Quotes from Alberto Moravia

simÈ›ea de fapt c?, deÈ™i gândea ca ei, îi lipsea înc? acea înfl?c?rare a inimii care topeÈ™te raÈ›iunile multiple ale minÈ›ii în metalul unei convingeri unice. [...] Inima îi era îngheÈ›at? È™i mintea sa nu È™tia s? exprime decât îndoieli.

Herkes kendi cennetini ba?kas?n?n cehennemine koyar.

Dat is mijn misdaad... ik heb gezondigd in onverschilligheid...

Bravo, ma per te sarà come un gioco, sarà come i ragazzini quando giocano a far gli indiani: farai l'indiano, ma i veri indiani siamo noialtri, veri operai e veri disoccupati; tu sarai sempre un indiano finto, ci avrai sempre papà con i suoi magazzini, di riserva, per tenerti su il morale, anche se, per puntiglio, ti lascerai morire di fame e il morale, nella disoccupazione, è tutto, bello mio.

Giovanotto è inutile che si arrampichi... qui è tutta pianura.

The Risorgimento hymn returned to his mind and with it the recognition of all that Italy had once been and which, even now, amid the decadence and carelessness, still remained tragically magnificent.

For the working man there is no abyss...that's why he jumps.

Come doveva essere bello il mondo", quando la vita non era come ora ridicola, ma tragica e si moriva, e si uccideva, e si odiava, e di amava sul serio, e si versavano vere lacrime per vere sciagure, e tutti gli uomini erano fatti di carne ed ossa e attaccati alla realtà come alberi alla terra.

Los hombres normales no eran buenos -siguió pensando- porque la normalidad se pagaba siempre, consciente o inconscientemente, a un precio muy caro y con una serie de complicidades varias, todas tan negativas; de insensibilidad, de estupidez, de vileza, cuando no derechamente de criminalidad

E ora cosa farò?" si domandava il ragazzo; ogni volta che osservava la mobilità e la continua agitazione della vita, la propria inerzia gli incuteva spavento.

Good writers are monotonous, like good composers. They keep trying to perfect the one problem they were born to understand.

And we all know love is a glass which makes even a monster appear fascinating.

You can't think on purpose about somebody or something. Either you think about them naturally or you don't think at all.

When you aren't sincere you need to pretend, and by pretending you end up believing yourself; that's the basic principle of every faith.

Loyalty, Signor Molteni, not love. Penelope is loyal to Ulysses but we do not know how far she loved him...and as you know people can sometimes be absolutely loyal without loving. In certain cases, in fact, loyalty is form of vengeance, of black-mail, of recovering one's self-respect. Loyalty, not love.

This thought strengthened in me my belief that all men, without exception, deserve to be pitied, if only because they are alive.

An uncertain evil causes anxiety because, at the bottom of one's heart, one goes on hoping till the last moment that it may not be true; a certain evil, on the other hand, instills, for a time, a kind of dreary tranquillity.

Every true writer is like a bird; he repeats the same song, the same theme, all his life. For me, this theme as always been revolt.

my boredom might be described as a malady affecting external objects and consisting of a withering process; an almost instantaneous loss of vitality--just as though one saw a flower change in a few seconds from a bud to decay and dust.

I gave up the unequal struggle against what appeared to be in my fate, indeed, I welcomed it with more affection. As one embraces a foe one can't defeat and I felt liberated.

Because the world to-day is so constructed that no one can do what he would like to do, and he is forced, instead, to do what others wish him to do. Because the question of money always intrudes—into what we do, into what we are, into what we wish to become, into our work, into our highest aspirations, even into our relations with the people we love!

desire for normality; a longing to adapt to some recognized and general rule; a wish to be like everyone else, from the moment that being different meant being guilty.

Sai cosa si fa quando non se ne può più? Si cambia.

Vedi, non c'è coraggio e non c'è paura... ci sono soltanto coscienza ed incoscienza... la coscienza è paura, l'incoscienza è coraggio.