“The novels, travel books and poems I read had a particular smell. The smell of cellars. An almost spicy smell, a mixture of dust and grease. Verdigris. Books today don't have a smell. They don't even smell of print.” — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“After that, we weren't the same anymore. We'd become men. Disillusioned and cynical. Slightly bitter too. We had nothing. We hadn't even learned a… — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“Leila was untouchable. She was in my heart now, and I'd carry her always, on this earth that every day gives men a chance.” — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“We fought over a girl's smile, not because of the color of our skins. It created friendships, not hatreds.” — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“It's at moment of misfortune that we remember we're all exiles.” — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
The sensuality of desperate lives. Only poets talk like that. But poetry has never had an answer for anything. All it does it bear… — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“Our taste for books came from Antonin, an old second-hand bookseller, an anarchist, whose shop was on Cours Julien. We'd cut classes to go… — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“I don't like answering private questions. The answers are often ambiguous and can be interpreted in different ways. Even when the other person is… — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“So much violence. If God existed, I'd have strangled him on the spot. Without batting an eyelid. And with all the fury of the… — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
“Nobody was speaking. Only the cicadas continued their whine, indifferent to human tragedies.” — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
