...she studies to be equal in a world that is no longer surprised at anything
Andreï MakinePeople speak because they are afraid of silence. They speak mechanically whether aloud or to themselves. They are intoxicated by this vocal gruel that ensnares every object and every being. They talk about rain and fine weather; they talk about money, about love, about nothing. And even when they are talking about their most exalted love, they use words uttered a hundred times, threadbare phrases.
Andreï Makine(...) the translator of prose is the slave of the author and the translator of poetry is his rival.
Andreï MakineThey did not speak, surprised to see how simple, almost poor, happiness could be, yes, materially poor and yet so abundant.
Andreï MakineStichwörter: happiness
Historians rewrite the truth every day. What interests us is the truth that gets the reader to reach for his wallet
Andreï MakineAn exile's only country is his country's literature.
Andreï MakineOnce again, without explaining anything, they understood that they must leave. Go away before this world woke up and continued with a life from which they were forever excluded.
Andreï MakineTheir own life together was like a subtle watercolor sketch, invisible to other people. They gave the world what it required of them and for the rest of the time were content to be forgotten.
Andreï MakineStichwörter: lovers
The though revives in him the oldest memory of his life. A child sees a door closing: without knowing who it is that has just left, he senses it is someone he loves with all his tiny, still mute being.
Andreï MakineHe had already come to see human lives as one single communal life and it was perhaps this perception that gave him hope.
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