I wept heartily over this poor little deceased soul. It was the first sentient being I had ever killed. I was now a killer. I was now as guilty as Cain. I was sixteen years old, a harmless boy, bookish and religious, and now I had blood on my hands. It’s a terrible burden to carry. All sentient life is sacred.
YANN MARTELThe three religions because I wanted to discuss faith, not organized religion, so wanted to relativize organized religion by having Pi practice three.
More Yann Martel Quotes
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If you don’t have dreams, how do you maneuver reality? Where do you get the ideas to change reality if not from dreams?
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I’m not a consumer. I hate buying clothes. I don’t have a mobile. I just don’t need things. I don’t like things.
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He’s a shy man. Life has taught him not to show off what is most precious to him.
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It’s amazing how willpower can build walls.
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I ask you, is it the fig tree’s fault that it’s not the season for figs? What kind of thing is that to do to an innocent tree, wither it instantly?
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Christianity is a religion in a rush. Look at the world created in seven says. Even on a symbolic lovel, that’s creation in frenzy.
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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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Much hostile and aggressive behaviour among animals is the expression of social insecurity.
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If you write genre fiction, you follow the rules, and you have to follow them because readers expect that.
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You might think I lost all hope at that point. I did. And as a result I perked up and felt much better.
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Just as art brings you to another place, so does religion – and to ask questions of factuality tends to reduce both. If you say you were inspired by a novel, that implies that your book is a work of fiction.
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At moments of wonder, it is easy to avoid small thinking, to entertain thoughts that span the universe, that capture both thunder and tinkle, thick and thin, the near and the far.
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I had to stop hoping so much that a ship would rescue me. I should not count on outside help. Survival had to start with me.
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Afterwards, when it’s all over, you meet God. What do you say to God?
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Words are cold, muddy toads trying to understand sprites dancing in a field-but they’re all we have.
YANN MARTEL