Romain Gary Quotes

Bruno, someday you will die of kindness, tolerance and gentleness. Well, given the options, it isn't a bad way to go.

...all intolerable local situations have become world situations, with the result that the whole world has become a local situation, here, under your nose, staring at you, and when your sensitivity is still alive and not dulled, that is, when you are young, if all you can do is stare back at it helplessly, you run amok, you blow up, you smash whatever is at hand, you express yourself, you seek a release.

A writer's subconscious is one of the filthiest places there are: as a matter of fact, you can find the whole world there.

Humor is an affirmation of dignity, a declaration of man's superiority to all that befalls him.

Gari in Russian means "burn!" ... I want to test myself, a trial by fire, so that my I is burned off.

It's absolutely essential that man should manage to preserve something other than what helps to make soles for shoes or sewing machines, that he should leave a margin, a sanctuary, where some of life's beauty can take refuge and where he himself can feel safe from his own cleverness and folly. Only then will it be possible to begin talking of civilization.

I see History as a relay race in which one of us, before dropping in his tracks, must carry one stage further the challenge of being a man.

Humor is a passive form of terrorism, of resistance, and of pseudo-aggression that has less to do with changing the world than with mental hygiene. It is self-therapy...

Loyalty is not the kind of exclusive deal, it's just a sincere communication and the same values.

This was what he stood for: a world where there would be room enough even for such a mass of clumsy and cumbersome freedom. A margin of humanity, of tolerance, where some of life's beauty could take refuge. His eyes narrowed a little, and an ironic, bitter smile came to his lips. I know you all, he thought. Today you say that elephants are archaic and cumbersome, that they interfere with roads and
telegraph poles, and tomorrow you'll begin to say that human rights too are obsolete and cumbersome, that they interfere with progress, and the temptation will be so great to let them fall by the road and not to burden ourselves with that
extra load. And in the end man himself will become in your eyes a clumsy luxury, an archaic survival from the past, and you'll dispense with him too, and the only thing left will be total efficiency and universal slavery and man himself will disappear under the weight of his material achievement. He had learned that much behind the barbed wire of the forced labor camp: it was our education, a lesson be was not prepared to forget.

Literature has always been the last refuge, in this world, for those who do not know where to lay their dreaming heads.

I am weak, I say with no presumptions. I have no merit, I note it, that is all. There are times that I feel so weak there most be a mistake, and as I don't know what I mean with this, I am not going to say anything else

All men have a legend because of death. Humanity wasn't legendary any longer: it was a myth.

If the world can no longer afford the luxury of natural beauty, then it will soon be overcome and destroyed by its own ugliness.

The diplomatic kids had a hectic sort of life, being constantly thrown from one end of the world to the other and always playing tennis, no matter who was being machine-gunned in the streets, you were always extraterritorial, history was not permitted to touch you, it was only buzzing around your tennis court in a bloody sort of way. You were so well protected that you went to pieces. Diplomatic immunity could do very strange things to you, it was like weightlessness. You had to remind yourself constantly that you actually existed, and you were not supposed to identify yourself too much with the suffering of whatever country you were posted to. But then, who needs reality anyway?

I don't consider myself to be definite, but in waiting position and eventual appearance

An unbearable reality, combined with the impossibility to change it, tends to lead to abstractions for abstraction's sake, and unreality becomes more realistic than reality itself, more true, more convincing, simply because it looks at you with the eyes of justice.

But, my dear child,' I stammered, I don't see how the desire to preserve the African fauna . . She broke in on me: 'Oh, to hell with the African fauna! Can't you see what the real question is? The question is simply whether you have confidence in yourselves, in your good sense, in your reason, in your ability to prevail, yes, to prevail. Out there in the bush is a man who believes in you, a man who believes you're capable of kindness, of generosity, of ... of a ... of a great love, in which there'd be room even for herds of elephants, and . . . and even for the most wretched dog alive!

It wasn't true, the evidence was faked, but the odd thing is that, whether it s true or not, the consequences are the same: one large group of human beings
or another turned out to be triple-distilled sons-of-bitches, which proves that we all have it in us. Whether the Communists staged a diabolical lie or the Americans sowed plague in China, the one thing that matters is that, as a man, you're
in the gutter. Colonel Babcock. [...] Maybe the West is a civilization, but the Communists are an ugly truth about man. Don't accuse them of inhuman methods: everything about them is human. We're all one great, lovely zoological family, and we shouldn't forget it. That's how you came to be in the gutter Colonel and it's no use your taking refuge on an island and behaving like an ostrich - being English, I mean; the gutter is there, it's you, or rather in you; it flows in your veins.

...the most sacred right of a person is to refuse o be manipulated, handled, cheated, and then kicked in the ass---.

Your generation is suffering from what for lack of a better word I shall call over-debunk. There was a lot of debunking that had to be done, of course. Bigotry, militarism, nationalism, religious intolerance, hypocrisy, phonyness, all sorts of dangerous, ready-made, artificially preserved false values. But your generation and the generation before yours went too far with their debunking job. You went overboard. Over-debunk, that's what you did. It's moral overkill. It's like those insecticides Rachel Carson speaks of in her book, that poison everything, and kill all the nice, useful bugs as well as the bad ones, and in the end poison human beings as well. In the end, it poisons life itself, the very air we breathe. That's what you did, morally and intellectually speaking. Yours is a silent spring. You have overprotected yourselves. You are all no more than twenty, twenty-two years old, but yours is a silent spring, I'm telling you. Nothing sings for you any more.

You are the only man I ever respected,' she said. 'But you haven't aged well. You have stayed young. Men who stay young don't age well.

The trouble with hysteria is that it's contagious.

If there is something that opens horizons, it is precisely ignorance.

Some consciences are fitted with automatic answering machine that work very well. But I never got the technology under control

As long as you live, you hope. You think that everything will just ... get better.

-Would you wish us to invest it for you?
-No, I would like you to set up a trust for dumb animals.
-What kind of dumb animals do you have in mind, Miss Donahue?
-Oh, stray dogs. Rats. Birds.
-We could still invest it for you. Then the animals would get the income without touching the capital.
-No, I don't wish to invest it. I don't want them to get rich. They might become human.

Reality is not an inspiration for literature. At its best, literature is an inspiration for reality.

I sat day after day in my little room, waiting for inspiration to visit me, trying to invent a pseudonym that would express, in a combination of noble and striking sounds, our dream of artistic achievement, a pen name grand enough to compensate for my own feeling of insecurity and helplessness at the idea of everything my mother expected from me.

Islam calls that 'the roots of heaven' and to the Mexican Indians it is the 'tree of life'
the thing that makes both of them fall on their knees and raise their eyes and beat their tormented breasts. [ ... ] Our needs
for justice, for freedom and dignity
are roots of heaven that are deeply embedded in our hearts, but of heaven itself men know nothing but the gripping roots ...

I spend the next few days watching Maï die. I can't stand that voice, that protest. Katzenelenbogen shows up and explains in that rational, no-nonsense, doctoral tone that no one has the right to make such a fuss over a cat, while the whole world. . . . . I kick them out, both him and the world.
Maï is no longer a cat. She is a human being in agony. Every living thing that suffers is a human being.
She is cuddled in my arms, a small ball of lackluster fur, which gives her a horrible stuffed air already smacking of taxidermists. Every now and then she raises her head, looks at me inquiringly and miaows a question I understand, but am unable to answer. Our vocal cords are totally inadequate there.
What goings-on about a mere cat, huh? I hate your guts, you antisentimental, antiemotional, hardheaded rationalists. You are the ones who have raised the going rate of sensitivity. You have put all your emphasis on ideas, and ideas without "emotions" and without "sentimentalism," that's the world you have built, your work.
All the pseudo-people who have the Nazi arrogance to be reading this book make my hands ache for a grenade.

When a war is won, it's the losers, not the winners, who are liberated.

The only way to prove you are normal is to smash someone's face in

E was simply a man who had gone even further into loneliness than others - and that's a real exploit, by the way; where breaking records in loneliness is concerned, we're all champions in the field ... he continually repeats: dogs are not enough anymore. People feel so damned lonely, they need company, they need something bigger, stronger, to lean on, something that can really stand up to it all. Dogs aren't enough; what we need is elephants ...

With maternal love, life makes a promise at dawn that it can never hold. You are forced to eat cold food until your days end. After that, each time a woman holds you in her arms and against her chest, these are merely condolences. You always come back to yell at your mother's grave like an abandoned dog. Never again, never again, never again.

Men sometimes die much earlier than they are burried.

He gave up. He'd been feeling like giving up for a long, long time. I guess it's maturity, they say it always gets you in the end. I don't seem to have any more principles left, so it's got to be maturity ... A broken man, I guess that's what you become, the moment you are no longer a kid.

The avantgarde are people who don't exactly know where they want to go, but are the first to get there.

They thought I suffered from lack of exterior, when I suffered from excess of interior

The only possible answers are questions. Real Vikings are questions. The answers are what the Vikings chanted during the voyage to keep their spirits up.

Printing mistakes adds value because of the probability calculus, which makes their intrusion into something problematic and almost impossible, even when everything's conceived, precisely, to avoid the intrusion of human error.