Why make dirty what is beautiful, spoil what is perfect? Love.
YANN MARTELYou might think I lost all hope at that point. I did. And as a result I perked up and felt much better.
More Yann Martel Quotes
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You must take life the way it comes at you and make the best of it.
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I go to mass every Sunday, but love going to mosques too. Muslims pray in a beautiful way.
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The dorado did the most extraordinary thing as it died: it began to flash all kinds of colours in rapid succession. Blue, green, red, gold, and violet flickered and shimmered neon-like on its surface as it struggled. I felt I was beating a rainbow to death.
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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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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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Life on a lifeboat isn’t much of a life.
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The moon was a sharply defined crescent and the sky was perfectly clear. The stars shone with such fierce, contained brilliance that it seemed absurd to call the night dark.
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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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We don’t want any invention. We want the ‘straight facts,’ as you say in English.” Isn’t telling about something–using words, English or Japanese–already something of an invention? Isn’t just looking upon this world already something of an invention?
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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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If you stumble about believability, what are you living for? Love is hard to believe, ask any lover. Life is hard to believe, ask any scientist. God is hard to believe, ask any believer. What is your problem with hard to believe?
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Their faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.
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And in between the two, in between the sky and the sea, were all the winds. And there were all the nights and all the moons. To be a castaway is to be a point perpetually at the centre of a circle.
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We are all born like Catholics, aren’t we—in limbo, without religion, until some figure introduces us to God?
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How long does it take for a broken spirit to kill a body that has food, water and shelter?
YANN MARTEL