Rohinton Mistry CM (born 3 July 1952) is an Indian-born Canadian writer. He was awarded the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in 2012.
Walk, first, through the fire, then philosophize.
Children don't make judgments about which details are important. . . a child captures them all.
Distance was a dangerous thing, she knew. Distance changed people.
Hahnji, mister, you must be patient. Before you can name that corner, our future must become past.
In the end, it’s all a question of balance.
Zoroastrianism is about the opposition of good and evil. For the triumph of good, we have to make a choice. We can enlist on the side of good by prospering, making money and using our wealth to help others.
Everyone underestimates their own life. Funny thing is, in the end, all our stories. . . they're the same. In fact, no matter where you go in the world, there is only one important story: of youth, loss and yearning for redemption. So we tell the same story, over and over. Only the details are different.
What folly made young people, even those in middle age, think they were immortal? How much better, their lives, if they could remember the end. Carrying your death with you every day would make it hard to waste time on unkindness and anger and bitterness, on anything petty. That was the secret: remembering your dying time, in order to keep the stupid and the ugly out of your living time.
The worst part of great poverty is that you become blind to it.
If there was an abundance of misery in the world, there was also sufficient joy, yes - as long as one knew where to look for it.
Loss is essential. Loss is part and parcel of that necessary calamity called life.
. . . there was another, gorier parturition, when two nations incarnated out of one. A foreigner drew a magic line on a map and called it the new border; it became a river of blood upon the earth. And the orchards, fields, factories, businesses, all on the wrong side of that line, vanished with a wave of the pale conjuror's wand.
Loss is essential, loss is part and parcel of that necessary calamity called life. Mind you, I'm not complaining. Thanks to some inexplicable universal guiding force, it is always the worthless things we lose - slough off, like a moulting snake. Losing and losing again, is the very basis of the process, til all we are left with is the bare essence of human existence.
Let me tell you a secret: there is no such thing as an uninteresting life One day you must tell me your full and complete story, unabridged and unexpurgated. We will set aside some time for it, and meet. It's very important. Maneck smiled. 'Why is it important?' It's extremely important because it helps to remind yourself of who you are. Then you can go forward, without fear of losing yourself in this ever-changing world.
Where humans are concerned, the only emotion that made sense was wonder, at their ability to endure.
How can time be long or short? Time is without length or breadth. The question is, what happened during its passing. And what happened is, our lives have been joined together.
So we tell the same story, over and over. Just the details are different
. . . you have to use your failures as stepping stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair. In the end it’s all a question of balance.
He who spits paan at the ceiling only blinds himself.
What an unreliable thing is time--when I want it to fly, the hours stick to me like glue. And what a changeable thing, too. Time is the twine to tie our lives into parcels of years and months. Or a rubber band stretched to suit our fancy. Time can be the pretty ribbon in a little girl's hair. Or the lines in your face, stealing your youthful colour and your hair. . . . . But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.