Best 26 quotes of Romain Gary on MyQuotes

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

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

Disease-carrying thoughts swarm and multiply in the dark and twisted labyrinths of our minds, and all that is needed is a mob and a good political slogan for the epidemic to be spread once again, with a burst of automatic weapons or a mushroom cloud.

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

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

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

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.

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.

I've had a lot of fun. Good-bye, and thank you.

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

Sometimes I have the feeling that we live in a dubbed movie and everybody moves their lips but the voices don't correspond. We are all post-synchronized and sometimes is very accomplished and looks natural.

There is more to Jewish history than Auschwitz.

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

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

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.

Boldel de saclé nom de Dieu ! dit alors en bâillant le bébé sur le plancher. Boldel de saclé nom de Dieu, quelle famille ! Vous avez pas un journal ou quelque chose ? On s'emmelde ici !

Elle n'avait jamais vraiment aimé les impressionnistes. Elle trouvait qu'ils manquaient d'outrance, de passion. Seul Renoir, parfois, savait traiter un corps de femme avec ce manque de respect qui lui était dû.

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.

I battled my feelings of inferiority bravely, picking out a guest and imagining him floating in the air at the end of a line I held in my hand, with his stiff-legged trousers, his checked vest, and his yellow tie, propelled this way or that with a flick of my hand. It was the first time I had wielded my imagination as a weapon of defense, and nothing ever turned out to be more beneficial to me in this life.

(...) il fallait séparer nos souffles, s'écarter, s'espacer, se lever, se dédoubler, et c'est toujours autant de perdu. Quand on a deux corps, il vient des moments où l'on est à moitié. - Est-ce que je suis envahissante? - Terriblement, lorsque tu n'es pas là.

-I love you, Lenny. -From the diaphragm. -What are you talking about? -You have to say it from the diaphragm. That's a muscle in here. Real deep, not from the throat. I tried to be an actor once and that's the first thing they told me. That's when I quit. I just didn't have that much in my diaphragm.

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.

« Maman ! hurle Carmen, en voyant que je partais et que j'avais déjà un pied dehors. Ne t'en va donc pas comme ça ! Laisse-nous quelque chose, en attendant que Lucien trouve du travail ! » « Tout ce que j'peux vous laisser, c'est ça ! » que j'leurs dis , en levant une jambe et en lâchant un pet.

Quand on a deux corps, il vient des moments où l'on est à moitié.

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?