Travels in the Scriptorium - Paul Auster

« When they finally put me up against the wall and aim their rifles at my body, the only thing I will ask of them is to remove the blindfold. It’s not that I have any interest in seeing the men who kill me, but I want to be able to look at the sky again. »

« The pajamas bottoms fall to his ankles ; he sits down on the toilet seat ; his bladder and bowels prepare to evacuate their pent-up liquids and solids. Urine flows from his penis, first one stool and then a second stool slide from his anus, and so good does it feel to be relieving himself in this manner that he forgets the sorow that took hold of him just moments before. Of course he can manage on his own, he tells himself. He’s been doing ite ver since he was a little boy, and when it comes to pissing and shitting, he’s as capable as any person in the world. Not only that, but he’s an expert at wiping his ass as well. »

« These are treacherous times, and I knowhow easily perceptions can be twistedby a single word spoken into the wrong ear. »

« The incident occured on a Friday night in November when a man named Giles McNaughto claimed that I attacked him first, but eleven witnesses testified otherwise in court, and I was acquitted of all charges. »

« what he remembers most keenly now is the sensation of having entered a new world, a world in which holding a girl’s hand was as good to be desired above all others and such was his ardor for this young creature whose name began with the letter  S that once they stopped skating and sat down on a tree stump at the edge of the pond, Master Blank was bold enough to lean forward and kiss her on the lips. »

«The pictures do not lie, but neither do they tell the whole story. They are merely a record of time passing, the outward evidence.”

“I walk around the world like a ghost, and sometimes I question
whether I even exist. Whether I've ever existed at all.”

“So it goes as I work my way down the page, and each cluster of marks is a
word, and each word is a sound in my head, and each time I write another
word, I hear the sound of my own voice, even though my lips are silent.”

Travels in the Scriptorium – Paul Auster