometimes it is possible to learn from an idiot. I read a library copy of Cioran's Anathemas and Admirations annotated by some young soi-disant deep thinker who has taken Philosophy 101 and is ready to take on the world. On the title page, under "Anathemas and Admirations," he has added "and Self-Pity." Throughout the book, his marginalia are critical of E. M. Cioran without the slightest understanding of what he is about, what he has been through, and what is his contribution to Western thinking.Born in Sibiu, Transylvania, of Hungarian- and Romanian-speaking parents, Cioran began by worshiping false gods (much like our phantom annotator/vandal), including Nazism in the Germany of the 1930s and the Fascistic Iron Guard in Romania. In 1937, he moved to France and lived there until his death in 1995. His writings are marked by a deep pessimism that runs directly counter to the manic optimism of much of American thought. In an appreciation of Guido Ceronetti, he wrote, "Of all creatures, the least intolerable are those who hate human beings. Never run away from a misanthrope."I am sure that our library book desecrator was so dismayed by aphorisms such as the following that his acne medication failed him:"Except for music, everything is a lie, even solitude, even ecstasy. Music, in fact, is the one and the other, only better.""In Vedic mythology, anyone raising himself by knowledge upsets the comfort of Heaven. The gods, ever watchful, live in terror of being outclassed. Did the Boss of Genesis behave any differently? Did he not spy on man because he feared him? Because he saw him as a rival? Under these conditions, one understands the great mystics' desire to flee God, His limits and His woes, in order to seek boundlessness in the Godhead.""I had gone far in search of the sun, and the sun, found at last, was hostile to me. And if I were to fling myself off a cliff? While I was making such rather grim speculations, considering these pines, these rocks, these waves, I suddenly felt how bound I was to this lovely, accursed universe."To have seen one's youthful idols crushed by a brutal war followed by a half century of exile, one could expect to be pessimistic, even suicidal. Reading his book, however, I noticed shafts of light breaking through the gloom. Perhaps, being an Eastern European myself, I understand the doom and gloom of my Hungarian forebears who had the misfortune of living smack in the middle of one of the two main invasion paths into Europe (or, conversely, into Russia). Most of the "German" dead at Stalingrad were actually Romanians and Hungarians, who were dragooned into fighting for the Master Race.Among other things, Cioran's book contains one of the best treatments of Jorge Luis Borges and Honoré de Balzac I have ever seen in any book. As I return the library book, I have already ordered copies of two more of Cioran's books. Don't read him if you are prey to depression, and, probably, don't read him until you yourself have been "nicked by the scythe" of the Grim Reaper: Cioran is not for the young. But he is a surprisingly insightful thinker who, unlike many current philosophers, does not hide his gems behind an artificial and unapproachable terminology.

  • S©aP
    2019-02-21 23:49

    E' curioso notare come il cinismo, se dichiarato, incontri un fastidio diffuso, quasi unanime, mentre invece è agnosticamente applicato in quasi ogni scelta, atteggiamento e dinamica sociale. E' altrettanto singolare percepire l'enorme distanza (e il pari fastidio) che separa l'uomo pragmatico di oggi dal concetto classico di speculazione filosofica. Oppure constatare la totale ignoranza del concetto stesso, di cui non resta in società neanche l'ombra liceale. Come se proprio il pragmatismo non traesse, invece, in ogni momento la sua intima ragion d'essere dal presupposto cinico di una razionale, e sempre più diffusa, sfiducia.Forse è per questo che il nome di Emil Cioran, introdotto in conversazioni amichevoli, genera espressioni di disagio e cambi repentini di discorso. Quando non per ignoranza, circa il personaggio e i suoi scritti, è per una sostanziale mancanza d'ironia, figlia di ragionamenti poco sereni. Già. Oltre alla consapevolezza dell'impossibilità umana a percepire ragioni valide del Tutto, il pensiero di Cioran è - a mio avviso - pervaso proprio da una sottilissima ironia; rivolta su di sé e sul genere umano. Questa è percepibile, però, solo se si mantiene un equilibrato, curioso, assertivo e bonario distacco dalle cose e dai pensieri. Se si specula, quindi. Altrimenti, sofferenza e rifiuto sono l'unica risultante dello specchio. Non è solo una mia impressione. È anche quella della piccolissima e convintissima schiera di veri tifosi che il pensatore rumeno annovera.Quanto al libro in sé: è l'ultima raccolta di pensieri e aforismi pubblicata in vita dall'autore (1987). Come giustamente sottolineato da altri, va letto a piccole dosi estemporanee, con una matita pronta alla sottolineatura, o all'appunto scritto. Disposti, come sempre e come giusto, a partire da lì, piuttosto che speranzosi di trovare approdo.

  • soulAdmitted
    2019-02-16 22:46

    "'Sono un vigliacco. Non posso sopportare la sofferenza di essere felice'. Per penetrare qualcuno, per conoscerlo davvero, mi basta vedere come reagisce a questa confessione di Keats. Se non capisce subito, inutile continuare."D'accordo. Ora però un po' di tregua, Cioran. Facciamo per tre pagine. Dai. Anzi, ogni tre pagine, ecco.(Sento che stai sentendo che la mia richiesta è menzognera. Non ti sfugge niente, Emil Michel).

  • Stela
    2019-02-01 19:59

    « Je vois énormément et je sens monstrueusement », s’écriait un grand dramaturge roumain du 19e siècle. Pour s’en échapper, il s’est réfugié dans l’ironie en choisissant la comédie.Un siècle plus tard à peu près, Cioran, en souffrant de la même déformation de vue et de sensation, trouve son refuge dans la moquerie et l’auto-ironie, qui semblent surclasser dans son œuvre le pessimisme, la désolation et la mélancolie. Car ce rire-pleurer a été toujours un trait distinctif du Roumain, connu pour son habitude de prendre tout, apparemment, à la légère, de se rire de ses malheurs et, évidemment, de ceux des autres, de se douter de tout, même de sa propre sincérité. Comme dit l’auteur même : Excédé par tous. Mais j’aime rire. Et je ne peux pas rire seul. C’est pourquoi les aveux de Cioran sont en premier lieu des anathèmes jetés aux thèmes ô, si importants et sérieux pour l’homme. Car l'homme étant un être né sous le signe de l’éphémère, le sérieux ne pourrait que l’écraser. La moquerie est donc sa forme de résistance devant l’abîme qui le fixe incessamment, pour emprunter une image nietzschéenne. L’ironie, cette impertinence nuancée, légèrement fielleuse, est l’art de savoir s’arrêter. Le moindre approfondissement l’anéantit. Si vous avez tendance à insister, vous courez le risque de sombrer avec elle. Et encore : Le dernier poète important de Rome, Juvénal, le dernier écrivain marquant de la Grèce, Lucien, ont travaillé dans l’ironie. Deux littératures qui finirent par elle. Comme tout, littérature ou non, devrait finir. Dans le fond, qu’est-ce que l’ironie, sinon une désacralisation par familiarisation ? On descend les grands thèmes de leur socle poussiéreux et on les traite sans trop de manières, car à l’orée du périssable on trouve du ridicule même dans le tragique :N’avoir rien accompli et mourir en surmené. On croit que l’amour « move il sole e l’altre stelle » ? Pas nécessairement vrai lorsqu’on se rend compte qu’il y comprend une sorte de méchanceté (« Lorsqu’on aime quelqu’un, on souhaite, pour lui être plus attaché, qu’un grand malheur le frappe. »), voire d’impossibilité d’exister (« Aimer son prochain est chose inconcevable. Est-ce qu’on demande à un virus d’aimer un autre virus ? »)Pense-t-on à la mort comme à une chose définitive et désolante ? Elle est plutôt chose commune (« Il faut une immense humilité pour mourir. L’étrange est que tout le monde en fasse preuve. »), quand elle n’est pas vue comme un échec (« On s’accommode tant bien que mal à n’importe quel fiasco, à l’exception de la mort, du fiasco même. »), ou, plus simplement, comme une petite affaire personnelle (« Mourir c’est prouver que l’on connaît son intérêt. »)Serait-il le suicide une reconnaissance de la futilité de la vie comme le proclamait Camus ? Non, plutôt une privation d’amusement : « Se débarrasser de la vie, c’est se priver du bonheur de s’en moquer. »Est-on en quête de l’absolu ? Voici la plus facile méthode de le découvrir : « Pour entrevoir l’essentiel, il ne faut exercer aucun métier. Rester toute la journée allongé, et gémir… »En effet, toutes les grandes questions reçoivent des réponses qui les dégonflent sur-le-champ : Comment ai-je pu me résigner un seul instant à ce qui n’est pas éternel ? – Pourtant cela m’arrive, en ce moment par exemple.Le mécanisme de l’ironie est souvent le paradoxe (« Chacun s’agrippe comme il peut à sa mauvaise étoile. ») ou l’oxymoron (« Ce qui est merveilleux, c’est que chaque jour nous apporte une nouvelle raison de disparaître. ») Il s’ensuit que les gens deviennent des créatures bizarres, à être étudiées ou (le plus souvent) rejetées : un mendiant allemand reste toujours Allemand, car «…on n’appartient pas impunément à une nation didactique. Je le regardai quémander : il avait l’air d’avoir suivi des cours de mendicité.»L’explication d’un psychiatre américain qu’il s’est élagué à un séquoia pour le punir qu’il durera plus longtemps que lui le fait s'esclaffer : «…C’est à vous dégoûter à jamais de toute explication profonde. » Un tel « dérangé » le noie dans des banalités parsemées des remarques à la fois crétines et géniales. L’explication ? « Il faut bien que la dislocation du cerveau serve à quelque chose. » Dans ces conditions, pas surprenant qu’il décrète malicieusement: L’homme va disparaître, c’était jusqu’à présent ma ferme conviction. Entre-temps j’ai changé d’avis : il doit disparaître L’image que ce beau livre tente d’imposer est celle d’un esprit en train de « frôler la poussière en quête d’un mystère dépourvu du sérieux. »Même les paroles finales sont lourdes d’ironie derrière une fausse humilité : Après tout, je n’ai pas perdu mon temps, moi aussi je me suis trémoussé, comme tout un chacun, dans cet univers aberrant.Contredisant les hommes et le Dieu, convoitant sa place dans le nirvâna avec toute l’humanité, sa forme de résistance à l’agression de la vulgarité de l’éphémère semble être surtout le sens du ridicule qui remplace le ton élégiaque avec la réplique sarcastique : Tout se dégrade depuis toujours. Ce diagnostic une fois bien établi, on peut débiter n’importe quelle outrance, on y est même obligé.

  • David M
    2019-01-24 22:36

    (Cioran is one of those writers from middle Europe I'd never have heard of without Susan Sontag's not-so-gentle guidance. In this case I'm not sure I would have been much worse off. Walter Benjamin he was not. Hysterical, infuriating, and always kind of embarrassing. Nonetheless, I used to read him a lot. For some reason I found him easy to inhale. If memory serves this was my favorite of his books. This one contains actual, substantial essays - as opposed to his usual "aphorisms," little smears of blood and feces - appreciations of Beckett and Valery, and a powerful memoir of insomnia.)

  • Dara Rivera
    2019-02-16 19:47

    Con todo el pesimismo que Cioran carga, en algún punto llega la risa y el sentimiento de que todo estará bien. supongo que no era su intención, o tal vez sí, pero me resultó un buen exorcismo. Hay aforismos hermosos sobre la sabiduría, el desamor, el desencanto, Dios, las amistades y la envidia. A mí me gustaba abrir una página al azar y leer uno de los 6 o 7 que aparecían.

  • Alex Boantă
    2019-01-23 23:42

    "Spectacolul unei femei vesele întrece în vulgaritate vulgaritatea însăşi."

  • Marius Ghencea
    2019-01-22 22:48

    "Non chiedere mai al linguaggio di fare uno sforzo sproporzionato alla sua capacità naturale, in ogni caso non sforzarlo a dare il massimo. Evitiamo le promesse esagerate delle parole, per paura che, sfinite, non possano più tirarsi dietro il fardello di un significato."

  • Mike
    2019-02-21 18:40

    Call him a pessimist, cynic, misanthrope, grump, fatalist, or just plain catty douchebag, E.M. Cioran's aphorisms are fucking hilarious. I laughed out loud so much during his aphorisms sections of this book. Some of them are so off the mark stupid, some of them just hysterical or melodramatic, but some - well, most - are so hilariously crabby that there's not much to do when looking into the abyss with him but laugh. I can't tell you how many times I've put a check-mark next to one or wrote "haha" next. Plenty of time cracking up on his hysterical pessimism, his melodramatic wit and hypersensitive cleverness. Outside of the aphorisms - which will always be a mixed bag but what gems indeed are the gems, and, indeed, different gems for different people make it more than worth navigating them - the admirations here are utterly striking. Even if one is not read-up on a lot of the figures discussed (Maistre or Valery are examples for me), the insight into what is being said about them - and about the characters of each - is astounding. Particularly with regard to Valery's idolizing his own mind (in the original sense of the word 'idol') did I feel some personal resonance. As a practitioner of therapy and somewhat of an addict of education, it hit me close to home...that's right, me, with so little breadth or depth of knowledge about these authors in particular. And it is such a noble task to put an outlier/outsider of thought into a parallel historical context. I thought Robinson was quite noble and scholarly in her attempt to rescue Calvin from his predestination-related public relations predicament. Ditto with Cioran's stunning work on Maistre.His valentines to Beckett and Borges are similarly delightful. There are some slight essays clumped together at the book's end that are fatiguing by the time on approaches them. But nary a familiarization with the abstruse topics presented in the admirations stop them from being a nice brilliant pond to take a dip in. Also, just dig through Goodreads quotes of this man - or sample the first several pages of 'All Gall Is Divided' on Amazon - to get a taste of his sense of humor. I may be laughing at him, with him, or both, but it's no matter. It's cutting satire, hilariously existential, and he's an unabashed musicophile. And he adores Borges. Of course I'll dig the guy.

  • Pripri
    2019-02-19 23:41

    Nous y revoilà, avec le dernier tome de la confession de Cioran. Le titre est comme toujours élégant et, cette fois, presque alchimique. Toute l'œuvre de Cioran se voit résumée à l'essentiel : les aveux d'un homme assailli depuis toujours par l'absurdité de l'existence limitée et les anathèmes qui en découlèrent. On sait que Cioran avait un sang plutôt chaud et que c'est cette même force que le poison de la pensée de la mort a utilisée contre lui. Après avoir cru pouvoir atteindre le renoncement, si cher à ses orientaleries, le vieux Cioran retourne à ses amours dégonflées. C'est "De l'inconvénient d'être né" sans les épanchements romantiques saupoudré d'un dernier tour de manège de formules tranchantes. Le livre n'est pas parfait, comme à l'accoutumée, certains aphorismes se répètent et ce sont souvent ceux-là qui lui font lâcher une bêtise amère. Du scepticisme froid et désespéré du "Précis de décomposition", il reste les conclusions sans la profondeur des développements. D'"Histoire et Utopie" il ne doit pas rester grand chose. Au contraire du "Sur les cimes du désespoir" qui annonçait déjà tout Cioran, antisémitisme passager excepté peut-être. Alors on finit Aveux et anathèmes un peu sur sa faim, l'éclat des deux premiers tiers s'éloignant petit à petit pour laisser place à la morosité trop répétée des cueille-cafards. Les trois derniers aphorismes, chacun à leur manière, résument pourtant avec un art consumé du classicisme toute la fécondité de l'aphoriste. "Tant qu'il y aurait encore un seul dieu debout [souligné], la tâche de l'homme ne sera pas finie.*Le règne de l'insoluble s'étend à vue d'œil. La satisfaction qu'on en ressent est cependant mitigée. Quelle meilleur épreuve que nous sommes dès l'origine contaminés par l'espoir ?*Après tout, je n'ai pas perdu mon temps, moi aussi je me suis trémoussé, comme tout un chacun, dans cet univers aberrant."(février)

  • Andrew
    2019-02-12 20:38

    Cioran's a bitch. A little bitch. He definitely values being clever-as-all-hell over being right or even consistent. My high school gym teacher back in Iowa probably would have called him a "wiseacre" or some such thing. When smart, continental types publish volumes of essays, we the readers generally get a good idea of who they as people are. Walter Benjamin, Roland Barthes, Susan Sontag... all probably great people to have a beer with. Cioran would probably stub his cigarette out in your sandwich.But he's so clever, and his aphorisms are really enjoyable. Not having read a fair amount of the source material he references, I can't speak for most of his longer pieces, but the aphorisms are witty little lines that are probably great for dropping at parties.

  • Algirdas Brukštus
    2019-01-26 20:56

    Toks pesimizmas, kad net saldu.

  • Maurizio Manco
    2019-02-07 00:39

    "Dopo tutto non ho perso il mio tempo, anch’io mi sono dimenato, come chiunque altro, in questo universo aberrante." (p. 133)

  • Eduardo Medina
    2019-01-23 18:31

    Todo un clásico de la depresión y el odio al Yo y lo vinculante.

  • Maria Petrova
    2019-02-12 19:44

    Просто сборник глубокомысленных цитат для вк какой-то

  • Farhan Khalid
    2019-01-23 02:48

    Nirvana Has been compared to a mirror that no longer reflects any object. To a mirror, then, forever pure, forever unemployedApparently matter, jealous of life, seeks to discover its week points and to punish its initiatives, its betrayals. For life is life only by infidelity to matterBoredom is indeed a form of anxiety, but an anxiety purged of fear. When we are bored we dread nothing except boredom itselfThe Ancients mistrusted success because they feared not only the gods' jealously but, even more, the danger of an inner imbalance linked to any success as such. To have understood this jeopardy—how far beyond us they were!Tyranny destroys or strengthens the individual. Freedom enervates him, until he becomes no more than a puppet. Man has more chances of saving himself by hell than paradiseFragments, fugitive thoughts, you say. Can you call them fugitive when you are dealing with obsessionsReligions, like the ideologies that have inherited their vices, are reduce to crusades against humorCriticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselvesAll is transitory (Buddha)The classes of human misery: Sickness, death, doubtThe end of humanity will come when everyone is like meExcept for music, everything is a lie, even solitude, even ecstasyFor a writer, to change languages is to write a love letter with a dictionaryTo have accomplished nothing and to die overworkedThe more you loath humanity, the riper you are for God, for a dialogue with no oneThe fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live—moreover, the only oneIt is never ideas we should speak of, only sensations and visions—for ideas do not proceed from our entrails, ideas are never truly oursRavaged by boredom, that cyclone in slow motionThe surest means of not losing your mind on the spot: remembering that everything is unreal, and will remain soEverything is compatible with everythingMy mission is to see things as they are. Exactly the contrary of a missionThe pure passing of time, reduced to an essence of flux, without the discontinuity of the moments, is realized in our sleepless nights. Everything vanishes. Silence invades—everywhere. We listen. We hear nothingSeriousness is not involved in the definition of existence, tragedy is. Since it implies a notion of risk, of gratuitous disaster, whereas what is serious postulates a goalThe depth of passion is measured by the low feelings it involves—feelings that guarantees its intensity and its continuanceMelancholy feeds on itself, and that is why it cannot renew itselfHe [Beckett] lives not in time but parallel to itWords: who have loved has loved them as much as heHe [Joyce] accepted everything. For him, there was no difference between the fall of a bomb and the fall of a leafIt is not by genius, it is by suffering, by suffering only, that one ceases to be a marionetteYour truths make it impossible to breatheMan is not content to be man. But he doesn’t know what to revert to, nor how to recover a state of which he has no clear memoryMan proceeds from one chaos to anotherThe more one has suffered, the less one demands. To protest is a sign one has traversed no hellI should like to forget everything and waken to a light before timeMelancholy redeems this universe, and yet it is melancholy that separates us from itOur place is somewhere between being and nonbeingThe publication of a book involves the same kinds of problems as a marriage or a funeralTo read is to let someone else work for you—the most delicate form of exploitationTo die is to change genre, to renew oneselfIt is characteristic of pain not to be ashamed of repeatingWhat is marvelous is that each day brings us a new reason to disappearIn order to deceive melancholy, you must keep moving. Once you stop, it wakensThe world is an accident of GodThe misfortune of being recognized has befallen him [Borges]. He deserved better. He deserved to remain in obscurity

  • Gustman17
    2019-02-17 01:49

    [Leído en una edición publicada por Ediciones La Horca, editorial chilena independiente]Que una persona X, un fulano John Doe cualquiera, tome un lápiz o un teclado, y comience a escribir por libertad propia --careciendo de cualquier recurso formal o incluso informal (como el internet o clubes de lectura) que mediase entre la intención/inspiración/objetivo de su escritura y el resultado final de su febril ensayo-- y acabe por producir un producto satisfactorio, es un juicio que queda sujeto al lector. En mi situación personal, mido el éxito de mi menos-que-amateur escrito por la sensación de catarsis posterior al vómito de palabras y su posterior lectura, sea esta inmediata o muy posterior al momento de la escrituraUno pudiera preguntarse la intención detrás de los aforismos irónicos, pesimistas, muchas veces bellos como muchas veces graciosos, del filósofo rumano Cioran. Si bien en entrevistas se refiere de forma muy autodespreciativa a su propia obra, creo que cuando, en sus febriles arranques de negativas pasiones, escribe pequeñas invectivas como flechas contra el tiempo, y luego se apacigua medianamente satisfecho de su ataque contra sus propias pasiones. Diría que la escritura es la terapia de Cioran para mantenerse vivo y vivaz, como aprovechamiento de su soledad.Ahora, Cioran no es un John Doe cualquiera, y el poder de sus aforismos trasciende la descarga catártica del sujeto que las escribió hacia un público enfermo de la vida que requiere, de vez en cuando, pastillas contra los sentidos penosos que se asoman en recortes contingentes de su desarrollo vital. Se diría que uno se siente comprendido por Cioran, o se identifica con él y se siente satisfecho de la escritura vicaria así realizada, con sus cuidadosas e ingeniosas formas para dudar y despreciar en momentos donde la duda y la destrucción son necesarias para las defensas yoica--o bien, para destruirlas.Pero no son solo noches de melancolía donde uno puede servirse del ingenio del moderno cínico; leído en cualquier otra oportunidad, uno puede disfrutar del humor particular que algunas de sus grandilocuentes flechas apuntan.

  • Jacob Wren
    2019-02-22 00:53

    E.M. Cioran writes:Every impulse of renovation, at the very moment when it approaches its goal, when it realizes itself through the State, creeps towards the automatism of the old institutions and assumes the face of tradition. As it defines and confirms itself, it loses energy, and this is also true of ideas: the more formulated and explicit they are, the more their efficacy diminishes. A distinct idea is an idea without a future. Beyond their virtual status, thought and action degrade and annul themselves: one ends up as system, the other as power: two forms of sterility and failure. Though we can endlessly debate the destiny of revolutions, political or otherwise, a single feature is common to them all, a single certainty: the disappointment they generate in all who have believed in them with some fervor. –

  • M. D.Hudson
    2019-02-09 23:30

    I’ve never really figured out how one Cioran book is different than the other, but I love them all. Short essays interspersed with marvelously grumpy aphorisms:My mission is to see things as they are. Exactly the contrary of a mission. To have accomplished nothing and died overworked.A faith that acknowledges other faiths, that does not believe itself to possess a monopoly on truth, is doomed to ruin, abandoning the absolute that legitimizes it, resigning itself to being no more than a phenomenon of civilization, an episode, an accident. A religion’s degree of inhumanity guarantees its strength and its duration: a liberal religion is a mockery or a miracle. Punctuality, a kind of “pathology of scruple.” To be on time, I would be capable of committing a crime.

  • NhaThuyen
    2019-02-18 00:54

    such a perfect choice to read the book at a cemetery by the coast. i felt so close to the deaths and so much affection for the ravens. and my limits were changing as the color of the waves. in love with insomnia and depression. in love with the cemetery.how to transform all traumatic experiences into something playful? i have been questioning of that a lot. i am enough dark to love you, and i am too dark for you to love me and to sense my being. cioran is not too dark. is it true that there is another darkness deeper than the darkness? of books. of one's life. of love. of beauty.

  • Sergey
    2019-01-22 02:31

    Люблю поддержать праздничное настроение толковой эссеистикой: "На загнивающей планете следовало бы воздержаться от того, чтобы строить планы, но мы все равно их строим, поскольку оптимизм, как известно, — это судорога умирающего"

  • Antonio Delgado
    2019-02-20 01:55

    The grammar of living is forced to ignore music in order to exist. Music brings the none-being into existence. Words bring the unreal into the real without dualism but the indeterminate space in-between words and music.

  • Alexandra
    2019-01-26 00:54

    "Parecerse a un corredor que se detiene en plena carrera para intentar comprender qué sentido tiene correr. Meditar es un signo de sofoco"E.M. Cioran.Y este libro es un respiro de ese sofoco

  • Kenneth Fairfield
    2019-01-29 19:58

    "Connoisseur of despair"...love it!

  • Alba
    2019-02-14 18:32

    Tengo una relación complicada con este señor. Es sabio y agudo como nadie, pero dependiendo del momento en que lo lea puedo entenderlo o no.

  • Junior Velazquez Leon
    2019-02-07 01:58

    Cioran es de pinga

  • Carlos
    2019-01-27 02:56

    Tipología del fatalismo

  • Runed Platypus
    2019-02-18 01:59

    Смерть, бог, слово, Будда, бытие, музыка – основные философские размышления в книге.К середине книги увяз в самоповторах.