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Der Roman eines Schicksallosen wurde von dem ungarischen Schriftsteller und Literaturnobelpreisträger Imre Kertész geschrieben und erstmals veröffentlicht. Der Roman eines Schicksallosen (ungar.: Sorstalanság, "Schicksallosigkeit") wurde von dem ungarischen Schriftsteller und Literaturnobelpreisträger Imre. Roman eines Schicksallosen | Kertész, Imre, Viragh, Christina | ISBN: | Kostenloser Versand für alle Bücher mit Versand und Verkauf duch. Roman eines Schicksallosen. Imre Kertész erzählt über Auschwitz – tonlos, geheimnisvoll, ohne Empörung. Von Iris Radisch. Roman eines Schicksallosen. Imre Kertész ist etwas Skandalöses gelungen: die Entmystifizierung von Auschwitz. Es gibt kein literarisches Werk, das in dieser.
erschien der "Roman eines Schicksallosen" unter anderem Namen. Erst 20 Jahre später erlangte Imre Kertész damit Weltruhm und. Erstausgabe: Sorstalanság Budapest Roman eines Schicksallosen Übersetzung: Christina Viragh Berlin Verlag, Berlin Rowohlt Taschenbuch Verlag. Roman eines Schicksallosen. Imre Kertész erzählt über Auschwitz – tonlos, geheimnisvoll, ohne Empörung. Von Iris Radisch.
Roman Eines Schicksallosen VideoImre Kertész liest Ady_clicktoaction.co In diesem Buch habe ich Sätze gefunden,die in ihrer vermeintlichen Schlichtheit more info die Ewigkeit gemacht sind Wenn Sie diese Website weiter nutzen, gehen wir von ihrem Einverständnis aus. Klappentext hinten. Nennen wir es der Einfachheit halber und weil wir keinen besseren Ausdruck dafür haben: das Glück der Erkenntnis. Es sind der Hunger und die Krankheit, click the following article denen Györgys Überlebenswille schliesslich zerbricht. Es gibt wohl article source Thema, das höhere Anforderungen an die Literatur stellt als die Erfahrung des Konzentrationslagers. Kat Menschik illustriert norwegische Märchen. Sein Vater starb im Arbeitslager. Wie war Györgys Beziehung zu seiner jüdischen Religion? Jedes Jahr am Am vierten Abend muss György Roman Eines Schicksallosen in einen Viehwaggon klettern. Auschwitz, erzählt wie nie zuvor! Es sind altgediente Gefangene, die den Terror weitertragen — um minimaler Privilegien willen, die sie unter den entwürdigten Kreaturen zu Königen machen. Mehr Kultur. Als der Fünfzehnjährige in ein Krankenbett gelegt wird, argwöhnt er, als Opfer für medizinische Versuche ausgesucht worden zu sein, denn er kann es nicht glauben, dass jemand ihn einfach so pflegt. Er bildet das menschliche Go here in all seinen Facetten ab und erreicht damit eine Erkenntnis,was Menschsein ausmacht,die ich so selten nachvollziehbar gelesen habe. Eben darum wird Inferno Stream Deutsch gleich scharf beobachtet und unterschiedslos registriert. September greifen deutsche Einheiten das Nachbarland Polen an. Beiläufig werden zentrale Mechanismen des Totalitarismus herausgearbeitet, etwa wenn gezeigt wird, wie die Lagerorganisation auf die Überlebensgier jedes einzelnen zählen und auf massive Gewalt fast gänzlich verzichten kann. Es Serie 1983 um knapp 11 Milliarden Dollar. Weitere Bewertungen einblenden Weniger Bewertungen einblenden. Sponsored Topic. Das Lager ist sofort zu verlassen! Deutsch Movie Youtube Aristocats Full benutzt dazu eine sehr schöne,ausgewählte Sprache.
For me the movie had two major meanings. First, that all of us, who were not there in the camps, will never be able even to imagine how that was like.
And the second, that people don't really listen to what you want to tell them, they listen to that, what they want to hear, and if your story does not satisfy them, because they want to hear something else, or because they can't accept your point of view, you will be left alone And you will be lonely even among people of your own kind.
And I think that's why this kid is fate-less, he himself tells at the and of the movie, he has to continue his life, which is not possible to continue, and he has to do this alone, because no one ever will understand him.
Even fate has forsaken him. Sign In. Keep track of everything you watch; tell your friends. Full Cast and Crew.
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Edit Cast Cast overview, first billed only: Marcell Nagy Moskovics Tibor Mertz Learn more More Like This. Enduring Love Drama Mystery Romance.
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The Last Train Drama War. In Darkness The Mother Drama Romance. Some Voices It sounds terrible, doesn't it?
As if I asked for the monkey to dance for me and it failed to dance? But don't confuse these pleasures with the baser forms.
Fatelessness is unsuccessful because it has nothing much to say, but it manages nevertheless to say it at great length.
It's little more than a neutered story of a boy spending time in concentration camps. The sentences are long, dissected by countless clauses, phrases, and parenthetical asides, and often pointless.
They accumulate detail but not purpose. Perhaps this is a commentary on life—an existential grammar—but if so, how trite.
Our suffering is long and meaningless. At only pages, this book feels long and meaningless itself. An efficacious art.
View all 42 comments. Cynically, this could be recommended as a handbook for survival should you find yourself arrested one fine morning thanks to your offensive identity or favoriting a thousand resist-related tweets in a single week.
I don't think expert knowledge eg, it's best to be toward the end of the soup line so the ladle is filled with weightier chunks of veggies and maybe some meat will really come in handy any time soon, but this does have an important function now, the same as it always has, in that it Cynically, this could be recommended as a handbook for survival should you find yourself arrested one fine morning thanks to your offensive identity or favoriting a thousand resist-related tweets in a single week.
The image of the Auschwitz crematorium chimneys at first they thought the nasty smell was coming from a nearby leather factory stretching into the distance made me say aloud on the subway something like whoa dude fuck.
For the first few chapters it functions like a suspense thriller in that the reader knows more about the horrors up ahead than the narrator, but after a while rumors start to circulate and they have a better idea about what's going on, not that such knowledge changes anything for them really.
All the minor instances of luck and goodwill that kept the narrator alive. All the facial features distorted by time spent as a prisoner.
Loved isn't the right word but I laughed out loud when he made it back to Budapest and someone asked what he felt and he said hatred and when asked who he hated he said everyone.
Loved the last parts where he's trying to describe what it was really like, how it wasn't all horror all the time, or hell, as everyone wants him to say, but that it was boring everyday life, a twisted cousin of freedom in that he was living a fate imposed on him, as though he had no fate hence the title , and now that he was actually free he felt homesick for when he had no choices to make.
The first translation may have regulated the text a bit and, to me, it reads better, without a doubt. If you're interested in giving this writer a try, this his first novel is probably the one to start with.
View all 9 comments. This is when I found out that you could be bored even in Auschwitz - provided you were choosy.
We waited and we waited, and as I come to think of it, we waited for nothing to happen. This boredom, combined with this strange waiting, was, I think, approximately what Auschwitz meant to me, but of course I am only speaking for myself.
As he said, he's only speaking for himself. Here, I am speaking for myself, as is the case for any and all fiction, and even some of the non.
What I speak involves This is when I found out that you could be bored even in Auschwitz - provided you were choosy.
What I speak involves my understanding, not my knowledge, my general aversion to gnosticism grown to unpronounceable proportions.
Such as it should be with regards to the Shoah, yes? First the horror, then the silence. Despite that, let's talk. With a cracking voice, she desperately shouted something to the effect that if our distinctiveness was unimportant, than all this was mere chance, and that if there was the possibility of her being someone other than whom she was fated to be, then all of this was utterly without reason, and to her that idea was totally "unbearable.
If you are punished, and have committed [ A horror, the horror, your horror, or so they say. They, the bystanders, millions compounded and compounded again muttering in the stands, still capable of wanting, needing, crafting a story.
They need their catharsis, especially the diffuse of responsibilities and unwitting maybe? You will provide. You lived.
That length of time of your life, that skein of events and your reactions to such, the ideas and emotions filling in ever faster as all those gift baskets of audience prescribed sensibilities of disbelief, rage, terror, tears, fall by the wayside.
You, a human being, lived, and made full use of your human capacity for feeling. Happiness, annoyance, puzzlement.
The finding of beauty in a concentration camp. All of this, as I said, I noticed, but not in the same way as later, when I started to fit the pieces together and could sum up and recall the events step by step.
I had become used to every new step gradually, and this hadn't given me the detachment I needed to actually notice what was happening.
Was there a story in there somewhere, one a little more entertaining than the fact you managed to live to this day, and all the turns and twists and often boring banalities involved in such a happenstance?
That would imply a reason behind it all, when everyone knows the capriciousness of life. Far deeper down than I would have thought, this knowledge, considering how they keep insisting on the climax, the tragedy, the entertainment.
And this is only one genocide out of many, only one part of one genocide if one thinks only of the six million. What of the rest of the voices?
Do they not fit within the parameters of what deserves to be heard? If those who still live on refuse the title of "victim", contemplate the multifarious of their experiences within the full range of feeling and thought, grasp their memories of such a time of their life as anyone else would, are they worth the time?
Then, that day I also experienced that very same tenseness, that same itchy feeling and clumsiness that came over me when I was with them, that I had occasionally felt at home: as if I weren't entirely okay, as if I didn't entirely conform to the ideal; in other words, somehow as if I were Jewish.
That was a rather strange feeling, because, after all, I was among Jews and in a concentration camp.
He speaks of his lack of faith while the blood bound heritage of it couples him to a baffled mind and moldering body.
Only slowly, and not without some humorous puzzlement and wonder, did the idea dawn on me: this situation, this state of imprisonment, had to be what was causing his agony.
I was almost tempted to say to him: "Don't be sad. After all, it's not important. He puzzles at the monotone view of his day to day life by others, one restricted to pity, pity, pity.
As if his effort to see the worth in living had time for that, when there were so many other things to think upon. But who can judge what is possible or believable in a concentration camp?
Who could explore, exhaust all those countless ideas, inventions, games, jokes, and ponderable theories, which are easily accessible and transferable from a make-believe world of fantasy into a concentration-camp reality?
You couldn't, even if you mustered the totality of your knowledge. The horror, the horror, the horror. What else? View all 13 comments.
Shelves: read-in , bookcrossing-books , books. Kertesz won the Nobel prize for literature for this book and it is really not surprising, hence the five stars.
I would also advocate that the book be called "Timeless" as well for it is one of those books which has an aura of being beyond time.
It could have been written immediately after the end of World War II, or it could have been written yesterday, and there is little way of knowing at least through the text when this story was made its way onto paper because it is a single voice in the Kertesz won the Nobel prize for literature for this book and it is really not surprising, hence the five stars.
It could have been written immediately after the end of World War II, or it could have been written yesterday, and there is little way of knowing at least through the text when this story was made its way onto paper because it is a single voice in the immense, faceless march of European history where annonymity became the fate of so many individuals.
While not written as an autobiographical exercise, Fateless is partly an examination of Kertesz's own experiences in both Auschwitz and Buchenwald.
The introductory chapters highlight how quickly and easily Gyuri accepted the plight of the local Jewish community and while it is not upbeat it is surprisingly sanguine, and perhaps even optomistic in places.
Once Gyuri arrives at the gates of Auschwitz -Birkenau however, it is easy to anticipate that the tone of the book will shift dramatically.
I did not expect much happiness from there on in. The brilliance of this book is its clarity and tone and the fact that it ascribes a voice and emotions to a series of events which are widely documented but little understood on the level of the individual.
The sheer scope of the atrocity frequently annhilates the notion of "I" and replaces it with "them" or "all". The narrator Gyuri presents an astounding first-hand account of his existance in the labour camps.
Gyuri rarely mentions his family or considers the likely fate of his fellow Jews beyond the walls of whichever labour camp he is interred in at the time.
This makes his experience all the more profoundly personal, showing how all his energies are focused on making sense of his own plight and ensuring that he stays alive.
The last chapter of the book also highlights in a startling way how those who were not subjected to time in the labour camps could never grasp the full scope of the horror.
At a time when everything in their own world had carried on almost as before, lightly dressed in a thin veneer of normality, how could they believe that such death and suffering had found a common place just beyond the fringes of their community?
View all 6 comments. Instead of usual double-quotation marks, the protagonist is using reported speech which seems to make the whole thing read more like a confession than a novel.
Such things might seem as defects at first sight but, as in case of 'The Bell Jar', they just serve to show how difficult it is for a suffe "even in Auschwitz, it seems, it is possible to be bored—assuming one is privileged.
Such things might seem as defects at first sight but, as in case of 'The Bell Jar', they just serve to show how difficult it is for a suffering soul to give their experience a popular form.
May be novel as an art is still developing. The author also discussed the difficulty faced in this transition in his Nobel prize accepting speech too.
Another thing worth noticing in the speech was that IK used the pronoun 'we' while discussing what brought Holocausts. He refused to think of it as something brought down on people by some outlandish demons that probably won't happen again.
And let us face it - we are still very much the same people who gave power to Nazis, we still love psychopaths, we still vote according to whom we hate and we still need scapegoats and easily learn to hate first the things we wish to harm: "Somehow, from his angry look and his deft sleight of hand, I suddenly understood why his train of thought would make it impossible to abide Jews, for otherwise he might have had the unpleasant feeling that he was cheating them.
I would like to live a little bit longer in this beautiful concentration camp. His position is further worsened and made absurd by his lack of significant desire to identify himself as a Jew.
He isn't very religious " I yearned more for sleep than prayers" and doesn't know Hebrew - this attracts disgust from some of his fellow prisoners who claim that he is no Jew.
At one point, he retorts by calling one of them 'lousy Jew'. And yet, it is because he is a Jew, he is forced to suffer. The whole novel is about his coming to terms with his fate.
In the very beginning, he gives an impression as if he is an outsider like those Kafka characters who is suddenly made to accept a role he doesn't understand: "You too," he said, "are now a part of the shared Jewish fate," In the end, he does come to terms with it - and, no it didn't mean to forget the whole thing as a bad incidence in his life a whole year " we can never start a new life, only ever carry on the old one.
For even there, next to the chimneys, in the intervals between the torments, there was something that resembled happiness.
Everyone asks only about the hardships and the "atrocities," whereas for me perhaps it is that experience which will remain the most memorable.
Yes, the next time I am asked, I ought to speak about that, the happiness of the concentration camps. I will admit, I was mystified by its tone, which veered back and forth between a disarming intimacy where the reader is invited to share the naive perspective of the year-old narrator, Gyorgy, on his experiences in the lagers and the ironic detachment of the narrator's adult self.
Gyorgy insists on trying to see things from the point of view of his persecutors. He is too weak to work, which "understandably" irritates the guards.
He must smell disgusting, having diarrhea. The lice must eat too, how can he blame them for feasting on him? Naturally he had been starved and beaten.
At one point Gyorgy describes Buchenwald as if he were writing a tourist brochure: Buchenwald lies on the crest of one of the elevations in a region of hills and dales.
Its air is clear, the countryside varied, with woods all around and the red-tiled roofs of the village houses in the valleys down below delightful to the eye.
The bathhouse is situated off to the left. The prisoners are mostly friendly, though somehow in a different way than in Auschwitz.
Heavily ironic, to be sure, but the reader understands that the fifteen-year-old narrator wants desperately to believe that he has come to a better place and, strange as it sounds, he has a favorite moment, dusk, when he is at peace with his surroundings.
Although he wore the yellow star and was persecuted on account of his supposed race, Gyorgy does not feel Jewish.
The devout, Yiddish-speaking Jews in the lager consider him a goy, he thinks of himself as a Hungarian. And yet, he will not deny his Jewish heritage now that he has been punished for it.
Another statement by Levi comes to mind: "They [the Nazis] sewed the Star of David on me, and not only onto my clothes. But I've read so many wonderful reviews by my friends here lately that I wanted to offer something in return.
View all 12 comments. May 04, K. Shelves: nobel , holocaust , core. For me, all works by a Nobel Prize in Literature winner should be gems.
Methinks that getting this prize is the highest honor that any writer on this earth can dream about. So, since I have turned into a voracious reader, I have been sampling a work or so of the past Nobel laureates.
Hamsum Mann Hesse Faulkner Hemingway Jimenez Camus Checkhov Pasternak Neruda Bellow Ca For me, all works by a Nobel Prize in Literature winner should be gems.
Caneti Marquez Golding Gordimer Morrison Saramago Grass Naipaul Coetzee Jelinek Lessing Llosa It sure made my life richer not in monetary amount but by the wisdom their books impart to their readers.
After all, the Prize is now awarded both for lasting literary merit and for evidence of consistent idealism on some significant level.
In recent years, this means a kind of idealism championing human rights on a broad scale. Hence the award is now arguably more political according to Wiki.
Thus, unless Murakami and Coelho write something on politics, they may not have a chance for a Nobel trophy soon. Here comes my 24th Nobel author: Imre Kertesz.
Boy, he sure is political. He was a young boy, at 17, when he was asked to go to Auschwitz. He lied about his age unknowingly saving his own life.
Children less than 18 were killed as they were deemed unfit to work. In this book, he narrated in present tense and this made a lot of difference compared to the early Holocaust autobiographical books that I read Anne Frank and Victor Klemperer.
I had that feeling of being right there in the camp; seeing what the boy Gyorgy Koves, 15, was witnessing. The other things that made this different were 1 that Kertesz described the experience in a detached way, as if he was experiencing something ordinary.
Something that happens in everyday life. No ranting. No philosophical musings. No tearful revelations. Nevertheless, this is a chilling read.
Those harrowing descriptions of Auschwitz still sent chills to my bones and I caught my hand bracing onto my mouth as if preventing myself from shouting while reading.
Looking forward to reading the other books I have in my tbr by the other Nobel laureates: Kipling Tagore Lewis Galsworthy Buck Gide Eliot Pound Satre Kawabata Beckett Boll White Singer Mafouz Paz Oe Pinter Pamuk and Le Clezio How well do you know the Nobel laureates?
I included two writers who literary critics think should not be there. Can you tell me who they are?
Some people say they are more deserving but they were caught in the political sentiments during the time that they were supposed to win.
Kertesz has written a semi-autobiographical novel about a fourteen year-old boy who gets mysteriously deported from Hungary to a Jewish concentration camp.
The protagonist George Koves spends a mere three days in Auschwitz, which he recalled as rather pleasant, before being forwarded to work camps at Buchenwald and Zeitz.
I am not sure George Koves ever recovered from his shock at being grabbed, and he spends all of his time trying to rationalize the senseless acts he saw around him while he w Kertesz has written a semi-autobiographical novel about a fourteen year-old boy who gets mysteriously deported from Hungary to a Jewish concentration camp.
I am not sure George Koves ever recovered from his shock at being grabbed, and he spends all of his time trying to rationalize the senseless acts he saw around him while he was incarcerated.
I found the book became confusing in synchronization with George himself as he was ground down by back-breaking work and the hatred he faced continuously.
He becomes depressed and kind of crazy in the end. Perhaps this book is better in Hungarian, and could be better translated to English?
Much of the time, and in most circumstances, our personalities and values are very different. However, some time ago a friend of his tried to get him to watch one of those execution videos, in which some poor sod gets his head lopped off.
And he refused, quite aggressively so, he told me; he wanted nothing to do with it. It occurred to me then that one thing my brother and I do have in common is an aversion to violence and suffering.
Or certainly only an aversion to that which is directed at themselves. I can imagine many of you shaking your head as you read this; I accept that this is not a popular view; yet to me it is undeniable; one only needs to look at the popularity of certain kinds of TV programmes, or films or books.
Take the recent torture porn craze, films that amount to nothing more than 90 mins of people being butchered. And why do more people tune into the news the more horrific, the bigger the tragedy?
Who, likewise, is watching all those murder documentaries? Who is reading all those brutal crime novels? The evidence is overwhelming, despite how uncomfortable the reality of it makes people feel.
Very few people will admit it, of course, but, in a number of the reviews I have read, there is a very real sense of expectations not having been met, without anyone actually truly giving voice to what these expectations were.
I can tell you: these people expected grand horror. Yet the book lacks these things, in large part, and therefore it is, I believe, for a certain kind of reader, a huge let-down.
For me, however, Fateless is one of the most extraordinary books I have ever read. Indeed, one of the things I like about it is how novel it is, how, in essence, it does not conform to expectations.
The horror is there, of course, because the holocaust was absolutely, undeniably horrific, so to side-step it completely is impossible, but it is nearly always in the background, is not lingered over.
Even when confronted by officers with whips he feels little more than discomforted or wary; and when he finally comes to understand what the crematoriums are for he takes this in his stride too.
Kertesz apparently once said that it was important to him that he did not present the holocaust as something in retrospect, as something that has already happened and is being commented on, but rather as something happening, as something being revealed bit by bit to the people involved [by which I mean the victims].
It suggests that Gyorgy would behave as expected [i. Until I read the book I thought it impossible that anyone could bring a freshness to a subject I already knew a great deal about, but Kertesz does exactly that.
Fateless is, it is worth pointing out, also strangely funny. It would be possible to read this description and be slightly bewildered, because it is absurd, yet there is no doubt in my mind that the author is playing for laughs, albeit bitter laughs.
Or when the boy describes one of the concentration camps as golden days indeed, or when he states, perhaps most movingly of all: I would like to live a little bit longer in this beautiful concentration camp.
Furthermore, Kertesz, much like Dostovesky, uses repeated words or phrases, such as 'so to say' and 'somehow,' which can make reading him laborious.
However, lyrical is certainly not what the writer was gunning for here, so none of this is intended critically.
In fact, i think the opposite. Fiasco is one part Beckett, one part Kafka and one part Bernhard; Kaddish is Beckett and Bernhard; Fateless , on the other hand, is all Kertesz, it is a singular vision.
View 2 comments. This novel is truly one of the best examples of Holocaust fiction, largely due to the power of Kertesz's writing, proving that you don't need to get into the horrific details in order to glimpse an individual's experience during this time period or the trauma of his survival upon his return home.
I'm not going to go into detail about plot here, if you want to read about that then by all means drop in and take a look at my reading journal , but rather leave you with my impressions of this book.
I see it as rather unique among other stories set during this period, as it provides a different approach to contemplating not only the ongoing horrors of the Holocaust, but also the concepts of survival, freedom, and fate.
While there is tragedy all around the main character Georg, and while he himself is caught up in the Holocaust whirlwind, his experience is not necessarily portrayed to the emotional degree of most other novels dealing with this time -- instead, it is presented in a rather low-key, subdued tone.
But don't let that fool you. It is this very tone that gives then novel its brilliance and its true emotional power, allowing for moments of dark humor and a great deal of irony.
The book is minus most of the the vivid depictions of horror and of the brutality of experience that many other writers of the Holocaust have penned; one of the things Georg ultimately learns is that sometimes individual experiences simply defy description, words, or comparison.
The narrative takes you right into the daily life of the camps, including the tedium, the pain, the slow dehumanization, and on the flip side, even the small measures of happiness people could latch on to -- revealing that even in the ultimate state of inhumanity, it is one's soul, one's psyche, the human spirit, whatever you want to call it that survives and triumphs.
The author's use of the present tense in spots also offers a more immediacy to the narrative; Georg's simple reasoning, along with his detached, often dispassionate voice conveys the real horror here.
I will say that while the novel is unsettling, there are a number of readers who find the tone of this book rather offputting and not believable, wondering why Georg's experiences in the camps aren't elucidated in a more detailed and more emotional style.
In response I have to wonder exactly what it is that people expect when they read Holocaust fiction, a very fair question, I think.
I recommend this novel most highly. At some point I'll try the newer translation of this book, retitled Fatelessness, which actually makes more sense in the context of the times when it was written.
While I may not necessarily agree with the author's conclusions on fate and freedom, still, I liked the approach and plan to continue the trilogy.
You may not shed copious tears over this book, but it will definitely get under your skin. View all 5 comments.
I probably read a bad translation and maybe not one of the two that I have is any good. Funny that from a single Hungarian original more than one English translation can emerge.
They couldn't even agree on the title: one has Fateless, and the other has Fatelessness. In one, there'll be three paragraphs which in the other are lumped into a long singularity.
A mere phrase in one would be an independent sentence in another; a direct quote, just a simple declarative sentence in the other version; a I probably read a bad translation and maybe not one of the two that I have is any good.
A mere phrase in one would be an independent sentence in another; a direct quote, just a simple declarative sentence in the other version; a second person, a third person narrative in the other; a phrase or concept in one, not found in the other.
One example: "And I did talk, possibly in vain and possibly a little incomprehensibly. Still, I did try to get myself across to them: 'We can never start a new life.
We can only continue the old one. I took my own steps. No one else did. And I remained honest in the end to my given fate.
The only stain or beauty flaw, I might say the only incorrectness, that anyone could accuse me of is maybe the fact that we are talking now.
But that is not my doing. Do you want all this horror and all my previous steps to lose their meaning entirely? Why this sudden turn, why this opposition?
Why can't you see that if there is such as thing as fate, then there is no freedom? If, on the other hand,' I continued, more and more surprised at myself and more and more wound up, 'if, on the other hand, there is freedom, then there is no fate.
That is,'and I stopped to take a breath,'that is, we ourselves are fate. Even so, I made it clear to them that we can never start a new life, only ever carry on the old one.