“the heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground but in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. the heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfillment. the heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.”
“we can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.
was it better to be with Tereza or to remain alone?
there is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. we live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. and what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? that is why life is always like a sketch. no, “sketch” is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.”
“the realization that he was utterly powerless was like the blow of a sledgehammer, yet it was curiously calming as well. no one was forcing him into a decision. he flet no need to stare at the walls of the houses across the courtyards and ponder whether to live with her or not. Tereza had made the decision herself.”
“he rose to greet her; she threw her arms around him an smothered him with kisses.
she had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women, don’t let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong! but they were words she could not say.
the only thing she said when he released her from his embrace was, “you don’t know how happy i am to be with you.” that was the most her reserved nature allowed her to express.”
“but a divorce won’t make any difference to you! you won’t lose a thing! i’ll give you all the property!”
“i don’t care about the property,” she said.
“then what do you care about?”
“love,” she said with a smile.
“love?” Franz asked in amazement.
“Love is a battle,” said Marie-Claude, still smiling. “And I plan to go on fighting. To the end.”
“Love is a battle?” said Franz. “Well, I don’t feel at all like fighting.” And he left.