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Milan Kundera Biography

Milan Kundera (Czech: [ˈmɪlan ˈkundɛra]; born 1 April 1929) is a Czech-born French writer who went into exile in France in 1975, and became a naturalised French citizen in 1981. He "sees himself as a French writer and insists his work should be studied as French literature and classified as such in book stores".

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Milan Kundera Quotes

Tereza had gone back to sleep; he could not. He pictured her death. She was dead and having terrible nightmares; but because she was dead, he was unable to wake her from them. Yes, that is death: Tereza asleep, having terrible nightmares, and he unable to wake her.

Sleep, Gone, Nightmare, Unable, Pictured, Terrible

When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object.

Heart, Inspirational, Mind, Speaks

In the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

Home, Mind, Thought, Unbearable

Great novels are always a little more intelligent than their authors.

Authors, Intelligent, Littles, Novel, Novels

The very beginning of Genesis tells us that God created man in order to give him dominion over fish and fowl and all creatures. Of course, Genesis was written by a man, not a horse. There is no certainty that God actually did grant man dominion over other creatures. What seems more likely, in fact, is that man invented God to sanctify the dominion that he had usurped for himself over the cow and the horse.

Created, Dominion, Horse, Men, Order

In her presence I could dare everything: sincerity, emotion, pathos.

Dare, Emotion, Pathos, Presence, Sincerity

You can't measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of words they exchange.

Human, Love, Mutual, Number, Numbers, Two

It takes so little, so infinitely little, for a person to cross the border beyond which everything loses meaning: love, convictions, faith, history. Human life -- and herein lies its secret -- takes place in the immediate proximity of that border, even in direct contact with it; it is not miles away, but a fraction of an inch.

Lying, Secret, Borders, Away, Proximity, Border

. . . people don't respect the morning. An alarm clock violently wakes them up, shatters their sleep like the blow of an ax, and they immediately surrender themselves to deadly haste.

Blow, Morning, Respect, Sleep, Surrender, Violently

Pain doesn't listen to reason, it has it's own reason, which is not reasonable

Pain, Reason, Reasonable

Since the insignificance of all things is our lot, we should not bear it as an affliction but learn to enjoy it.

Affliction, Bears, Should, Enjoy, Things

Today I know this: when it comes time to take stock, the most painful wound is that of broken friendships; and there is nothing more foolish than to sacrifice a friendship to politics.

Sacrifice, Broken, Today, Friendships, Politics

Only the basic situations in life occur only once, never to return. For a man to be a man, he must be fully aware of this never-to-return. (p. 148)

Men, Situations In Life, Return, Occur, Life, Fully

I cannot hate them because nothing binds me to them; I have nothing in common with them.

Binds, Common, Hate, Nothing

The stupidity of people comes from having an answer for everything. The wisdom of the novel comes from having a question for everything.

Answers, Having, People, Stupidity, Wisdom

Oh lovers! be careful in those dangerous first days! once you've brought breakfast in bed you'll have to bring it forever, unless you want to be accused of lovelessness and betrayal.

Bed, Betrayal, Forever, Unless

This is the real and the only reason for friendship: to provide a mirror so the other person can contemplate his image from the past, which, without the eternal blah-blah of memories between pals, would long ago have disappeared.

Image, Long, Memories, Past, Provide, Real

Sleep in my arms. Like a baby bird. Like a broom among brooms. . . in a broom closet. Like a tiny parrot. Like a whistle. Like a little song. A song sung by a forest. . . within a forest. . . a thousand years ago.

Arms, Baby, Like, Sleep, Song

Aren't we living in a world where heedless men only desire decapitated women?

Decapitated, Desire, Men, World

The novel is a territory where one does not make assertions; it is a territory of play and of hypotheses.

Doe, Hypotheses, Make, Play, Territory, Writing

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