Quotes from Peter Høeg

This was a rule I had discovered about her. Confessing to minor violations could lead to a reword of a sort.

Sentimentality will always be man's first revolt against development.

An oxygen gauge.

If you remember," he said, "and have a past, then you can be given the blame and be punished. See – if you don't remember anything, you don't have time like other people. It's a bit like being crazy, so you get taken into protective custody. Then there's a chance. " —

If you want to support others you have to stay upright yourself.

We sat there and I knew that this was how it felt to be totally accepted. You sit close to another person and are understood, everything is understood and nothing is judged and you are indispensable.

Grief is a gift, something you have to earn.

Whining is a virus, a lethal, infectious, epidemic disease.

The body's pain is so paper-thin and insignificant compared to that of the mind.

The fear for oneself, that one can do something about. Upon it one can turn the light of awareness. But when one is no longer worrying about oneself, then the fear comes for other people and, after that, for the world. There are no fearless people, only fearless moments.

If you became blind," I said, "if you were used to finding your way around a house and then, suddenly, one day had an accident--was attacked or something--and became blind, only then would you actually notice the furniture. It would always have been there, but you would never have been aware of it, you would just have gone around it. Only when something becomes hard to cope with do you see it. That's how you become aware of time--when it becomes hard to cope with.

It's a phenomenon that I've often observed without understanding it. Inside someone another person can exist, a fully formed, generous, and trustworthy individual who never comes to light except in glimpses, because he is surrounded by a corrupt, dyed-in-the-wool, repeat offender.

Around a child, people come and go, objects appear and are taken away, surroundings take shape and disintegrate. And no explanation is given, because how can you explain the world to a child? So she had used the words. Words call forth and secure that which has gone away. With her lists she had ensured that whatever she had once known would come back

Back then I could not understand one word of what I read. Reading did, however, give me heart. Even if you cannot understand what you are reading you can get something from books.

People under thirty haven't yet stopped believing that something wonderful can suddenly happen.

In ten years they would be dead, deported or in leadership positions.

April light was unlike any other. It had a charming, optimistic unreliability like an overbid hand in poker. It gave a promise of spring that it wasn't sure it could keep.

Even the raven started out in human form, and he fumbled blindly, and his actions were haphazard until it was revealed to him who he was and what his purpose was.

There is one way to understand another culture. Living it. Move into it, ask to be tolerated as a guest, learn the language.

I feel the same way about solitude as some people feel about the blessing of the church. It's the light of grace for me. I never close my door behind me without awareness that I'm carrying out an act of mercy toward myself.

There is one way to understand another culture. Living it. Move into it, ask to be tolerated as a guest, learn the language. At some point understanding may come. It will always be wordless. The moment you grasp what is foreign, you will lose the urge to explain it. To explain a phenomenon is to distance yourself from it. When I start talking about Qaanaaq, to myself or to others, I again start to lose what has never been truly mine.

V oby?ejném ?ase, v tom na hodinách, pochopí ?lov?k ur?ité v?ci. Když nechá ?as b?žet, pochopí jiné.

I'm not crying about anything or anyone in particular. The life I live I created for myself, and I wouldn't want it any different. I cry because in the universe there is something as beautiful as Kremer playing the Brains violin concerto.

People lack the talent of listening. They miss the experience of a fascinating law of nature: The moment when a narrator is captivated by his own story.