We are all born like Catholics, aren’t we—in limbo, without religion, until some figure introduces us to God?
YANN MARTELHow true is that necessity is the mother of invention, how very true.
More Yann Martel Quotes
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Stories–individual stories, family stories, national stories–are what stitch together the disparate elements of human existence into a coherent whole. We are story animals.
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That’s what fiction is about, isn’t it, the selective transforming of reality? The twisting of it to bring out its essence?
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It’s amazing how willpower can build walls.
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I wept like a child. It was not because I was overcome at having survived my ordeal, though I was. Nor was it the presence of my brothers and sisters, though that too was very moving.
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People always seek to compare. They can take the new, but only if it is somehow connected to the familiar.
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Life on a lifeboat isn’t much of a life. It is like an end game in chess, a game with few pieces. The elements couldn’t be more simple, nor the stakes higher.
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In that, being famous was no different from being gay, or Jewish, or from a visible minority: you are who you are, and then people project onto you some notion they have.
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Why make dirty what is beautiful, spoil what is perfect? Love.
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A movie will do in one second, with one image, what it will take a novelist at least a page to describe.
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I would like to add a third, to wit, the rapid and direct approch of a known killer
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Repetition is important in the training not only of animals but also of humans.
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In art, something comes of nothing. Out of the thin air and the ether, you create a story. And that is intensely satisfying.
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All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt. Without it, no species would survive.
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I went about the job in a direct way. I took the hatchet in both my hands and vigorously beat the fish on the head with the hammerhead (I still didn’t have the stomach to use the sharp edge).
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I am reminded of a story of Lord Krishna when he was a cowherd. Every night he invites the milkmaids to dance with him in the forest. They come and they dance. The night is dark, the fire in their midst roars and crackles, the beat of the music gets ever faster.
YANN MARTEL