I guess I’ll use this thread to post a quote from “The tale of Hodja Nasreddin” by Leonid Solovyov, translated by me. I think it fits very well with the recent sequence on diligence.
“He knew well that fate and chance never come to the aid of those who replace action with pleas and laments. He who walks conquers the road. Let his legs grow tired and weak on the way—he must crawl on his hands and knees, and then surely, he will see in the night a distant light of hot campfires, and upon approaching, will see a merchants’ caravan; and this caravan will surely happen to be going the right way, and there will be a free camel, upon which the traveler will reach his destination. Meanwhile, he who sits on the road and wallows in despair—no matter how much he cries and complains—will evoke no compassion in the soulless rocks. He will die in the desert, his corpse will become meat for foul hyenas, his bones will be buried in hot sand. How many people died prematurely, and only because they didn’t love life strongly enough! Hodja Nasreddin considered such a death humiliating.
“No”—said he to himself and, gritting his teeth, repeated wrathfully: “No! I won’t die today! I don’t want to die!”″
About the book: it uses the name Hodja Nasreddin, but has little to do with him. The Nasreddin that Muslims know was a mullah. This one is a rabble-rousing vagabond who enters harems, makes life hard for corrupt officials, and has been successfully executed in every city in the Arabic world. I think that Solovjov took a Muslim hero and created a Communist hero. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that the book is a masterpiece.
I guess I’ll use this thread to post a quote from “The tale of Hodja Nasreddin” by Leonid Solovyov, translated by me. I think it fits very well with the recent sequence on diligence.
“He knew well that fate and chance never come to the aid of those who replace action with pleas and laments. He who walks conquers the road. Let his legs grow tired and weak on the way—he must crawl on his hands and knees, and then surely, he will see in the night a distant light of hot campfires, and upon approaching, will see a merchants’ caravan; and this caravan will surely happen to be going the right way, and there will be a free camel, upon which the traveler will reach his destination. Meanwhile, he who sits on the road and wallows in despair—no matter how much he cries and complains—will evoke no compassion in the soulless rocks. He will die in the desert, his corpse will become meat for foul hyenas, his bones will be buried in hot sand. How many people died prematurely, and only because they didn’t love life strongly enough! Hodja Nasreddin considered such a death humiliating.
“No”—said he to himself and, gritting his teeth, repeated wrathfully: “No! I won’t die today! I don’t want to die!”″
About the book: it uses the name Hodja Nasreddin, but has little to do with him. The Nasreddin that Muslims know was a mullah. This one is a rabble-rousing vagabond who enters harems, makes life hard for corrupt officials, and has been successfully executed in every city in the Arabic world. I think that Solovjov took a Muslim hero and created a Communist hero. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that the book is a masterpiece.