It's interesting how young poets think of death while old fogies think of girls. — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“Trembling as usual, I dropped to one knee and, holding on to the drum with one hand, looked up, wondering what he, my boss,… — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“Suddenly the door opened and in stomped a giant reeking of the river, and before anyone knew what was happening, he had grabbed a… — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“Because when I read, I don't really read; I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or… — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“I was in harmony with everything and I was saved, too, but lost in a way as well... but I think this will probably… — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
And so everything I see in this world, it all moves backward and forward at the same time, like a black-smith's bellows, like everything… — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
He was a gentle and sensitive soul, and therefore had a short temper, which is why he went straight after everything with an ax... — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“Writing is a defence against boredom, but it's also a cure for melancholy.” — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“Most of all I enjoy central-heating control rooms, where men with higher education, chained to their jobs like dogs to their kennels, write the… — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“I cieli non sono umani e la vita sopra di me e sotto di me e dentro di me neppure.” — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
“... whichever of my friends was and is sensitive, touchy even, had to choose... emigration... and I emigrated inwardly, here to the pub for example...” — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
