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This last night we tear into each other, as if to wound, as if to find the key to everything before morning.
Michael Ondaatje
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Michael Ondaatje
Age: 81
Born: 1943
Born: September 12
Author
Novelist
Pedagogue
Poet
Screenwriter
University Teacher
Writer
Ondaatje
Lasts
Last
Wound
Night
Tear
Find
Wounds
Everything
Keys
Sex
Tears
Morning
More quotes by Michael Ondaatje
He knows that the only way he can accept losing her is if he can continue to hold her or be held by her. If they can somehow nurse each other out of this. Not with a wall.
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There's more danger in the violence you don't face.
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How can you smile as though your whole life hasn't capsized
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As someone who writes novels that are often set in other periods of time or other ages or other landscapes, there's a certain element of research I have to do, and often, the more laconic people are, the more interesting they become.
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all this Beethoven and rain
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A man in a desert can hold absence in his cupped hands, knowing it is something that feeds him more than water.
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A blind lover, don't know what I love till I write it out
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Before the real city could be seen it had to be imagined, the way rumours and tall tales were a kind of charting.
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It's why you create characters: so you can argue with yourself.
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Could you fall in love with her if she wasn't smarter than you? I mean, she may not be smarter than you. But isn't it important for you to think she is smarter than you in order to fall in love? Think now.
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Sleep is a prison for a boy who has friends to meet.
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There's a lot of thievery involved in writing. You're breaking into other people's spaces and other people's stories.
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He was a man who wrote, who interpreted the world. Wisdom grew out of being handed just the smallest sliver of emotion. A glance could lead to paragraphs of theory.
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It's an odd state to be in, blowing the whistle on your home country.
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I want the marginality to come into the center. This is the thing I was conscious of growing up, when I later lived in England. I saw all these war movies that came out shortly after the war, and they were all about the war being fought by Englishmen or Americans, there were no other allies in it - from India or Australia, etc.
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This was the time in her life that she fell upon books as the only door out of her cell. They became half her world.
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Don't we forgive everything of a lover? We forgive selfishness, desire, guile. As long as we are the motive for it...There are some European words you can never translate properly into another language.
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How we are almost nothing. We think, in our youth, we are the centre of the universe, but we simply respond, go this way or that by accident, survive or improve by the luck of the draw, with little choice or determination on our part.
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We all have an old knot in the heart we wish to untie.
Michael Ondaatje
...sometimes we enter art to hide within it. It is where we can go to save ourselves, where a third-person voice protects us.
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