Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“Of all the inanimate objects, of all men's creations, books are the nearest to us for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to the truth, and our persistent leanings to error. But most of all they resemble us in their precious hold on life.”
― Joseph Conrad

“Oh the glamour of youth! Oh the fire of it, more dazzling than the flames of the burning ship, throwing a magic light on the wide earth, leaping audaciously to the sky, presently to be quenched by time, more cruel, more pitiless, more bitter than the sea—and like the flames of the burning ship surrounded by an impenetrable night.”
― Joseph Conrad, Youth, a Narrative

“If circumstances should make it impossible (temporarily, I hope) for me to be a Russian writer, perhaps I shall be able, like the Pole Joseph Conrad, to become for a time an English writer... ("Letter To Stalin")”
― Yevgeny Zamyatin

“For all that has been said of the love that certain natures (on shore) have professed for it, for all the celebrations it has been the object of in prose and song, the sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness.”
― Joseph Conrad

“For the vision of a novelist is both complex and specialised; complex, because behind his characters and apart from them must stand something stable to which he relates them; specialised because since he is a single person with one sensibility the aspects of life in which he can believe with conviction are strictly limited”
― Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader

“And, don't you see, the terror of the position was not in being knocked on the head - though I had a very lively sense of that danger, too - but in this, that I had to deal with a being to whom I could not appeal in the name of anything high or low. I had, even like the niggers, to invoke him - himself - his own exalted and incredible degradation. There was nothing either above or below him, and I knew it. He had kicked himself loose of the earth. Confound the man! he had kicked the very earth to pieces. He was alone, and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground of floated in the air.”
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“The great wall of vegetation, an exuberant and entangled mass of trunks, branches, leaves, boughs, festoons, motionless in the moonlight, was like a rioting invasion of soundless life, a rolling wave of plants, piled up, crested, ready to topple over the creek, to sweep every little man of us out of his little existence. And it moved not. A deadened burst of mighty splashes and snorts reached us from afar, as though an ichthyosaurus had been taking a bath of glitter in the great river.”
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“They wanted facts. Facts! They demanded facts from him, as if facts could explain anything!”
― Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

“It was a wonderful experience. She mistrusted his very slumbers--and she seemed to think I could tell her why! Thus a poor mortal seduced by the charm of an apparition might have tried to wring from another ghost the tremendous secret of the claim the other world holds over a disembodied soul astray amongst the passions of this earth. The very ground on which I stood seemed to melt under my feet. And it was so simple too; but if the spirits evoked by our fears and our unrest have ever to vouch for each other's constancy before the forlorn magicians that we are, then I--I alone of us dwellers in the flesh--have shuddered in the hopeless chill of such a task.”
― Joseph Conrad 'Lord Jim'

“Principles? Principles won’t do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags—rags that would fly off at the first good shake. No; you want a deliberate belief.”
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“The writing style which is most natural for you is bound to echo the speech you heard when a child. English was the novelist Joseph Conrad's third language, and much of that seems piquant in his use of English was no doubt colored by his first language, which was Polish. And lucky indeed is the writer who has grown up in Ireland, for the English spoken there is so amusing and musical. I myself grew up in Indianapolis, where common speech sounds like a band saw cutting galvanized tin, and employs a vocabulary as unornamental as a monkey wrench.

In some of the more remote hollows of Appalachia, children still grow up hearing songs and locutions of Elizabethan times. Yes, and many Americans grow up hearing a language other than English, or an English dialect a majority of Americans cannot understand.

All these varieties of speech are beautiful, just as the varieties of butterflies are beautiful. No matter what your first language, you should treasure it all your life. If it happens not to be standard English, and if it shows itself when you write standard English, the result is usually delightful, like a very pretty girl with one eye that is green and one that is blue.

I myself find that I trust my own writing most, and others seem to trust it most, too, when I sound most like a person from Indianapolis, which is what I am. What alternatives do I have? The one most vehemently recommended by teachers has no doubt been pressed on you, as well: to write like cultivated Englishmen of a century or more ago.”
― Kurt Vonnegut

“People are wrong when they tell you that Conrad was on the side of Africans because his story showed great compassion towards them. Africans are not really served by his compassion, whatever it means; they ask for one thing alone â€� to be seen for what they are: human beings. Conrad pulls back from granting them this favour in Heart of Darkness.”
― Chinua Achebe, Africa's Tarnished Name

“I had immense plans,' he irresolutely muttered.”
― Joseph Conrad

“In a dispassionate view the ardour for reform, improvement for virtue, for knowledge, and even beauty is only a vein sticking up for appearances as though one were anxious about the cut of ones clothes in a community of blind men.”
― Joseph Conrad

“...for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself...”
― Joseph Conrad

“La mia idea era di lasciare che la squadra di incatenati scomparisse alla vista prima di salire la collina. Sapete che non sono tenero in modo particolare; ho dovuto colpire e parare colpi. Ho dovuto difendermi e talvolta attaccare - il modo migliore per difendersi - senza calcolarne il costo esatto, secondo le necessità del genere di vita in cui ero incappato. Ho visto il demone della violenza, il demone della cupidigia, e il demone della bramosia bruciante; ma, per gli dèi!, erano demoni forti, vigorosi, dagli occhi ardenti, che scuotevano e trascinavano uomini - uomini, dico. Ma mentre ero su quella collina, previdi che nel sole accecante di quella terra avrei conosciuto un demone floscio, pretenzioso, dagli occhi smorti, di una follia rapace e spietata. Quanto insidioso potesse essere, dovevo impararlo soltanto dopo parecchi mesi e a mille miglia di distanza.”
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“Perfino un profondo dolore può alla fine trovare sfogo nella violenza - ma più generalmente prende la forma dell’apatia.”
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“He is romantic—romantic,â€� he repeated. “And that is very bad—very bad. . . . Very good, too,â€� he added. “But is he?â€� I queried.
‘“Gewiss,� he said, and stood still holding up the candelabrum, but without looking at me. “Evident! What is it that by inward pain makes him know himself? What is it that for you and me makes him—exist?�
‘At that moment it was difficult to believe in Jim’s existence—starting from a country parsonage, blurred by crowds of men as by clouds of dust, silenced by the clashing claims of life and death in a material world—but his imperishable reality came to me with a convincing, with an irresistible force! I saw it vividly, as though in our progress through the lofty silent rooms amongst fleeting gleams of light and the sudden revelations of human figures stealing with flickering flames within unfathomable and pellucid depths, we had approached nearer to absolute Truth, which, like Beauty itself, floats elusive, obscure, half submerged, in the silent still waters of mystery. “Perhaps he is,â€� I admitted with a slight laugh, whose unexpectedly loud reverberation made me lower my voice directly; “but I am sure you are.â€� With his head dropping on his breast and the light held high he began to walk again. “Well—I exist, too,â€� he said.”
― Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

“It was then that Brown took his revenge upon the world which, after twenty years of contemptuous and reckless bullying, refused him the tribute of a common robber’s success. It was an act of cold-blooded ferocity, and it consoled him on his deathbed like a memory of an indomitable defiance. . . . Thus Brown balanced his account with the evil fortune. Notice that even in this awful outbreak there is a superiority as of a man who carries right—the abstract thing—within the envelope of his common desires. It was not a vulgar and treacherous massacre; it was a lesson, a retribution—a demonstration of some obscure and awful attribute of our nature which, I am afraid, is not so very far under the surface as we like to think.”
― Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

“The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was at rest.”
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“Il restera toujours la peur. Un homme peut détruire toute
chose en lui-même : l'amour, la foi, la haine et même le doute.
Mais aussi longtemps qu'il tient à la vie, il ne peut pas détruire
la peur.”
― Joseph CONRAD

“In the outworks of our lives, we were almost strangers, but we shared a certain outlook on human life and human destiny, which, from the very first, made a bond of extreme strength . . . . At our very first meeting, we talked with continually increasing intimacy. We seemed to sink through layer after layer of what was superficial, till gradually both reached the central fire. It was an experience unlike any other that I have known. We looked into each other's eyes, half appalled and half intoxicated to find ourselves together in such a region. The emotion was as intense as passionate love, and at the same time all-embracing. I came away bewildered, and hardly able to find my way among ordinary affairs.”
― Bertrand Russell, Portraits From Memory and Other Essays

“Conrad tillhör de sjömän som fÃ¥r uppleva hur Ã¥ngan triumferar och seglen försvinner frÃ¥n haven. Han befinner sig mitt inne i ett väldigt maktskifte. En tusenÃ¥rig tradition bryts och ett helt nytt element förs in.
På segelfartyget är det kaptenen och hans män som är förmedlarna mellan Gud och världen. De fångar in och tyglar vinden som driver fartyget framåt. Seglaren lever i nära förbindelse med naturen, som han måste böja sig för, som han betjänar och utnyttjar.
När Ã¥ngan kom, togs makten frÃ¥n kaptenen och gavs Ã¥t maskinisten i maskindjupet. Man seglade inte pÃ¥ havet längre utan plöjde sig genom det. Befälet pÃ¥ bryggan flyttades ned, förnedrades, hade blott själva navigeringen kvar och inte kraftöverföringen.”
― Olof Lagercrantz, Färd med Mörkrets hjärta: En bok om Joseph Conrads roman

“The social organization of Heart of Darkness â€� captured in the corporate culture of the ‘Companyâ€� â€� is a metonym for modernity. It is powerfully linked to the psychic through the symbolic order. In the novel’s primal scene, young Marlow pores over maps, lingering over the ‘blank spacesâ€�. ‘The biggest â€� the most blank, so to speakâ€� is the heart of Africa. From the Western perspective, these blank spaces are but undiscovered dominions, lacking proper social organization, civilization and especially enlightenment. It is somewhat perplexing, then, to find that the exploration and mapping that take place between the time of Marlow’s youth and maturity appear not as illumination but darkening:


[B]y this time it was not a blank space any more. It had got filled since my boyhood with rivers and lakes and names. It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mystery â€� a white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over. It had become a place of darkness.”
― Stephen Ross

“It is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on this Earth. The comic, when he is human, soon takes upon itself the face of pain.”
― Hareem Ch

“This egregious example of “Belgians bad, natives goodâ€� is the conceptual foundation of King Hochschild’s Hoax. And it bleeds into what is, for most readers, the enduring imaginative impact of the book, to have put a nasty Belgian face onto Mistah Kurtz, the phantom who draws Marlow’s steamboat up the Congo river in Joseph Conrad’s 1902 novella Heart of Darkness. Like generations of English professors, Hochschild has misread the book as an indictment of colonialism, which is difficult to square with its openly pro-colonial declarations and the fact of the “adoringâ€� natives surrounding the deceased Kurtz.”
― Bruce Gilley, King Hochschild’s Hoax: An absurdly deceptive book on Congolese rubber production is better described as historical fiction.