“He had entered Parmenides' magic field: he was enjoying the sweet lightness of being.” — Milan Kundera Copy Share Image
“For seven years he had lived bound to her, his every step subject to her scrutiny. She might as well have chained iron balls to his ankles. Suddenly his step was much lighter. He soared. He had entered Parmenides' magic… — 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
