“Hunger is an object. The angel has climbed into my brain. The angel doesn't think. He thinks straight. He's never absent. He knows my boundaries and he knows his direction. He knows where I come from and he knows what… — Herta Müller Copy Share Image
“And I’m different without you. You’re the only one who thinks you’re never different.” — Herta Müller Copy Share
“I wanted to work out a trade with things that aren’t alive but aren’t dead either. I wanted to make an emergency exchange, trading… — Herta Müller Copy Share
My first book, 'Nadirs,' was very important for me. I'll leave its literary worth for others to judge. But its publication in Berlin in… — Herta Muller Copy Share
“I'm drawn outside to the empty yard of the afternoon. The wind tosses thin snow that crackles against my neck. With open hunger the… — Herta Müller Copy Share
“The cabbage white flies through the tailor's cheek. The tailor sinks his head. The cabbage white flies out of the back of the tailor's… — Herta Müller Copy Share
“The reasaon I'm shy of objects is because I like them. I transfer the thoughts that are against me onto them. Then these thoughts… — Herta Müller Copy Share
“The gym instructor was the first to raise his hand. All the other hands flew up after his. While raising their hands, everybody looked… — Herta Müller Copy Share
I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I… — Herta Muller Copy Share
To combat death you don't need much of a life, just one that isn't yet finished. — Herta Muller Copy Share
Some people speak and sing and walk and sit and sleep and silence their homesickness, for a long time, and to no avail. Some… — Herta Muller Copy Share
“I wanted love to grow back, like the grass when it’s mown down. To grow differently, if need be, like children’s teeth, like hair,… — Herta Müller Copy Share
Whatever I read went under my skin. I almost devoured the literature, which became like a road to discovery. — Herta Muller Copy Share
“Some say that over time homesickness loses its specific content, that it starts to smolder and only then becomes all-consuming, because it’s no longer… — Herta Müller Copy Share
