Best 26 quotes of Natalia Ginzburg on MyQuotes

And we are a people without tears. The things that moved our parents do not move us at all.

As far as the education of children is concerned I think they should be taught not the little virtues but the great ones. Not thrift but generosity and an indifference to money; not caution but courage and a contempt for danger; not shrewdness but frankness and a love of truth; not tact but love for one's neighbor and self-denial; not a desire for success but a desire to be and to know.

As soon as we see our dreams betrayed we realize that the intensest joys of our life have nothing to do with reality, and we are consumed with regret for the time when they glowed within us. And in this succession of hopes and regrets our life slips by.

Being moderate with oneself and generous with others; this is what is meant by having a just relationship with money, by being free as far as money is concerned.

But that was the best time of my life, and only now that it has gone from me forever -- only now do I realize it.

Every day silence harvests its victims. Silence is a mortal illness.

I begin to suspect that England is the most melancholy country in the world.

Italy is a country which is willing to submit itself to the worst governments. It is, as we know, a country ruled by disorder, cynicism, incompetence and confusion. Nevertheless we are aware of intelligence circulating in the streets like a vivid bloodstream.

My tidiness, and my untidiness, are full of regret and remorse and complex feelings.

My vocation is to write and I have known this for a long time. I hope I won't be misunderstood; I know nothing about the value of the things I am able to write. I know that writing is my vocation. When I sit down to write I feel extraordinarily at ease, and I move in an element which, it seems to me, I know extraordinarily well; I use tools that are familiar to me and they fit snugly in my hands. But when I write stories I am like someone who is in her own country, walking along streets that she has known since she was a child, between walls and trees that are hers.

No adultery is bloodless.

Over my real sorrows I never weep.

The course of our lives follows ancient and immutable laws, with an ancient, changeless rhythm. Dreams never come true, and the instant they are shattered, we realize how the greatest joys of life lie beyond the realm of reality. The instant they are shattered we are sick with longing for the days when they flamed within us. Our fate spends itself in this succession of hope and nostalgia.

The English have no imagination: and yet they do show imagination in two things - two only. In the evening-clothes worn by old ladies, and in their cafés.

The true defense against wealth is not a fear of wealth - of its fragility and of the vicious consequences that it can bring - the true defense against wealth is an indifference to money.

Today, as never before, the fates of men are so intimately linked to one another that a disaster for one is a disaster for everybody.

When I write stories I am like someone who is in her own country, walking along streets that she has known since she was a child, between walls and trees that are hers.

And you have to realize that you cannot hope to console yourself for your grief by writing. You cannot deceive yourself by hoping for caresses and lullabies from your vocation. In my life there have been interminable, desolate empty Sundays in which I desperately wanted to write something that would console me for my loneliness and boredom, so that I could be calmed and soothed by phrases and words. But I could not write a single line. My vocation has always rejected me, it does not want to know about me. Because this vocation is never a consolation or a way of passing the time. It is not a companion. This vocation is a master who is able to beat us till the blood flows, a master who reviles and condemns us. We must swallow our saliva and our tears and grit our teeth and dry the blood from our wounds and serve him. Serve him when he asks. Then he will help us up on to our feet, fix our feet firmly on the ground; he will help us overcome madness and delirium, fever and despair. But he has to be the one who gives the orders and he always refuses to pay attention to us when we need him.

há certa uniformidade monótona nos destinos dos homens. nossa existência se desenvolve segundo leis antigas e imutáveis, segundo uma cadência própria, uniforme e antiga. os sonhos nunca se realizam, e assim que os vemos em frangalhos compreendemos subitamente que as alegrias maiores de nossa vida estão fora da realidade. assim que os vemos em pedaços, nos consumimos de saudade pelo tempo em que ferviam em nós. nossa sorte transcorre nessa alternância de esperanças e nostalgias.

He knew how to find time to study and to write, to earn his living and to wander idly through the streets he loved; whereas we, who staggered from laziness to frantic activity and back again, wasted our time trying to decide whether we were lazy or industrious

It seemed to us that his sadness was that of a boy, the voluptuous heedless melancholy of a boy who has still not come down to earth, and moves in the arid, solitary world of dreams.

Ma è vero che a un certo punto della nostra vita i rimorsi li inzuppiamo nel caffè la mattina come biscotti.

Our dreams are never realized and as soon as we see them betrayed we realize that the intensest joys of our life have nothing to do with reality. No sooner do we see them betrayed than we are consumed with regret for the time when they glowed within us. And in this succession of hopes and regrets our life slips by.

Pienso que en la vida de cada uno de nosotros existe un libro similar, que de pequeños no nos limitamos simplemente a leer, sino que inspeccionamos y rebuscamos en cada uno de sus rincones como si de una habitación se tratara. Un libro así, rebuscado como una habitación, escrutado o interrogado como una cara en cada rasgo y arruga, nunca podremos juzgarlo como se juzga un libro, porque para nosotros ha abandonado la zona de los libros y ha pasado a vivir a la zona de la memoria y de los afectos.

Vivevano così, in stretta amicizia, dividendosi il poco che avevano, e senza appoggiarsi a nessun gruppo, senza fare progetti per il futuro, perché non c’era nessun futuro possibile; probabilmente sarebbe scoppiata la guerra, e l’avrebbero vinta gli stupidi; perché gli stupidi, Mario diceva, vincevano sempre.

What we must remember above all in the education of our children is that their love of life should never weaken.