Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
all this Beethoven and rain
Sadness is very close to hate.
...the heart is an organ of fire.
Love is the use one makes of another.
A novel is a mirror walking down a road
Death means you are in the third person.
As a writer, one is busy with archaeology.
Truth, at the wrong time, can be dangerous.
All I ever wanted was a world without maps.
Do you understand the sadness of geography?
I promised to tell you how one falls in love.
In the desert you celebrate nothing but water.
Half a page--and the morning is already ancient.
There's more danger in the violence you don't face.
Sleep is a prison for a boy who has friends to meet.
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
Most of the time in our world, truth is just opinion.
Come. We must go deeper with no justice and no jokes.
I see the poem or the novel ending with an open door.
We all have an old knot in the heart we wish to untie.
A writer uses a pen instead of a scalpel or blow torch.
In Sri Lanka a well-told lie is worth a thousand facts.
I thought I was being loved because I was being altered.
Men had always been the reciters of poetry in the desert.
A blind lover, don't know what I love till I write it out
I don't see novels ending with any real sense of closure.
To write about someone like myself would be very limiting.
How does this happen? To fall in love and be disassembled.
How can you smile as though your whole life hasn't capsized
We are expanded by tears, we are told, not reduced by them.
Everyone has to scratch on walls somewhere or they go crazy
The trouble with all of us is we are where we shouldn't be.
The past is still, for us, a place that is not safely settled.
All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps.
Love is so small it can tear itself through the eye of a needle
It's why you create characters: so you can argue with yourself.
We own the country we grow up in, or we are aliens and invaders.
Some events take a lifetime to reveal their damage and influence.
For echo is the soul of the voice exciting itself in hollow places.
Every night I cut out my heart. But in the morning it was full again
It's an odd state to be in, blowing the whistle on your home country.
When you're writing, it's as if you're within a kind of closed world.
Right now, I have no idea what I will write or if I will write again.
There's always been anger in the making of music or literature or dance.
From this point on, she whispered, we will either find or lose our souls.
she had a laugh that hinted it had rolled around once or twice in the mud.
What began it all was the bright bone of a dream I could hardly hold onto.
We keep wanting to save those who are forlorn in this world. It’s a male habit.
It's a responsibility of the writer to get the reader out of the story somehow.
It doubles your perception, to write from the point of view of someone you're not.