No book worth its salt is meant to put you to sleep, it's meant to make you jump out of your bed in your underwear and run and beat the author's brains out. — Bohumil Hrabal Copy Share Image
... because real thoughts come from outside and travel with us like the noodle soup we take to work; in other words, inquisitors burn books in vain. If a book has anything to say, it burns with a quiet laugh,… — 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
