This book was previously translated in 1997 under the name "The Betrayed Testaments" by Kavous Bassemangi, published by Rowhaniyan and Women's Studies. The translation I read, titled "The Betrayed Testament" by Forough Pouriavar, has an English title: (Testaments betrayed: An essay in nine parts). In the second translation, the fourth part of the book was deleted because it was not considered useful for Iranian readers.

I couldn't establish a connection or enjoy some parts that were related to music due to very little information or perhaps other reasons. However, I liked the parts that were about literature, novels, and short stories.

********************************************************************************

Putting aside moral judgment, the morality of a novel is not static: it is fluid. A morality that stands against this human habit of never-ending, continuous, and immediate judgment of everyone, before understanding or even without understanding. From the perspective of the wisdom of the novel, this noisy eagerness to judge is the most hateful stupidity and the most destructive mischief. Page 5 of the book

"How nice it is to forget that hubbub that shortens our lives to build the desolate castles of our dreams. How nice it is to forget history!" (The Unbearable Lightness of Being) Page 15 of the book

Brod was a prominent intellectual with extraordinary energy; a man of great courage who was eager to fight on the paths of others; his passion for Kafka was warm and purposeful. The only problem was his artistic orientation: this man had no idea about the form of his desires; his novels (he wrote twenty novels) are depressingly conventional; and most importantly: he didn't understand the meaning of modern art at all.

Why, despite all this, was Kafka so interested in him? What about you? - Do you hold back from loving your best friend who is forced to write bad poetry?

But a man who writes bad poetry becomes dangerously immersed in water when he starts publishing the works of his poet friend. Page 27 of the book

Man has a desire for permanence, but he can only achieve it in exchange for: the moment of presence and authenticity. Page 70 of the book

We are used to associating the concept of presence and authenticity with important, revelatory moments: but there is such a thing as everyday, ordinary, overlooked, and common authenticity: the authenticity born of anger, the authenticity born of the speed of a car's wheels, the authenticity born of a blaring radio, authenticity in a football stadium. Life is a difficult, continuous struggle to not lose our presence, to be firmly present in ourselves, in our authentic moments. Only for a moment do we step out of ourselves and approach the threshold of death. Page 71 of the book

And again another sentence from Kundera: "For you, nothing is more dangerous than your family, your room, your past... You must leave them." Page 156 of the book

Since James Joyce, we have understood that the greatest event of our lives is non-event... Page 161 of the book

I had heard since childhood that a friend is someone who shares all your secrets with you, and even has the right to stomp his foot to know them. For my Icelandic friend, friendship is something else: protecting the sea behind which your friend hides his private life; a friend is someone who never opens the door; who never allows anyone else to open it either. Page 222 of the book

In my opinion, Brod's thoughtlessness and inattention are unforgivable. He betrayed his friend, he acted against his friend's wishes, against the spirit and meaning of his wishes, against the sense of shame that this man had. Page 223 of the book

The memory of the deceased does not return his presence to us; memories are only evidence of his absence; in memories, the deceased is only a past that fades, goes back, and becomes inaccessible. Page 240 of the book

Bar is another fascinating novel by Milan Kundera. I have written many times that summarizing or even stating the subject matter of Kundera's books is very difficult. But in my humble opinion, the book is about the meaning of life, the impact of the past on the present and future, responsibility and commitment. To express these issues, Kundera uses a doctor named Tomas, his wife Tereza, their dog, his mistress Sabina, the mistress of the mistress (strange as it may seem), and several other characters. I can't say much about the story, but if you like philosophical novels, don't miss this book, although you may not completely agree with Kundera's philosophy. I haven't read the English version of the book, but surely there will be censorship in this book. But what can be done? (The solution is to read the English version of the book

How can we imagine that everything we are living today, and have experienced one day, will repeat? And that this repetition itself will repeat endlessly? With this perplexing question, the Czech writer Milan Kundera begins this novel. Then he explains this question, or the phenomenon he called the eternal return, that the way of eternal life means that atoms constantly change their positions, so the universe must go through cycles that cannot be limited, with all possible configurations, and then return again and again to the state it was in before. That means the situation we are in now is just a repetition of a previous situation that will repeat again and again.

In contrast to the game of hypothetical questions with which the novel abounds, the reader finds himself - without realizing it - under the influence of a philosophical writer or a writerly philosopher who delights in torturing his reader with a series of never-ending questions!

Her drama was not one of heaviness but of lightness. What came her way was not the burden but the unbearable lightness of being. This concept sets the tone for a truly thought-provoking exploration.

The goals we pursue often remain veiled. The thing that赋予 our every move its meaning is usually completely unknown to us. This statement makes us question the very essence of our actions and the purpose behind them.

It is said that some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and a few to be chewed and digested. The Unbearable Lightness of Being falls into the third category and thus requires a thorough reading. In fact, it should be savored like fine red wine. We should enjoy the statements, read slowly, and let the language flow through our minds.

This novel, about a man with unique and complex ideas regarding the nature of his romantic relationships, is in a class of its own. With a plot of great ingenuity, the narrative compels the reader to delve deep into the recesses of their mind to understand the underlying philosophy of literature that the author has presented. It makes us deliberate on things that might have initially seemed ordinary but, upon reflection, turn out to be an absolute and pithy masterpiece. As the book progresses, there is a cumulative increase in its poignancy. It consists of a plethora of philosophical thoughts that might confuse you and force you to think deeply, but that is the beauty of literature!!

I had high expectations from this book (after reading some reviews, I chose it; moreover, I was captivated by how poetically beautiful the title was), and I must say that it has exceeded my expectations. It proved to be of the highest excellence. Overall, this book is Kundera's tour de force and an excellent read for readers of all ages.

I would like to suggest that even if you don't read the entire book, read the first two pages. They are the most engaging pages I've ever read and are sure to draw the reader in with their depth!!

5/5 for this one!!

**"The Unbearable Lightness of Being: A Deeper Look"**

The novel "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera explores the complex web of relationships and the role of coincidences in our lives. It is wrong to criticize the novel for its fascination with mysterious coincidences, as these add a dimension of beauty to the story. In our daily lives, we often overlook such coincidences, depriving ourselves of a deeper understanding of the magic that surrounds us.

The characters in the novel, such as Tomas, Tereza, Franz, and Sabina, experience a series of events that seem to be more than mere coincidences. Their relationships are shaped by these events, and they are forced to make choices that have far-reaching consequences. Tomas, for example, is a womanizer who is initially opposed to marriage. However, he surprises himself when he asks Tereza to marry him.

The movie adaptation of the novel, directed by Philip Kaufman, does an excellent job of capturing the essence of the story. The casting is superb, with Daniel Day-Lewis, Juliette Binoche, and Lena Olin bringing the characters to life. The movie strips out the unnecessary philosophical diversions from the book and focuses on the evolving relationships between the four main characters.

Overall, both the book and the movie offer a unique and thought-provoking exploration of love, relationships, and the meaning of life. Whether you prefer to read the book or watch the movie, or both, you are sure to be captivated by this unforgettable story.

**The Mysterious Image**

There is an intriguing image that catches the eye.
  
It seems to hold a story within its pixels. The colors are vivid and draw one in, making them wonder what lies behind it. The details are somewhat模糊, adding an air of mystery. Is it a scene from a far-off place? Or perhaps a moment captured in time that has a deeper meaning? As we look at it, our minds start to wander and create our own interpretations. It could be a work of art, a photograph taken by a talented individual, or something else entirely. The possibilities are endless, and that's what makes this image so captivating. We can't help but be drawn to it and try to解开 its mystery.

Sublime!

The struggle of man against power is truly a remarkable and profound one. It is, in essence, the struggle of memory against forgetting.

Milan Kundera's words capture the essence of this eternal conflict. Man's memory holds the key to his identity, his history, and his values. It is through memory that we preserve the lessons of the past and strive to create a better future.

However, power often attempts to erase or distort memory, to rewrite history according to its own interests. This is where the struggle begins.

We must resist the forces of forgetting and fight to preserve our memories. We must remember the injustices of the past, the sacrifices of our ancestors, and the ideals that we hold dear.

Only by doing so can we ensure that the mistakes of the past are not repeated and that we continue to move forward towards a more just and equitable society.

The struggle of memory against forgetting is a noble one, and it is a struggle that we must all engage in.

She was experiencing the same old happiness and odd sadness as then. The sadness meant: we are at the last station. The happiness meant: we are together. The sadness was the form, the happiness content. Happiness filled the space of sadness.

It's been a long time since I felt sorrowful when reading the last pages of a novel. That feeling was again with me tonight.

I could try and analyze what Kundera does here for a long time. I could talk about all the delicate nuances he exploits to convey his messages but every effort would fall short of giving a satisfactory enough account of what he created.

All I want to say here is he does whatever he wants in a homely manner to absorb you into the world of his peculiar definitions and pictures. He sometimes renders the socially unacceptable acceptable just by using his magical craft of words and other times he makes you question whatever you believe in by providing unique points of view.

Although I don't deem him beyond reproach, I greatly appreciate the quality of feeling reading his prose evokes in me. And it would be an understatement because he reconciles reason and feeling in a unique yet enjoyable way.

I've enjoyed his work so far and I look forward to the next time I pick up one of his books.

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Pieces of the book

"But was it love? The feeling of wanting to die beside her was clearly exaggerated: he had only seen her once before in his life! Was it simply the hysteria of a man who, aware deep down of his ineptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to stimulate it? His unconscious was so cowardly that the best partner it could choose for its little comedy was this miserable provincial waitress with practically no chance at all to enter his life!

Looking out over the courtyard at the dirty walls, he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love."

"Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not lived at all."

"It's good that she's gone and that I'll never see her again, though it's not Tereza I need to be free of—it's that sickness, compassion, which I thought I was immune to until she infected me with it."

"In Tereza's eyes, books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood. For she had but a single weapon against the world of crudity surrounding her: the books she took out of the municipal library, and above all, the novels. She had read any number of them, from Fielding to Thomas Mann. They not only offered the possibility of an imaginary escape from a life she found unsatisfying; they also had a meaning for her as physical objects: she loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago."

"Chance and chance alone has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute. Only chance can speak to us. We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup."

"Necessity knows no magic formulae—they are all left to chance. If a love is to be unforgettable, fortuities must immediately start fluttering down to it like birds to Francis of Assisi's shoulders."

"There was yet another horror at the very beginning of the dream: all the women had to sing! Not only were their bodies identical, identically worthless, not only were their bodies mere resounding soulless mechanisms—the women rejoiced over it! Theirs was the joyful solidarity of the soulless. The women were pleased at having thrown off the ballast of the soul—that laughable conceit, that illusion of uniqueness—to become one like the next."

"We might also call vertigo the intoxication of the weak. Aware of his weakness, a man decides to give in rather than stand up to it. He is drunk with weakness, wishes to grow even weaker, wishes to fall down in the middle of the main square in front of everybody, wishes to be down, lower than down."

"While people are fairly young and the musical composition of their lives is still in its opening bars, they can go about writing it together and exchange motifs (the way Tomas and Sabina exchanged the motif of the bowler hat), but if they meet when they are older, like Franz and Sabina, their musical compositions are more or less complete, and every motif, every object, every word means something different to each of them."

"Being a woman is a fate Sabina did not choose. What we have not chosen we cannot consider either our merit or failure. Sabina believed that she had to assume the correct attitude to her unchosen fate. To rebel against being born a woman seemed as foolish to her as to take pride in it."

"At the time, she had thought that only in the Communist world could such musical barbarism reign supreme. Abroad, she discovered that the transformation of music into noise was a planetary process by which mankind was entering the historical phase of total ugliness. The total ugliness to come had made itself felt first as omnipresent acoustical ugliness: cars, motorcycles, electric guitars, drills, loudspeakers, sirens. The omnipresent of visual ugliness would soon follow."

"Sabina said, "Unintentional beauty. Yes. Another way of putting it might be 'beauty by mistake.' Before beauty disappears entirely from the earth, it will go on existing for a while by mistake. 'Beauty by mistake'—the final phase in the history of beauty." "

"Cemeteries in Bohemia are like gardens. The graves are covered with grass and colorful flowers. Modest tombstones are lost in the greenery. When the sun goes down, the cemetery sparkles with tiny candles. It looks as though the dead are dancing at a children's ball. Yes, a children's ball, because the dead are as innocent as children. No matter how brutal life becomes, peace always reigns in the cemetery."

"Religion was persecuted by the regime, and most people gave the church a wide berth. The only people in the pews were old men and old women, because they did not fear the regime. They feared only death."

"She knew, of course, that she was being supremely unfair, that Franz was the best man she had ever had—he was intelligent, he understood her paintings, he was handsome and good—but the more she thought about it, the more she longed to ravish his intelligence, defile his kindheartedness, and violate his powerless strength."

"The goals we pursue are always veiled. A girl who longs for marriage longs for something she knows nothing about. The boy who hankers after fame has no idea what fame is. The thing that gives our every move its meaning is always totally unknown to us. Sabina was unaware of the goal that lay behind her longing to betray."

"What would happen if Tomas received such a picture? Would he throw her out? Perhaps not. Probably not. But the fragile edifice of their love would certainly come tumbling down. For that edifice rested on the single column of her fidelity, and loves are like empires: when the idea they are founded on crumbles, they, too, fade away."

"She wanted to tell Tomas that they should leave Prague. Leave the children that bury crows alive in the ground, leave the police spies, leave the young women armed with umbrellas. She wanted to tell him that they should move to the country. That it was their only path to salvation."

"But, he said to himself, whether they knew or didn't know is not the main issue; the main issue is whether a man is innocent because he didn't know. Is a fool on the throne relieved of all responsibility merely because he is a fool?"

"Oedipus did not know he was sleeping with his own mother, yet when he realized what had happened, he did not feel innocent. Unable to stand the sight of the misfortunes he had wrought by "not knowing," he put out his eyes and wandered blind away from Thebes."

"When you sit face to face with someone who is pleasant, respectful, and polite, you have a hard time reminding yourself that nothing he says is true, that nothing is sincere. Maintaining non-belief (constantly, systematically, without the slightest vacillation) requires a tremendous effort and the proper training—in other words, frequent police interrogations. Tomas lacked that training."

"Imagine having an arm amputated and implanted on someone else. Imagine that person sitting opposite you and gesticulating with it in your face. You would stare at that arm as at a ghost. Even though it was your own personal, beloved arm, you would be horrified at the possibility of its touching you!"

"Shit is a more onerous theological problem than is evil. Since God gave man freedom, we can, if need be, accept the idea that He is not responsible for man's crimes. The responsibility for shit, however, rests entirely with Him, the creator of man."

"The feeling induced by kitsch must be a kind the multitudes can share. Kitsch may not, therefore, depend on an unusual situation; it must derive from the basic images people have engraved in their memories: the ungrateful daughter, the neglected father, children running on the grass, the motherland betrayed, first love. Kitsch causes two tears to flow in succession. The first tear says: How nice to see children running on the grass! The second tear says: How nice to be moved, together with all mankind, by children running on the grass!

It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch.

The brotherhood of man on earth will be possible only on a base of kitsch."

"In the realm of totalitarian kitsch, all answers are given in advance and preclude any questions. It follows, then, that the true opponent of totalitarian kitsch is the person who asks questions. A question is like a knife that slices through the stage backdrop and gives us a look at what lies hidden behind it."

"But the people who struggle against what we call totalitarian regimes cannot function with queries and doubts. They, too, need certainties and simple truths to make the multitudes understand, to provoke collective tears."

"Yes, said Franz to himself, the Grand March goes on, the world's indifference notwithstanding, but it is growing nervous and hectic: yesterday against the American occupation of Vietnam, today against the Vietnamese occupation of Cambodia; yesterday for Israel, today for the Palestinians; yesterday for Cuba, tomorrow against Cuba — and always against America; at times against massacres and at times in support of massacres;..."

"The very beginning of Genesis tells us that God created man in order to give him dominion over fish and fowl and all creatures. Of course, Genesis was written by a man, not a horse. There is no certainty that God actually did grant man dominion over other creatures. What seems more likely, in fact, is that man invented God to sanctify the dominion that he had usurped for himself over the cow and the horse. Yes, the right to kill a deer or a cow is the only thing all of mankind can agree upon, even during the bloodiest of wars."

"Tereza kept stroking Karenin's head, which was quietly resting in her lap, while something like the following ran through her mind: There's no particular merit in being nice to one's fellow man. She had to treat other villagers decently, because otherwise she couldn't live there. Even with Tomas, she was obliged to behave lovingly because she needed him. We can never establish with certainty what part of our relations with others is the result of our emotions—love, antipathy, charity, or malice— and what part is predetermined by the constant power play among individuals.

True human goodness, in all its purity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power. Mankind's true moral test, its fundamental test (which lies deeply buried from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals."

"If Karenin had been a person instead of a dog, he would surely have long since said to Tereza, "Look, I'm sick and tired of carrying that roll in my mouth every day. Can't you come up with something different?" And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition."

"If we had stayed in Zurich, you'd still be a surgeon."

"And you'd be a photographer."

"That's a silly comparison to make," said Tereza. "Your work meant everything to you; I don't care what I do, I can do anything, I haven't lost a thing; you've lost everything."

"Haven't you noticed I've been happy here, Tereza?" Tomas said.

"Surgery was your mission," she said.

"Missions are stupid, Tereza. I have no mission. No one has. And it's a terrific relief to realize you're free, free of all missions."

"Wtf is this bullshit? Fuck off!" exclaimed Alex, forcefully flinging the book against a wall. The book was light, yet the wall was heavy. The lightness of the book was such that anyone, observing the distance from which the book bounced off the wall without leaving a dent, would surely think that nothing could be heavier than that wall. However, it was only because the book was so light in comparison to the wall that such a conclusion could be reached; it was a perception resulting from limited experience with light and heavy objects. In reality, there were a great many things that were heavier than that wall, such as a train or Saturn.

But what is the act of throwing a book against a wall if not the desire for another, less crappy, less arrogant and self-satisfied book? Well, it could be many things, like an attempt to kill a spider or the momentary indulgence of a child's most destructive tendencies. Hmm, I suppose the danger of turning everything into an aphorism or homily is that what one may produce is a lot of stuff that appears shallow and pretentious drivel as soon as the reader gives even a few seconds of thought to what the author has said.

And then they made love.

\\n  einmal ist keinmal\\n
Once is never
(but sometimes it can last forever)

Among all the random thoughts and dilemmas that Milan Kundera places in the mind of Tomas, one of the heroes of his novel, beyond of course the Nietzschean idea of eternal recurrence, is also that of Cavafy's "great refusal", the internal struggle, that is, of the modern human being between the "great yes" and the "great no". "\\n  Is it right to raise one's voice when they are trying to impose silence on a person?\\n". Tomas' first spontaneous answer is a "great yes", although, immediately after, he feels the need to reformulate the question in order to justify his great no (right or wrong, it doesn't matter, perhaps "if they were asked again, he would not say it again"): "\\n  Is it better to speak out and thus hasten the end? Or to remain silent and buy a later agony?\\n".

In the most erotic and best-known of his novels, which I admit I read with some hesitation (which has nothing to do of course with Kundera himself, whom I esteem as few writers, but with all that hype - an unknown term at that time yet - that followed its release), through an innovative literary narrative structure (sometimes parallel and sometimes fragmented, usually third-person, although there are many times when the author intervenes in the first person to remind the reader of something that has been said before), he deals with love and human relationships, the political kit, the totalitarianism of the communist regime, the fantastic gaze that we all need to observe our lives, and, above all, the futility of human existence, the different weight that the unrepeatable moments of it and death acquire for each of us.

It is certainly not his best novel (personally I would choose "The Joke" as such, the most political of all his books), nor the deepest philosophical one (for those who have not yet had the opportunity, read "Immortality"). It has Kundera's signature, however, and that is enough, I think, for the reader to be left, without any hesitation, in the complexity and purity of his thought.

I don't know if I'm happy to have finished reading it or sad? It was a wonderful novel... profound... deep... realistic... philosophical... It delved into the humanity within men and women, their tragic relationships, and the inner self of humans in this universe. The novel truly deserves a high rating :)

This novel, like a dream, expresses the great questions of human inner worlds... about destiny... choice... responsibility... the "heaviness and lightness" of burden... its existential thoughts with a social and economic background that is based on humanity, rising above culture, civilization, faith, and art... It's an inner exploration of the self, whether of a man or a woman... You can hear the inner dialogues that branch out from reality, the detailed and analytical description of the soul, body, and its history, clashing with the system... It makes you think about the state of submitting to the inherited ideas... It asks you and with you about the nature of destiny... the forms of existence... the tragedy of reality... the foolishness of holding on, using simplicity as an excuse, asking about that heaviness or that lightness? Is the lightness that can't be endured positive or negative in reality?

Milan Kundera amazed me in this novel with his wonderful ability to make us hear a philosophy full of questions. I often stopped at the third part when he presented a small dictionary of unknown words such as: woman, music, light and darkness, encounters, the beauty of New York, the cemetery, strength, living in truth.

"About the characters"

I sometimes stopped and couldn't empathize with Tereza. How could a woman endure betrayal? This question haunted me often in the novel. I think Tomas' betrayals were not just superficial but a deep-seated inner impulse. He wrote it down throughout his life. It's no wonder that her endurance was only the result of her belief that there was no one for her after him.

I truly empathized with Franz. I think he was always involved and sacrificed for his "noble ideas".

"Some quotes that I liked"

Once is not a number. Once is never. You can only live one life as if you had never lived before.

She was unable to close her eyes all night. But between her arms, she always fell asleep, no matter how great her anxiety. He would tell her stories he made up or jokes and funny words in a calm tone. These words would turn in her imagination into hairy little hands that took her by the hand to the first dream. He had an extraordinary effect on her falling asleep, and she would fall asleep in the moment he decided to choose for her.

There is nothing but what is necessary, and no value but what has weight.

We all believe that it makes no sense to love our lives if it is something light without weight. We all imagine that our love is our strength, and if our lives are without it, they will no longer be our lives. Just as we convince ourselves that Beethoven, with his furrowed brow and tousled hair, plays for our great love in the tune: It is not from nothing.

There is no way to know which decision is the right one because there is no way to compare. Everything we think of is for the first time and without preparation.

But she understood later that the word "woman" that he pronounced with a distinct clarity did not express for him a characteristic that distinguished one gender of the human species, but rather represented a "value". Because not all women are worthy of being called "women".

Vision is limited by two extremes: the bright light that blinds the eyes and the complete darkness. Perhaps this is the source of her hatred for all excess. Because the extreme limits draw the line beyond which life disappears. Then, the passion for excess, whether in art or politics, is a desire resigned to death.

The life that is lived above the great peace of danger, courage, and the threatened death. Sabina restored to him the greatness of human destiny.

When the heart speaks, it is no longer appropriate for the mind to issue objections.

If I say dictatorship, I mean by that that everything that is inscribed with "Kitsch" is erased from life: all manifestations of individuality (because any rebellion is a slap in the face of the silent brothers), and all doubt (because anyone who starts to doubt the small details will end up doubting life itself), and also sarcasm (because everything in the kingdom of Kitsch is taken seriously).

To be a wounded person means to have to look at the appearance of things to see what is hidden inside them. Perhaps this desire is what led Tomas to go to see what is beyond what has no body, in other words, to see what remains of life when a person gives up everything he has considered so far to be his mission.

Love begins at the moment when a woman enters our poetic memory through a phrase.

Human life speaks only once, and it will never be in our power to know which decision is good and which decision is bad because in all cases we can only decide once. Because we have not been given a second, third, or fourth life to be able to compare different decisions.

Only the simple questions are the important ones. Those questions that remain unanswered. A question without an answer is a barrier to the paths that follow. In other words: the questions that remain unanswered are the ones that point to the limits of human possibilities and the ones that draw the limits of our existence.

The moment when love is born: when a woman cannot resist the voice that calls her lost soul, and the man who cannot resist the woman who becomes his soul alert to his voice.

In order to avoid pain, we usually resort to the future. We imagine that there is a certain point on the axis of time that stops after the current pain and ceases to exist.

Love relationships, like empires, do not disappear until the principle on which they are based disappears.

The river flows through the ages, and the stories of people do not fade away on its banks, but they do not speak to forget tomorrow, and the river does not stop flowing.

Criminal systems were not created by criminal people but by passionate and convinced people who believed they had found the only way that leads to paradise. So they took up arms and defended this way simply, and for this reason, they killed many people. Then it became clear, more than the day, that paradise does not exist and that the passionate people were just fools.

Did he give such importance to people's howls? Absolutely not. He didn't care about their affairs and took it upon himself to allow their looks to touch his ideas. So can someone who does not respect others make his destiny far related to their judgment on him?

Love is the desire to find the other half that is missing from ourselves.

Our personal pain is no less than the pain we suffer with others and for others and in the place of others, the pain that the imagination multiplies and reflects with hundreds of voices...

She had only one weapon in the face of the world of foolishness that surrounded her: the books she borrowed from the municipal library, especially the novels that she read voraciously... These novels gave her the opportunity for a fictional escape and killed her from a life that did not give her any sense of satisfaction.

Whoever wants to "rise" continuously must be prepared one day to be struck by the fall. But what is the fall?

It is the fear of falling, but why are we struck by the fall on the dignity of the surface, even if it is covered with hard armor?

That the fall is something different from the fear of falling. It is the voice of the void that calls us from below, attracting us and tempting us. It is the desire to fall that we resist later when we are struck by the fall!

Isn't the importance of an event and the abundance of its meanings measured by its connection to the greatest possible number of coincidences?

Only coincidence can have a brain... Because what happens necessarily, what is expected and repeated daily, remains something stupid, and only coincidence is meaningful.

Only for coincidence alone is this magic, not for necessity... And in order for our love to be unforgettable, the coincidence must come together from the first moment, just as the birds gathered above the shoulders of Saint Francis of Assisi...

Our daily lives are filled with coincidences, especially the chance encounters between people and events, what we call accidents: and an accident is the moment when two unexpected events occur at the same time... In most cases, many accidents pass without us noticing them at all... But passionate love intensifies the feeling of beauty within it, and it will never forget this music, and every time it hears it, it will move, and everything that happens around it in this moment will be surrounded by the atmosphere of this music and will be beautiful.

"Defects in the novel"

A character like Franz's character jumped into the events without any introduction, and revealing the end of the lives of two of the most important characters in the middle of the events did not make you wait for the end... Suddenly, it hits you!!!, and then he cites two literary works... Some readers like me who have not read them before, such as "Oedipus" and "Anna Karenina". Personally, I have not read them, so if there is a specific reason for choosing them, unfortunately, it did not reach me, surely because of my ignorance.

"Would I recommend it?"

Yes, for lovers of philosophy, lovers of novels with "profound psychological" dimensions. While taking into account that the novel has some political biases towards socialist thought.

LEGGEREZZA?

What exactly is leggerezza? This is a question that lingers as one delves into the world of Milan Kundera's work.

Here, we have Daniel Day Lewis as Tomas, and his lover Sabina, played by Lena Olin. The relationship between them is complex and充满了各种情感的交织.

I wonder if things would have been different if I had experienced the book first and then the film. However, with Kundera, I've never had a great rapport. I've always struggled to penetrate his art, which seems overly inclined towards philosophizing and illuminism, perhaps even a bit sententious.

Nevertheless, the sequence of events led me to watch the film first, and it was a disappointment. I have great respect for Philip Kaufman, having appreciated his works like The Right Stuff – Uomini veri and Invasion of the Body Snatchers – Terrore dallo spazio profondo, as well as The Wanderers – I nuovi guerrieri based on Richard Price's novel. I also have even more respect for his screenwriter, Jean-Claude Carrière, whose collaboration with Luis Buñuel has made him a myth and legend. And then there's the protagonist, Daniel Day Lewis, perhaps the greatest actor in history, or at least the greatest among the living. And Lena Olin, who seems capable of moving the world. And Sven Nykvist's lighting. And yet...

The film just doesn't work. It's too long, especially for its time (nearly three hours). It has moments of axioms rather than dialogue. Its rhythm is regulated by a metronome, which is anything but a compliment (the death of all surprise...).

As a result, I approached the book with a negative attitude. And unfortunately, that prejudice was confirmed. The book seems to be filled with convoluted ideas and overly philosophical musings that are difficult to fully grasp.

Qualsiasi studente nell’ora di fisica può provare con esperimenti l’esattezza di un’ipotesi scientifica. L’uomo, invece, vivendo una sola vita, non ha alcuna possibilità di verificare un’ipotesi mediante un esperimento, e perciò non saprà mai se avrebbe dovuto o no dare ascolto al proprio sentimento. This passage from the book sums up the confusion and uncertainty that Kundera seems to be trying to convey.

Overall, both the film and the book of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" left me with a sense of dissatisfaction and a feeling that I had not fully understood the essence of Kundera's work.