One no one and one hundred thousand pdf full book

Share your interactive ePaper on all platforms and on your website with our embed function. In an autobiographical letter, published inthe author refers to this work as the bitterest of all, profoundly humoristic, about the decomposition of life

It hurts me a little, when I take hold of it. I was twenty-eight years old; and up to now, I had always looked upon my nose as being, if not altogether handsome, at least a very respectable sort of nose, as might have been said of all the other parts of my person. So far as that was concerned, I had been ready to admit and maintain a point that is customarily admitted and maintained by all those who have not had the misfortune to bring a deformed body into the world, namely, that it is silly to indulge in any vanity over one's personal lineaments. And yet, the unforeseen, unexpected discovery of this particular defect angered me like an undeserved punishment. It may be that my wife saw through this anger of mine; for she quickly added that, if I was under the firm and comforting impression of being wholly without blemishes, it was one of which I might rid myself; since, just as my nose sagged to the right—.

One no one and one hundred thousand pdf full book

We will keep fighting for all libraries - stand with us! Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. Capture a web page as it appears now for use as a trusted citation in the future. Uploaded by station Search icon An illustration of a magnifying glass. User icon An illustration of a person's head and chest. Sign up Log in. Web icon An illustration of a computer application window Wayback Machine Texts icon An illustration of an open book. Books Video icon An illustration of two cells of a film strip. Video Audio icon An illustration of an audio speaker. Audio Software icon An illustration of a 3. Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. Metropolitan Museum Cleveland Museum of Art. Internet Arcade Console Living Room.

I made up my mind to find out who I was, at least to those closest to me, acquaintances so-called, and to amuse myself by maliciously decomposing the I that I was to them.

Password Notices Tip Got Facebook? Pirandello, Luigi: One, None and a hundred-thousand. Vitangelo Moscarda discovers by way of a completely irrelevant question that his wife poses to him that everyone he knows, everyone he has ever met, has constructed a Vitangelo persona in their own imagination and that none of these personas corresponds to the image of Vitangelo that he himself has constructed and believes himself to be. From a much longer description on wikipedia. Translated by Samuel Putnam. Copyright laws differ throughout the world, and it may still be under copyright in some countries.

Jump to ratings and reviews. Want to read. Rate this book. Luigi Pirandello , William Weaver Translator. The great Pirandello's novel, previously published here in in another translation, synthesizes the themes and personalities that illuminate such dramas as Six Characters in Search of an Author. It is Pirandello's genius that a discussion of the fundamental human inability to communicate, of our essential solitariness, and of the inescapable restriction of our free will elicits such thoroughly sustained and earthy laughter.

One no one and one hundred thousand pdf full book

It hurts me a little, when I take hold of it. I was twenty-eight years old; and up to now, I had always looked upon my nose as being, if not altogether handsome, at least a very respectable sort of nose, as might have been said of all the other parts of my person. So far as that was concerned, I had been ready to admit and maintain a point that is customarily admitted and maintained by all those who have not had the misfortune to bring a deformed body into the world, namely, that it is silly to indulge in any vanity over one's personal lineaments. And yet, the unforeseen, unexpected discovery of this particular defect angered me like an undeserved punishment. It may be that my wife saw through this anger of mine; for she quickly added that, if I was under the firm and comforting impression of being wholly without blemishes, it was one of which I might rid myself; since, just as my nose sagged to the right—. Yes, there was something else! Something else!

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I had always thought of him, remembered him, as a father, for what he had meant to me, which was, to tell the truth, exceedingly little, seeing that my mother had died very young and I had been placed in a boarding school at a distance from Richieri, then in a second and then in a third, where I had remained until I was eighteen, after which I went to the university and there spent six years changing from one course to another without drawing any profit from any of them; this led to my being called back to Richieri, where I was promptly married off, whether as a reward or a punishment, I cannot say. I held myself with my eyes. The determining conditions outside me, beyond any will of my own? We soon perceive, however, that it is not so, that the act on the contrary is always and solely that of one of the many persons that we are or may be capable of being when, unfortunately and unexpectedly, we find ourselves strung up on a certain peg; we perceive, I mean to say, that the whole of ourselves was not in that act, and that it would, accordingly, be a terrible injustice to judge us by that act alone, to keep us strung up on that peg, as in a pilory, for the whole of our existence, as if that existence were wholly summed up in this one act. Furthermore, the mere thought of my wife's being in the house was sufficient to keep me in the presence of myself, which was exactly what I did not want. The thing, I fancy, quite likely happens to all sons. Supposing that your own father were a hangman; how would that title be translated in your family to accord with the love you have for him and which he has for you? And they exhale about you a dear, familiar comfort, animated as they are by all your memories; they are no longer objects, but, in a manner, intimate parts of yourself, in which you can touch and feel what impresses you as being the assured reality of your existence. And in his limpid, almost glassy, pale-blue eyes, there shone for me the smile I knew so well, a strangely tender smile, with a hint of compassion in it, a trace of derision as well, but affectionate, as if at bottom he were glad that I was the sort of son to evoke his derisiveness; he all but regarded me, it seemed, as a freakish indulgence which he with impunity could afford to permit himself. It of necessity seems that others must have made a mistake, that an attributed form, an attributed act is not this and thus; but if, a little later, we shift our point of view, we inevitably become aware that we similarly have been mistaken, and that it is not this and is not thus; until in the end, we are constrained to recognize the fact that there will never be a this or a thus that is in any way stable or secure, but that, now in one manner, now in another, all at a certain point appear to be mistaken, or all appear to be right, which is the same thing. What did you mean? We do not make our way inside the jest, which is deeper, more deeply rooted than you think, my friends. How many? It was really more than a longing; it was a need, a sharp and pressing, a restless need, which was aggravated to the point of fury by the presence or proximity of my wife.

We will keep fighting for all libraries - stand with us! Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet.

And they have a pair of eyes, my eyes, which I do not see but which they see. A value, naturally, that changes in accordance with the form and act in which the being becomes visible to us. What relation is there between my ideas and my nose? Revert Cancel. Flag as Inappropriate Cancel. And yet, the unforeseen, unexpected discovery of this particular defect angered me like an undeserved punishment. When an act is finished, it is what it is; it can no longer change. You can find your publication here:. Attached Files. My hands? I was all admiration, fairly dazzled. And the latter replied to her through my mouth in a manner of which I remained wholly ignorant. Rust by that time had almost eaten away the red-tinted varnish of the iron haft which at the top regulates the pulley over which the well-rope runs; how sad it seemed to me, that faded hue of varnish on that sickly looking iron haft!