What remains of Cambodia's dying? A big picture of the American star carries a yellow child in her arms. What is left of Thomas? Writing: He wanted the kingdom of God on earth. What is left of Beituvin? Facial, hairdressing man as crazy and pronounced with a depressed "Esmuss Sein" with "not." What is left of Franz? Writing: After a long time, return. And so on, and so on. Before we forget, we turn into "Kitch". "Kiet" is a communication station between the object and forgetfulness.
by ميلان كونديرا
(0 Reviews)

The text reflects on the remnants of people and their hopes in Cambodia, juxtaposed with an image of an American star cradling a child. It poses questions about the legacies of various characters, such as Thomas, who envisioned a utopia on earth, and Beituvin, whose mental state is troubling and marked by despair. The mention of Franz suggests a longing for reconciliation or return after a prolonged absence.

This exploration reveals the tension between memory and oblivion, leading to the notion of "Kitch," a term serving as a bridge between the tangible and the forgettable. It highlights the significance of remembering and understanding the past, as noted in Milan Kundera's “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” emphasizing the struggle against becoming lost in forgetfulness.

Stats

Categories
Votes
0
Page views
3
Update
February 23, 2025

Rate the Quote

Add Comment & Review

User Reviews

Based on 0 reviews
5 Star
0
4 Star
0
3 Star
0
2 Star
0
1 Star
0
Add Comment & Review
We'll never share your email with anyone else.
More »

Other quotes in The Unbearable Lightness of Being

More »

Other quotes in friedrich nietzche

More »

Popular quotes

Taffy. He thinks about taffy. He thinks it would take his teeth out now, but he would eat it anyhow, if it meant eating it with her.
by Mitch Albom
Small towns are like metronomes; with the slightest flick, the beat changes.
by Mitch Albom
Look, if you say that science will eventually prove there is no God, on that I must differ. No matter how small they take it back, to a tadpole, to an atom, there is always something they can't explain, something that created it all at the end of the search. And no matter how far they try to go the other way – to extend life, play around with the genes, clone this, clone that, live to one hundred and fifty – at some point, life is over. And then what happens? When the life comes to an end? I shrugged. You see? He leaned back. He smiled. When you come to the end, that's where God begins.
by Mitch Albom
You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on. When your colleague falls ill and you do not. We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole.
by Mitch Albom
we get so many lives between birth and death. A life to be a child. A life to come of age. A life to wander, to settle, to fall in love, to parent, to test our promise, to realize our mortality-and, in some lucky cases, to do something after that realization.
by Mitch Albom
I have the tendency to be nervous at the sight of trouble looming. As the danger draws near, I become less nervous. When the peril is at hand, I swell with fierceness. As I grapple with my assailant, I am without fear and fight to the finish with little thought of injury.
by Jean Sasson
But an ink brush, she thinks, is a skeleton key for a prisoner's mind.
by David Mitchell
There's lying," says Mum, fishing out the envelope she wrote the directions on from her handbag, "which is wrong, and there's creating the right impression, which is necessary.
by David Mitchell
The nun said, I can forgive the language. I'm not sure I can forgive your making an obscene gesture at your mother. Ya gotta know her, Holland said. If you knew her, you'd give her the finger, too.
by John Sandford
Unlimited power in the hands of limited people always leads to cruelty.
by David Mitchell