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The translator of prose is the slave of the author, and the translator of poetry is his rival.
Andreï Makine -
They did not speak, surprised to see how simple, almost poor, happiness could be, yes, materially poor and yet so abundant.
Andreï Makine
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The life these words speak of is not worth the ink they are written in.... He now knows that the only words worth writing down arise when language is impossible.
Andreï Makine -
Their own life together was like a subtle watercolor sketch, invisible to other people. They gave the world what it required of them and for the rest of the time were content to be forgotten.
Andreï Makine -
An exile's only country is his country's literature.
Andreï Makine -
This sacrifice, which saved his life, reminded him again that the evil of this world could be put to rout by the will of a single human being.
Andreï Makine -
...she studies to be equal in a world that is no longer surprised at anything.
Andreï Makine -
The fatal mistake we make is looking for a paradise that endures...This obsession with what lasts causes us to overlook many a fleeting paradise.
Andreï Makine
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Love is in essence subversive.
Andreï Makine -
In war the most testing moments are those of peace , for a dead man lying in the grass makes the living see the world as it would be, but for their folly.
Andreï Makine -
People speak because they are afraid of silence. They speak mechanically whether aloud or to themselves. They are intoxicated by this vocal gruel that ensnares every object and every being. They talk about rain and fine weather; they talk about money, about love, about nothing. And even when they are talking about their most exalted love, they use words uttered a hundred times, threadbare phrases.
Andreï Makine