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"But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?"
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"If you think there is no time to write now, there would never be."
"A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth and that is why we call what he writes fiction."
"It will be sent that, although the writer's love is verily a jealous love, it is a jealousy for and not of his creatures. He will tolerate no interference either with them or between them and himself."
"To have touched the feet of Christ is no excuse for mistakes in punctuation.If a man writes well only when he's drunk, then I'll tell him: Get drunk. And if he says that it's bad for his liver, I'll answer: What's your liver? A dead thing that lives while you live, whereas the poems you write live without while."
"Authors are sometimes like tomcats: They distrust all the other toms but they are kind to kittens."
"A writer always begins by being too complicated-he's playing at several games at once."
"Many of the characters are fools and they're always playing tricks on meand treating me badly."
"Part of my soul goes into each quote I write. A book of my quotes can be yours for just $19.99."
"Authors, he thought. Even the sane ones are nuts."
"Authorship of anything apart from God is nothing more than a tragedy in the making."
Explore more quotes by Milan Kundera
"It was the incommunicable scent of this country, its intangible essence, that she had brought along with her to France."
"When his wife was at his side, she was also in front of him, marking out the horizon of his life. Now the horizon is empty: the view has changed."
"Her weakness was aggressive and kept forcing him to capitulate until eventually he lost his strength and was transformed into the rabbit in her arms ."
"Looking out over the courtyard at the dirty walls, he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love."
"How would I explain to him that I couldn't make peace with him? How would I explain that if I did I would immediately lose my inner balance? How would I explain that one of the arms of my internal scales would suddenly shoot upward? How would I explain that my hatred of him counterbalanced the weight of evil that had fallen on my youth? How would I explain that he embodied all the evils in my life? How would I explain to him that I needed to hate him?"
"Dogs are our link to Paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring - it was peace."
"Jealousy has the amazing power to illuminate a single person in an intense beam of light, keeping the multitude of others in total darkness."
"And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle, it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition."
"For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."
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