But was it love? The feeling of wanting to die beside her was clearly exaggerated: he had seen her only once before in his life! Was it simply the hysteria of a man, who, aware deep down of his inaptitude… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
Looking out over the courtyard at the dirty walls, he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love. — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“The future is only an indifferent void no one cares about, but the past is filled with life, and its countenance is irritating, repellent,… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“From that time on they both looked forward to sleeping together. I might even say that the goal of their lovemaking was not so… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“Beauty in the European sense has always had a premeditated quality to it. We've always had an aesthetic intention and a long-range plan. That's… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
The beauty of New York is unintentional; it arose independent of human design, like a stalagmite cavern. — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
Children, Never look Back!" and this meant that we must never allow the future to be weighed down by memory . for children have… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“Our lives may be separate, but they run in the same direction, like parallel lines.” — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“Having a child is to show an absolute accord with mankind. If I have a child, it's as though I'm saying: I was born… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
Love is a battle," said Marie-Claude, still smiling. "And I plan to go on fighting. To the end." Love is a battle?" said Franz.… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“He remained annoyed with himself until he realized that not knowing what he wanted was actually quite natural. We can never know what to… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“Whenever I think about ancient cultures nostalgia seizes me. Perhaps this is nothing but envy of the sweet slowness of the history of that… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“Do stories, apart from happening, being, have something to say? For all my skepticism, some trace of irrational superstition did survive in me, the… — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
