“And then my grandfather explained -in his language- that utopias are not for mortals. And that people are like flies, that the stories they are told must be like flypaper. Utopias are gold-covered paper, he said, and flypaper is covered… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“He falls quiet again and tries to understand how he can be saying these things, how it can be that his dark words are… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“and suddenly I am washed over by a wave of happiness for it, for my little story, because it is a place, a home… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“Only now, in rhythmic waves, was she struck by her stupidity, her blindness, her estheronautiness , and, above all, her longing, the insult of… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“again, her singing was her only absolute, the only thing that was completely her. a thousand classes hadn't given her this concrete insight: her… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“I write. I give intimate private names to an external and foreign world. In a sense, I make it mine. In a sense, I… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“she poured herself into him wordlessly. Unable to stop, she emptied her very core into him, and yelled and sobbed and laughed and promised… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
And there will be a time, not for long, a month is enough, or a week, when every single person will be able to… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“Tamar noticed that she had never met a person she felt so comfortable being silent with.” — David Grossman Copy Share Image
“What do people see in me on the first impression? ... Is there any imprint left from the love I knew? A rebirth mark?” — David Grossman Copy Share Image
I write. I imagine. The act of imagining in itself enlivens me. I am not frozen and paralyzed before the predator. I invent characters.… — David Grossman Copy Share Image
We write. How fortunate we are: The world does not close in on us. The world does not grow smaller. — David Grossman Copy Share Image
