People always seek to compare. They can take the new, but only if it is somehow connected to the familiar.
YANN MARTELI can’t live for more than four years outside of Canada. I’m Canadian, so ultimately that is my reference point.
More Yann Martel Quotes
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Afterwards, when it’s all over, you meet God. What do you say to God?
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The language of prose is very different than the language of cinema, so the movie has to successfully translate what was in the book.
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When you’ve suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling.
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It’s amazing how willpower can build walls.
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To lose your father is to lose the one whose guidance and help you seek, who supports you like a tree trunk supports its branches. To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you. It is like losing–I’m sorry, I would rather not go on.
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The world isn’t just the way it is. It is how we understand it, no? And in understanding something, we bring something to it, no? Doesn’t that make life a story?
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You bring joy and pain in equal measure. Joy because you are with me, but pain because it wont be for long.
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I find that movies tend to fix the aesthetics of a story in people’s minds.
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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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How true is that necessity is the mother of invention, how very true.
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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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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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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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My feelings can perhaps be imagined, but they can hardly be described.
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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