One no one and one hundred thousand pdf full book

At first he only notices small differences in how he sees himself and how others do; but his self-examination quickly becomes relentless, dizzying, leading to often darkly comic results as Vitangelo decides that he must demolish that version of himself that others see. It arrives at the most extreme conclusions, the farthest consequences. Luigi Pirandello — was an Italian novelist, short-story writer, and playwright.

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!

One no one and one hundred thousand pdf full book

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. Before downloading, please check your country's copyright laws. If the book is under copyright in your country, do not download or redistribute this work. To report a copyright violation you can contact us here. Last edited by hobnail; at PM. That description sounds very interesting, thanks a lot for uploading this, hobnail! Have I misunderstood the way P. All times are GMT The time now is PM.

And I had to savor once again all the bitterness of my shame, by taking down as from a rent in my very soul the question that dangled there.

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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

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For example, that cry of victory because man, like that old hat of yours, has started to fly, to play the bird! In the course of living, I had never thought of my nose, of its size, whether big or small, of the color of my eyes, or the narrowness or breadth of my forehead, and so forth. In accordance with the knowledge that I have of him, I attribute to him a reality: for me. I mean, those conditions affecting me that did not depend upon me. I would have you be persuaded at least of this. And I very readily might fail to recognize myself thus. And perhaps you think it is nothing! But was not I even worse than my father? Cancel Delete. Are you really afraid that I may tell you it is not? And into that apartment there came to live, shortly afterward, a very silent and thoughtful old man, always very well dressed, cleanly and simply, a little old man but with something of the soldier in his slender well-set-up figure, as well as in his energetic face, somewhat scarred by time, which was that of a retired colonel. Look, here we are, back to earth—earth. There is no ill-will in the matter. But go away from this house, come back in three or four years to view it again, in another frame of mind than the one you are in today, and you will find that there is nothing left of that reality which you so cherish. Be sincere.

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And now, look what happened. If you could see the little black and white squares on the seat of your trousers—Come, off with your coat! It did enter my mind. But even if this is as far as you care to go in your assertions, see to it that you do not contradict me, when I state and maintain, as I hereby do, that they are not only a prison, but the most unjust sort of one that could be imagined. Listen, listen: up there in the chestnut grove, blows of an ax. I did not know it, I did not give it a thought, but in my appearance, that is to say, the one that they attributed to me, in my every word, which was uttered for them in a voice that I could never know, in my every act, which was interpreted by each in his own way, my name and my body to others were always implicitly involved. For reality is not a thing conferred upon us or which exists; it is something that we have to manufacture ourselves, if we will to be; and it will never be one for all, one forever, but continuous and subject to infinite mutations. Do you get it? You are bent upon living for your own sakes, and you are wise in so doing, without giving yourselves a thought of what, in the meanwhile, you may be to others; not, in fact, that the opinion of others does not matter to you—it matters very much indeed; it is rather because you are under the blissful illusion that others, from without, must picture you to themselves as you picture yourselves. I shall not say that it is worth nothing, if it means everything to you; I shall say, to please you, that I similarly have my own, and know that it is worth nothing. And the construction lasts so long as the material of our emotions does not crumble, and so long as the cement of our will holds firm. What do you mean, mine! They are laden with you, with your stones. He could be seen, but could not see. If I did not wish myself or feel myself to be as I saw myself, then it was a stranger to me as well, since in addition to those features which it had, it might have had yet others.