black
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About the joys and the courage, I really don’t know what other people think. I just know that I’ve never left Africa. I’ve lived there all my life. And one of the wonderful things, in spite of all the terrible things that happen in South Africa, is the way people continue to keep their dignity.

Nadine Gordimer

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Any writer of any worth at all hopes to play only a pocket-torch of light – and rarely, through genius, a sudden flambeau – into the bloody yet beautiful labyrinth of human experience, of being.
NADINE GORDIMER

All Any Ariely Bloody Genius Hope Light Olay Pocket Sudden Through Torch Worth Write Yet
If one will always have to feel white first, and African second, it would be better not to stay on in Africa.
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My answer is: Recognize yourself in others
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Everyone ends up moving alone towards the self
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Alone End Everyone Move Self Toward
September 2001. A sunny day in New York. Many of us who are writers were at work on the transformation of life into a poem, story, a chapter of a novel, when terror pounced from the sky, and the world made witness to it.
NADINE GORDIMER

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Writing is making sense of life. You work your whole life and perhaps you’ve made sense of one small area.
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In various and different circumstances certain objects and individuals are going to turn out to be vital. The wager of survival cannot, by its nature, reveal which, in advance of events.
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The caged eagle become a metaphor for all forms of isolation, the ultimate in imprisonment. A zoo is prison.
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As writers, we are exploring the mystery, the mystery of existence.
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Well, you know, in the fundamentalist milieu of the Afrikaners, there was a sense that they were a chosen people, that they were bringing civilization to the blacks.
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I’m forty-nine but I could be twenty-five except for my face and my legs.
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What is the purpose of writing? For me personally, it is really to explain the mystery of life, and the mystery of life includes, of course, the personal, the political, the forces that make us what we are while there’s another force from inside battling to make us something else.
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The facts are always less than what really happened.
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Peace. The upland serenity of high altitude, the openness of grassland without indigenous bush or trees; the greening, yellowing or silver-browning that prevailed, according to season.
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I couldn’t be sufficiently interested in human beings to be a writer if I had contempt for human beings.
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People give one another things that can’t be gift wrapped.
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Another Gift Give One People Thing Wrap

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