Transcript Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea

Jean-Paul Sartre
Nausea
Title: Nausea
Author: Jean-Paul Sartre
Format: Library Binding
Language: English
Pages: 238
Publisher: , 0
ISBN: 00000NDP82
Format: PDF / Kindle / ePub
Size: 7.2 MB
Download: allowed
Description
Winner of the 1964 Nobel Prize in Literature. Jean-Paul Sartre, philosopher, critic, novelist and
dramatist, hold a position of singular eminence in the world of French letters. Among readers
and critics familiar with the whole of Sartre's work, it is generally recognized that his earliest
novel, Le Nausée (first published in 1938), is his finest and most significant. It is unquestionably
a key novel of the Twentieth Century and a landmark in Existentialist fiction.
Nausea is the story of Antoine Roquentin, a French writer who is horrified at his own existence.
In impressionistic, diary form he ruthlessly catalogues his every feeling and sensation about the
world and people around him. His thoughts culminate in a pervasive, overpowering feeling of
nausea which "spread at the bottom of the viscous puddle, at the bottom of our time—the time of
purple suspenders and broken chair seats; it is made of wide, soft instants, spreading at the
edge, like an oil stain." Roquentin's efforts to come to terms with his life, his philosophical and
psychological struggles, give Sartre the opportunity to dramatize trhe tents of his Existentialist
creed.
The introduction for this edition of Nausea by Hayden Carruth gives background on Sartre's life
and major works, a summary of the principal themes of Existentialist philosophy, and a critical
analysis of the novel itself.
Insightful reviews
Leo Robertson: That’s right: my meter is pregnant with stars. A full f**king 5 of them. That said,
did I understand everything I read? F**k no. (The benefit of asterisks as I plan to swear a lot
more :D)
But, many Goodreaders and former me, you can rate something 5* without understanding the
whole thing. The reason in this case being that it communicates something to you that you
don’t fully perceive, creates dialogue puzzles that peak your curiosity to solve another day and
begs for a re-read. But I don’t shy away from my lack of comprehension and before I continue
with some more prattle I’d like to tell you a story.
One day when I was 18 and it was summer and I was looking for my first job, I handed out CVs
all up and down this one street. The next day I discovered there was a number missing from my
phone number on the front page of it, but it was the perfect excuse a few days later for me to go
up and down again and check that people’d had a look at the damn thing. I eventually went to
this really cool café and the guy said ‘Leo, right? Yeah I tried to call you yesterday.’ He took
my number down on the whiteboard behind the bar and said ‘Do you want a coffee?’ and
because I didn’t have any money in my wallet and didn’t know if they accepted cards, I said ‘Nno’ and walked out!! OHHHH IT HURTS! He wanted to have a pure casual interview with me
and I ran away before he could say anything! To think I could have had, even now, a whole
bunch of cool hipster friends; to think I could have had a job that taught me how to make
professional cappuccinos, and in the summer evenings me and my hipster friends’d all go out
to see the bands of each other’s friends performing and consume various substances while it
was still a somewhat acceptable practice! Instead I ended up working in this schoolwear shop
three or four summers in a row serving mostly bitchy mums who came in smelling of the
cappuccinos and croissants I longed to serve them instead. OH, CALLOUS FATE!!
I don’t have a lot to say about this book yet. I’d need to read it again to gain enough meaning
on it to comment (and I will.) Having that potential is enough for me to highly recommend it now.
And really, it has shown me that there is a lot of purpose to laymen like myself reading
philosophical texts. David Foster Wallace said that setting himself up for a career in philosophy
meant writing a lot of things that would only be of interest to other philosophers. Certainly when
I read about the theories of Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, Foucault… and so on, I have no idea what
they’re on about. Or why it matters. Yet. Maybe.
Nausea is not terribly accessible but I do get the impression that it’s meant for a general
audience.
Now I present you with a laymen’s summary of philosophical texts.
Of philosophers I’ve tried:
- Wittgenstein: more like WHAT-genstein?!
- Nietzche: Nietzche’s original miscellany of mad bastard quotes
- Camus: great!
- Sartre: great!
- De Botton: occasionally insightful. Seems like a sweet gentleman.
- More: duh!
I think that’s it.
Philosophical novelists/ fiction writers whose work I’ve enjoyed:
- Dostoyevsky
- Kafka (a bit)
- Musil
- Rand: embarrassed to put her name in this list, but she tells a good tale, even if it is heavily
imbalanced in favour of her crazy theories
- Dante: epic!
- Shakespeare: sometimes.
Philosophy books to read:
- Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason
- Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy
- Anything by Slavoj Zizek since he is such a lovable madman
- Tracy recommends: "Martins Heidegger and Buber"
- Sean recommends: The Exegesis by PKD
I think that’s it.
Enjoy, maybe!!
Fewlas: Sono sempre intenta a scovare un equivalente musicale alle mie letture, ma questa
volta Sartre mi ha facilitato il compito. Il suo Roquentin è infatti stregato da questo ragtime anni
’20: ”Some of these days” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_0ldg.... Sono quasi sicura che
sia questo. Il pezzo è lui. Roquentin parla di una cantante negra. Sophie Tucker è bianca, la
sua voce, sebbene a volte bluesy, non esprime la solita potenza delle più note vocalità blues.
“Tra un momento ci sarà il ritornello: è sopratutto questo che mi piace e la maniera improvvisa
con cui si getta avanti come una scogliera contro il mare. Per ora suona soltanto il jazz, non v’è
melodia, solo note, una miriade di piccole scosse. Non hanno sosta, un ordine inflessibile le fa
nascere e le distrugge, senza mai lasciar loro l’agio di riprendersi, di esistere per se stesse.
Corrono, s’inseguono, passando mi colpiscono con un urto secco, e s’annullano. Mi
piacerebbe trattenerle, ma so che se arrivassi ad afferrarne una, tra le dita non resterebbe che
un suono volgare e languido. Devo accettare la loro morte; devo perfino volerla: conosco poche
impressioni più aspre e più forti.”
Questo brano descrive bene la nausea, sebbene questa non vi sia neppure nominata. Descrive
il concetto di fuggevolezza delle cose. Uno scorrimento d’esistenze singole: una nota che
nasce ed è già morta, ma anche un alito di vento e le fronde da esso mosse: sono tutte
minuscole esistenze che non hanno tempo di realizzarsi, di divenire totali. Il processo di
totalizzazione è sempre in corso e non coincide mai con una totalità già data. È ciò che Sartre
chiama il pratico-inerte. E, a mio avviso, il tanto sviscerato paragone con Hegel qui nasce e qui
si ferma.
Per Sartre il pratico-inerte è la realtà oggettiva, l’essenza della materia, il residuo della prassi.
E si concretizza -o materializza- come mera oggettività. Da qui il ciottolo dal quale fuoriesce la
nausea per la prima volta. Dall’essenza del sasso. Cosa estranea al soggetto. Cosa che si fa
sentire esterna e corporea. Cosa che aliena il soggetto, perché è una minaccia per l’uomo,
costretto ad agire, ad esteriorizzarsi anche lui per sentirsi oggetto. Da qui il paragone con
Hegel: perché l’alienazione coincide con l’oggettivazione.
Sartre approfondisce questi concetti in “L’essere e il nulla”.
La nausea è un sentimento che si avverte quando ci si accorge dell’assurda contingenza della
realtà. Dell’inutilità, quindi, dell’esistenza. Esistere di fatto vs esistere di diritto. Il mondo c’è
perché c’è, e non ha alcuna base. Gli esseri che lo percepiscono e lo vivono come qualcosa di
ragionevole, come qualcosa che si basi su un fondamento, esistono di diritto. Al privilegiato che
riesce a rendersi conto dell’assurda contingenza dell’esistenza non è dato esistere di diritto.
Esistono di diritto i piccoli borghesi di provincia che “escono dagli uffici, dopo la giornata di
lavoro, guardano le case e le piazze con aria soddisfatta, pensano che è la loro città, una bella
città borghese. Non hanno paura, si sentono a casa propria…”.
Tutti questi uomini con esistenze di diritto non temono l’erosione del passato. Perché solo il
nauseato si rende conto del nulla delle azioni, e allora anche il narrarsi è impresa difficile. Gli
attimi nascono e muoiono come le note del pezzo jazz. E, se pur si riesce a narrare qualcosa,
non è ciò che si è vissuto davvero.
Ma narrarsi è una modalità d’esistenza solida, si esiste di diritto quando la parola ha il dono
demiurgico d’inventarci la vita. Ma eccola di nuovo, la distinzione: l’uomo che esiste di diritto
racconta la sua esistenza; il suo passato (che il nauseato ben sa, non è mai esistito) diventa
ricordo, aneddoto, saggezza, esperienza. Quest’uomo tenta di oggettivarsi, gioca la sua parte,
esiste. Roquentin, come tutti i melanconici, ha serie difficoltà a ricordarsi cosa sia accaduto.
Tenta di giocare la sua parte da scrittore, come gioca la sua parte la negra che canta:
“La negra canta. Allora, è possibile giustificare la propria esistenza? Un pochino?”
A proposito di tipi melanconici, ecco un curioso aneddoto: “La nausea" era originariamente
intitolato “Melancholia". Simone de Beauvoir dice che son stati altri a consigliare a Sartre questo
nuovo titolo. Altri descrivono meglio il ragionamento dello scrittore, la ragione del suo
cambiamento. Il titolo originario, infatti, si ispirava all’omonima stampa di Dürer.
La figura alata, simbolo della pensosità umana, rappresenta i conflitti del cosmo. Il riferimento a
questa stampa non ha avuto successo, non ha vinto, perché il dolore che Sartre intendeva
descrivere non si conciliava affatto con la modalità di aggiustamento tutta rinascimentale che si
trova nella stampa. Nessun raziocinio potrebbe porre fine all’ineluttabilità del conflitto uomooggetto.
Ritornando al paragone con il finalismo hegeliano. Anch’esso è di breve durata. E la
conseguenza sembrerebbe essere in contraddizione con la scelta pessimistica del titolo. Un
passo alla volta..
Ciò che distanzia Sartre da Hegel è la conclusione della storia, la ragione per la quali molti poi
considereranno la filosofia di Sartre una filosofia “delle responsabilità”, e non “della
disperazione”: Sartre non accetta la concezione marxista ed hegeliana dell’uomo schiavo di
meccanismi storici; rifiuta la passività dell’uomo perché non crede in quella legge
d’immanenza hegeliana che prevede l’annullamento dell’uomo.
Vi è la nausea, ma vi è anche il suo superamento. Vale a dire la presa di coscienza e
l’assunzione di responsabilità.
Ma a me, che tanto è piaciuta la descrizione che Sartre fa di questa epifania francese ed
esistenzialista, il superamento un po’ annoia. [Ecco un link dove se ne parla un
po’: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOnRTX...] E, siccome per narrarlo bisognerebbe stare a
parlare ancora un po’ di coscienza e di essere in sé (distinzione necessaria per giungere ad
una positiva risoluzione del conflitto uomo-mondo), mi fermo qua. Ma prima una confessione..
Sempre intenta a scovare un equivalente musicale alle mie letture, non mi son voluta
accontentare del suggerimento di Sartre e concludo questo mio commento con Il
comportamento di Gaber. Canzone che traduce in un linguaggio semplice e diretto quello che io
ho cercato di descrivere sopra. Buon ascolto.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaSyow...
Il comportamento
Mio nonno è sempre mio nonno
è sempre Ambrogio in ogni momento
voglio dire che non ha problemi
di comportamento.
Io non assomiglio ad Ambrogio
l'interezza non è il mio forte
per essere a mio agio
ho bisogno di una parte.
Per esempio, quando sto in campagna
ed accendo il fuoco nel camino
lentamente raccolgo la legna
e mi muovo come un contadino.
Quando in treno incontro una donna
io m'invento serio e riservato
faccio quello che parla poco
ma c'ha dietro tutto un passato.
E se mi viene bene, se la parte mi funziona
allora mi sembra di essere una persona.
Qualche volta metto il mio giaccone
grigioverde tipo guerrigliero
e ci metto dentro il mio corpo
e già che ci sono anche il mio pensiero.
Quando invece sto leggendo Hegel
mi concentro, sono tutto preso
non da Hegel, naturalmente
ma dal mio fascino di studioso.
E se mi viene bene, se la parte mi funziona
allora mi sembra di essere una persona.
Mio nonno si è scelto una parte
che non cambia in ogni momento
voglio dire che c'ha un solo comportamento.
Io invece ho sempre bisogno
di una nuova definizione
e gli altri fanno lo stesso
è una tacita convenzione.
Non ne posso più di recitare
di fingere per darmi un tono
io mi mostro senza pudore
pur di essere quel che sono.
E se mi viene bene, se la parte mi funziona
allora mi sembra di essere una persona.
Se un giorno noi cercassimo chi siamo veramente
ho il sospetto che non troveremmo niente.
Kiri: Okay, wow. They should stock this thing in the bible section. Or the adult erotica section,
because either way it gives you some pretty intense experiences.
In a nutshell: this book is kind of like an existentialist essay in the form of a diary. It's about this
red-haired writer guy Antoine Roquentin, who's recently been overwhelmed with an intolerable
awareness of his own existence. Like, super intolerable. Like, a soul-crushing, mind-blowing,
nausea-inducing kind of intolerable. It's pretty awesome.
And the best thing - the best. thing. - was the accessibility of it all. Sartre, the fiend, satisfied
me in ways that Dostoevsky and Camus never could. I mean, when has an existentialist
exposition ever been made so readable? So ironic and captivating, so funny - there were times I
actually laughed out loud. Moreover, Sartre gets me. I honestly cannot describe the feeling of
holding a crummy paperback filled with words written over 50 years ago, and finding one of your
own thoughts in amongst those of a fictional character. I guess it's what Christians must feel like
when they read the bible. Or what middle-aged single women feel while reading a particularly
steamy passage of Passion in the Prairie.
This is the kind of book you could read again and again, discovering some new detail every
time, and getting something different out of it with every read. A new favourite!
Chris: Now here's a tale a few relatively pathetic character, Antoine Roquentin, totally paralyzed
and nauseated via his highbrow strength and gravitas. My diagnosis: he performed too much,
then idea too much, then was once too drained to take brave steps within the top course he
knew. It was once the epitome of the stress among suggestion and motion illuminated by
means of Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s well-known line, “Thought expands, yet paralyzes;
motion animates, yet narrows.” i believe it’s attention-grabbing that during Antoine’s try and
squeeze out of the slender confines of a simplistic worldview, he unearths himself feeling
suffocated or even violated through the shut proximity of all existence, or even his personal
existence. The interconnectedness of all things, like “dough that will get longer and
longer…everything appears to be like loads alike that you just ask yourself how humans move
the belief of inventing names, to make distinctions,” grew to become to him an inescapable
attention of his coextension with the universe by means of interpenetration with all adjoining
objects, and for that reason his personal infinity. He sought after not anything greater than to be
a discrete, understandable, restricted item that retains clean and available the that means that
his existence could have had within the past, and that folks have been nonetheless having fun
with throughout him. he's lost, has develop into immured within the entanglements and knots of
his serpentine good judgment that's coiling in and constricting the existence out of him. jogs my
memory of G.K. Chesterton’s nice exhortation opposed to an excessive amount of of an
emphasis on reason, “The madman isn't the one that has misplaced his reason. The madman
is the guy who has misplaced every thing other than his reason.”It’s really sad, and a section
unnerving, to witness Antoine’s decline into delirium, and that i won’t say I can’t relate to a few
of the symptoms. It’s a genius thang. This e-book starts off with Antoine journaling his options
to aim and lend resiliency and consistency to a growing to be abstraction in his rules and
sensations. He desires to carry directly to his leaking life, crystallize his moments and finalize
their meaning. he's very uncomfortable together with his starting to be cognizance that the area
isn’t simply itself, yet partially his personal fluid invention. whereas hearing music, he compares
his slippery makes an attempt of retaining onto, and defining, the instant as reminiscent of
attempting to trap jazz notes in his hand, “I want to carry them back, yet i do know if I
succeeded in preventing one, it will stay among my hands in simple terms as a raffish
languishing sound. i need to settle for their death; i have to even will it.” This, then, mirrors his
resignation to not stymie the stream of his seconds and minutes, or want every little thing right
into a petrified prior with out organic, infinitely extending present, "I hang to every quick with all
my heart: i do know that it really is unique, irreplaceable, and but i wouldn't elevate a finger to
forestall it from being annihilated.” yet he, simply having grew to become 30, is morbidly
transfixed by way of the intractable, ‘unsluicable’, nature of the circulate of existence and time,
to the purpose of being not able to get his bearings and…do whatever approximately it! He’s
primarily experiencing the cliché of a mid-life hindrance and responding with rag-doll physics.
He loathes his life, and loathes different people’s lives, and begins blaming lifestyles itself for
his failures. His fascinating travels are over; his love-interest is not any longer in love with him;
his in basic terms good friend is a clingy, insecure, child-molester; he hates his task (writing
history); he hates philosophies which are opposite to his own; he hates stupid, frivolous people;
and it sounds as if he can’t play jazz. yet mostly, as I see it, he’s simply lonely. there's one
likelihood within the tale the place he observed a spark of desire to re-ignite an outdated
romance, and he truly turned interested by it, yet he loses the lady again, and falls again on his
bitter-sweet companion, nausea. To himself, he turns out to wish to border his distress because
the final penalty for figuring out secrets and techniques approximately life, society, and self that
every one the opposite negative schmucks can’t see, “They simply see the skinny film…I see
underneath it! The veneer melts, the shining velvety scales…explode in every single place at my
look, they break up and gape.” however the actual challenge this is that Mr. Roquentin sees no
goal for his insight, other than to lament that he's by myself in his very best intelligence having a
look down at the foolish dummies throughout him. But, these foolish dummies are happy,
sooo…. ? he's “alone and free”, in “exile” from others who don't imagine as he does, “…they are
gazing my again with shock and disgust; they inspiration i used to be like them, that i used to be
a man, and that i deceived them. I by surprise misplaced the looks of a guy and so they
observed a crab operating backwards out of this human room. Now the unmasked intruder has
fled: the convey is going on.” now not not like the gruesome trojan horse in Kafka’s
Metamorphosis, Antoine’s feeling of alienation and rejection may well simply be a extra major
factor in his self-loathing than simply an albatross of his genius. Which got here first, societal
rejection or self-loathing? difficult to tell.This story, despite the fact that disgusting an effect the
nature makes upon the reader, isn't really a meaningless story. it's a few void that's left within
the position of the failure of common sense and smooth beliefs to thread own which means
jointly out of impersonal data, which data, this tale sincerely illustrates, isn't so simply culled and
outlined from the boiling porridge of fact that's primarily irreducible and ‘absurd’ except our
distorted and deeply human categories. it's intended as a caution opposed to modernist
idealism, and as a choice to motion to contemplate what our reaction can be to this postmodern
quagmire of antiquated values, traditions, and causes of the that means of life. Sartre, I don’t
believe, used to be easily wallowing like his protagonist within the sulfuric surroundings of selfpity and depression despair. I don’t think this is often what Sartre believed and felt in his best
hours, even though he could have (and i might imagine most likely had) skilled those options
and emotions to a point to were in a position to so brilliantly seize that life-sick mindset. Sartre
was once sounding the alarm by way of portray a transparent photo of the orphans of
modernism, leaving not anything to the mind's eye as to the kind of sticky mess of bewilderment
and despondency that one’s lifestyles turns into while one attempts to dwell within the past,
rather than relocating bravely into the long run with a greater knowing who one is, and what
one’s alleged to be doing within the universe. Does Sartre supply any solutions here? No. yet
he poses a fine looking rattling reliable query that may motivate humans to begin the search. He
makes makes an attempt in different books to reply to the query (try Existentialism Is a
Humanism), yet that’s no longer the purpose here. He’s nauseating us to avoid us from
changing into the monster he wrote about.It is also a caution to all erudites who imagine wisdom
can ever deliver happiness. figuring out isn't living, and motion has to be taken in order that love
and happiness, which in keeping with a few psychologists “cannot be pursued, yet needs to
ensue”, should be a relentless in a person’s life. And it is, again, so very important to notice
that the overpowering feel of one’s bloated and overly-magnified self within the middle of an
absurd universe will basically develop extra soaking up and involuted as anyone withdraws from
society and starts to brood upon their inadequacies. In different words, i ponder if a bit of of
medication and fit friendships can have mounted a wide a part of Antoine’s problems. the
opposite part, to be sure, can have been ideological malaise (which i guess is the first cause for
Sartre to jot down this story) yet it’s not easy for me to view that because the complete
problem. i think existential angst can't be blamed squarely on one’s ideas, yet this new model
of melancholia could be relatively a hybrid of inefficacies in philosophy, relationships, biology,
environment…maybe more. Who knows, it may possibly simply be a foul thyroid. Or an
‘underdone turnip’. I don’t know. What do you think that I am? An ‘existential-angst-factorcalculator’ or something? Geeeesh.Parallel first-person narratives of people that over-thought
their lifestyles to the purpose of existential paralysis are Dostoyevsky’s “Notes From
Underground” and Camus “The Stranger.” comparable affliction, related attitudes. To the entire
panty-wastes of those novels I say (with the authors’ concurrence I’m sure), “Well, my boy, it
kind of feels you've concept your self right into a quite advantageous pickle. And don’t you like
it, you wretch, you.” yet really, I’m uncertain the matter has been provided a fully fulfilling
solution, even in my time; so i'm hoping to do every little thing i am unable to to finish up
comparably prostrate ahead of my very own experience of meaninglessness within the end.
Sartre, your caution is duly noted, my friend. Duly noted.
Tieu uyen: Ch? ngh?a hi?n sinh là ch? ngh?a nhân b?n, mà Bu?n nôn l?i là tác ph?m rõ ràng
nh?t v? tính ng??i trong m? lý thuy?t hi?n sinh lung tung r?i mù c?a Sartre. Truy?n dài dòng và
l?m t? r?c r?i nh?ng ??i khái k? v? anh Roquentin, m?t ngày n? Roquentin nhìn ?âu c?ng th?y
bu?n nôn, ?nh chán n?n quá, ko bi?t làm gì, ?nh ??c sách ?? tìm l?i mình và vi?t ti?u thuy?t ??
gi?i t?a.Con ng??i mà ??i di?n ? ?ây là anh Roquentin v?i s? ??i l?p chát chúa gi?a lý thuy?t và
th?c t?. S? t?n t?i c?a con ng??i v?i ý chí làm ng??i, ý chí ???c ch?n l?a và hành ??ng, con ng??i
và s? ràng bu?c trách nhi?m ?ã ???c Sartre tô v? r?t c?u k? b?ng nh?ng t? ng? cao sang và h?i
h?i khó hi?u tí. B? qua nh?ng ngôn t? tri?t h?c làm ng??i ra r?i r?m, ng??i ??c ch? c?n hi?u three
y?u t? c?u thành nên Bu?n nôn: 1 là vô th?c, 2 là ý th?c, three là k? m? th?c. Vô th?c là khi anh
Roquentin nhìn ?âu c?ng th?y l?m gi?ng mu?n ói. B?i m?c ói toàn t?p, nên Roquentin ?ã b?t ??u
ý th?c cu?c s?ng phi lý xung quanh mình, ý th?c s? t?n t?i phi lý c?a mình, ý th?c ??n cái cu?c
??i kh?n n?n phi lý c?a mình. B?t ngu?n t? phi lý v? ?ích c?ng ? phi lý. Phi lý qu?n quanh trong
s? s?ng, s? t?n t?i, c? c? cu?c ??i. S? l?c lõng c?a con ng??i trong cu?c ??i phi lý. ?nh ý th?c
xong anh b?t ??u lý gi?i cái ý th?c c?a mình, ??a ra nh?ng hi?n t??ng xu?t phát t? ý th?c c?a ?nh
r?i v? nên nh?ng màu s?c hình ?nh, r?i tìm cho nó vài ý ngh?a, r?i ??t tên cho s? lý gi?i ?ó b?ng
nh?ng t? ng? sang ch?ng ???c ng??i ??c chúng ta g?i là tri?t h?c. Th? nên n?u b?n ko quan tâm
c?ng ko c?n nh? làm gì cho r?t óc, ??c ?? bi?t là ???c.
Mitra: ?? ???? ?? ????? ?? ???, ?? ???? ?? ???? ?? ????; ??? ??? ???? ?? ????? ? ?????? ? ????
????? ?? ???? ???? ?????,??? ???, ?? ????? ?????? ? ??? ?????? ????, ?? ????? ??????, ??
??????? ???? ???:? ?? ??? ??? ????? ???? ?? ??? ? ?? ???? ??? ????, ???? ???? ?? ?????. ? ???
?????? ???? ?????? ?? ????...????? ?? ????? ????? ???, ???? ????? ?? ?????? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??
????. ?? ?? ??????:??? ???, ?? ???? ???? ? ??? ???? ????? ?? ????? ??? ?? ???.???? ?? ???,
????? ???? ??? ??????? ?? ??? ? ???? ???? ?? ????? ??? ?? ????.?? ???? ?? ?? ???? ????? ??
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