Quotes from Gregory David Roberts

Wherever you go in the world, in any society, it is always the same when it comes to questions of justice - We concentrate our laws, investigations, prosecutions, and punishments on how much crime is in the sin, rather than how much sin is in the crime. - Abdul Khader

Be to, jei tikim?s, kad mums kas nors išeis, noriu, kad nieko nelikt? nepasakyta... apie praeit?.

Vyras turi susirasti ger? moter?, o kai susiranda - laim?ti jos meil?. Paskui jis turi pelnyti jos pagarb?. Tada puosel?ti pasitik?jim?. O paskui jis turi taip daryti, kol juodu gyvi. Kol abu miršta. Štai kas yra prasm?. Tai svarbiausias dalykas pasaulyje. Štai kas yra vyras, jar. Vyras tampa tikru vyru, kai laimi geros moters meil?, pelno jos pagarb? ir nepraranda jos pasitik?jimo. Kol to nepadarei, nesi vyras.

Naujienos praneša, k? žmon?s dar?. Paskalos praneša, kaip jiems tai patiko.

Žmogus, kuris niekur neskuba, niekur greitai nepatenka.

At first, when we truly love someone, our greatest fear is that the loved one will stop loving us. What we should fear and dread, of course, is that we won't stop loving them, even after they are dead and gone. For I still love you with the whole of my heart. I still love you. And sometimes, my friend, the love that I have and can't give to you, crushes the breath from my chest. Sometimes, even now, my heart is drowning in a sorrow that has no stars without you, and no laughter, and no sleep.

The past is a novel, written by Fate, weaving the same themes: love and its glory, hate and its prisoners, the soul and its price. Our decisions become narratives: fated choices that unknowably change the course of the living river. In the present, where decisions and connections are made, Fate waits on the riverbank of Story, leaving us to our mistakes and miracles, because it's our will alone that leads us to one or the other.

In Prabaker's way of courtship, a young man didn't bring flowers or chocolates to the woman he loved: he brought her stories from the wider world, where men grappled with demons of desire, and monstrous injustice.

That was one lesson he should've learned the first time. We don't, of course. It's okay, Karla once said, because if we all learned what we should learn, the first time round, we wouldn't need love at all.

Personality and personal identity are in some ways like co-ordinates on the street map drawn by our intersecting relationships.

The world is run by one million evil men, ten million stupid men, and a hundred million cowards.

Divorce is healthier than the stock exchange, and way more predictable.

It doesn't matter what you did, or what you were. It doesn't even matter what you are. It's what you try to be that counts.

And while a small measure of bitterness might've protected me from time to time, as it sometimes does, I've learned that sweet memories don't walk through cynical doors.

Mistakes are like bad loves, the more you learn from them, the more you wish they'd never happened.

Every life, every love, every action and feeling and thought has its reason and significance: its beginning, and the part it plays in the end.

But the soul has no culture. The soul has no nations. The soul has no colour or accent or way of life. The soul is forever. The soul is one.

Fanaticism is the opposite of love. A wise man once told me - he's a Muslim, by the way - that he has more in common with a rational, reasonable-minded Jew than he does with a fanatic from his own religion. He has more in common with a rational, reasonable-minded Christian or Buddhist or Hindu than he does with a fanatic of his own religion. In fact, he has more in common with a rational, reasonable-minded atheist than he does with a fanatic of his own religion.

no happiness exists without its woe, no wealth without its cost, and no life without its full measure, sooner or later, of sorrowing and death.

Sometimes the river of life takes you to the rocks. The letter

Cruelty is a kind of cowardice. Cruel laughter is the way cowards cry when they're not alone, and causing pain is how they grieve.

There is an element of control we have over suffering.

Hatred always leaves a stain on the veil. But sometimes the hatred isn't your own. Sometimes you're chained, and the hatred beaten into you is another man's, grown in a different heart, and it takes longer than a fading bruise to forget.

But I always connected to the people and the purity of their faith, rather than the religious code they followed.