A symbol of the eternity that preceded human thought, a free fire, a gift from heaven, a living sign of the elements unnoticed by the world-weary pedestrian, a fire in the ditches of Prague warming the wanderer’s eye and soul. BOHUMIL HRABAL CracklingDitchesLivedPlague
Because real thoughts come from outside and travel with us like the noodle soup we take to work; in other words, inquisitors burn books in vain. BOHUMIL HRABAL LaughingReal
Because when I read, I don’t really read; I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop. BOHUMIL HRABAL
