87
" Hvis dette bare hadde hendt et annet sted, i et annet land, og vi hadde lest om det i avisen! Da hadde vi kunnet snakke om det i fred og ro, studere spørsmålet fra alle sider, og trekke objektive slutninger. Vi kunne ha organisert diskusjonsmøter og fått vitenskapsmenn, forfattere, jurister, lærde damer og kunstnere til å komme. Ja, alminnelige mennesker også. Det ville vært interessant, spennende og lærerikt. Men når en står midt oppe i det, når en plutselig befinner seg ansikt til ansikt med den brutale virkeligheten, så kan en ikke la være å føle at det angår en. "
― Eugène Ionesco , Rhinocéros
89
" Life is beautiful: a whole existence of old papers and office dust; the bed in my hotel room which often remained unmade from morn till night when I came home from the office, because of the dearth of hired help, the only maid being an aged hunchback who did the best she could. The rude awakenings in the morning; the mad rush to the office in the hope of still finding my time card; the joy at reaching the office on time so that I could sign it; the anger and frustration on those mornings when I reached the office thirty seconds after the card had been taken away - all that seemed to me to be enveloped in a kind of happiness that I had not previously noted, as all of a sudden I found a kind of beauty in the dust, the crowded street, the mass of people hurrying like me to work, the hundreds and hundreds of gray faces, faces which were but clouds doubtless concealing the sun that we all bear within us, if only we knew it. The past is always tender and beautiful, something to be looked upon with sorrow, whose qualities we notice only when they are gone. We need a certain perspective, and that goes for pen-pushers and statesmen alike, millionaires or tramps. It’s true, it’s true: we all contain within ourselves a world full of sunshine, a world in which joy is constantly ready and waiting to unfurl, if only we realized it, I mean if only we realized it in time. How lovely ugliness is, how happy sadness, and boredom is due only to our ignorance! The iciest cold cannot resist the warmth of the human heart. Assuming one knows which button to push in order to light it. In short, we look back nostalgically on everything, which proves without question that it was beautiful. "
― Eugène Ionesco , The Hermit
