Quotes from John Boyne

were both denied love, and this deficiency would be scorched into our future lives like an ill-considered tattoo inscribed on the buttocks after a drunken night out, leading each of us inevitably towards isolation

death was a natural phenomenon, albeit a sorrowful one for those left behind, but one that every man and woman must accept as the price we pay for life.

Long before we discovered that he had fathered two children by two different women, one in Drimoloeague and one in Clonakilty, Father James Monroe stood on the altar of the Church of Our Lady, Star of the Sea, in the parish of Goleen, West Cork, and denounced my mother as a whore.

he could never understand the enjoyment some people got from hurting others. And that, he told Anshel, applied to chickens too.

My mother was Evelin's Hartford," said Maude, as if this would mean something to one or the other of us. "So you know, she simply adored chairs.

But then I didn't know what I was giving up until it was already gone. No one ever does, do they?

Le hizo comprender que era posible que el tiempo siguiera su curso, pero que las ideas de algunas personas quedarían enquistadas para siempre.

What you know about women,' replied Maude, 'could be written in large font on the back of a postage stamp and there'd still be room for the Lord's Prayer. For all your great flirtations and seductions, for all your tarts, whores, girlfriends and wives, you've really learned nothing about us over the years, have you?

But they have corrupted history, they know nothing of our struggles. They see Russia in such simplistic terms. The privileged as monsters, the poor as heroes, everyone is the same.

Natuurlijk gebeurde dit allemaal heel lang geleden en kan zoiets nu niet meer gebeuren. Niet in onze tijd.

I've always considered myself to be the sturdy type. You know, the sort who can put up with any unpleasant situation if I have to.

So when the shit hits the fan, remember: all of this is your fault.

uncomfortable as I felt around him, and as much as he repulsed me, it was impossible not to be simultaneously fascinated by him, for his was a consistently intoxicating presence. Whenever I saw him, I found myself in a state of near paralysis. In this, I was not alone. Everyone hated him, but no one could keep their eyes off him.

There is cruelty in the world, Eliza, you can see that, can't you? It surrounds us. It breathes on us. We spend our life trying to escape it.

Fences such as the one at the heart of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas still exist; it is unlikely that they will ever fully disappear. But whatever reaction you have to this story, I hope that the voices of Bruno and Shmuel will continue to resonate with you as they have with me. Their lost voices must continue to be heard; their untold stories must continue to be recounted. For they represent the ones who didn't live to tell their stories themselves.

There are days when I rather detest living in the year 1867. Everything moves so quickly. Change is happening at such a pace. I preferred the way of life thirty years ago when I was a boy.

This deficiency would be scorched into our future like an ill-considered tattoo.

I need to get back to the office. Those windows won't stare out themselves all afternoon.

I hope he didn't suffer too much." "He did," she said. "But he was very stoical about it. It's those of us who are left behind who'll have to suffer now.

Es muy bueno fingiendo ser alguien que no es -le comenté después a Zoya en el vestíbulo, cuando esperábamos para felicitarlo, sin saber muy bien si con esas palabras pretendía o no halagarlo-. No sé cómo lo hace. - Yo sí -repuso ella, sorprendiéndome.

Tengo la sensación de que sólo me limito a respirar. Y existe una diferencia entre respirar y seguir viviendo.

Que uno contemple el cielo por la noche no lo convierte en astrónomo.

She opened her mouth to say something, but when she did she realized that she couldn't find any words to express her surprise, and so she did the only sensible thing she could think of and closed it again.

My six uncles, their dark hair glistening with rose-scented lacquer, sat next to her in ascending order of age and stupidity. >> In her absence they would say that she had always been a floozy and this mattered a great deal to my mother, for she and the person they would fashion from their sordid imaginations would have little in common except for a name.